Page 2 of Serving the CEO

Damn cat videos.

I was stuck with no way to call for help, which meant I could either cower…or fight.

Swearing silently, I grabbed the crowbar my dad kept for crates and eased my way back up front. Adrenaline raced through my veins, sharpening my senses and making my pulse race.

My heart jumped into my throat as I spotted a shadowy figure moving along the aisles, touching one of the displays.I couldn’t see them clearly, not even enough to tell if they were male or female, only that they were taller than me and on the heavy side. As I watched, they rounded the counter and stopped behind the cash register—right where I’d left my phone.

And that was when it rang.

They jumped.

So did I.

I rushed at them, screaming.

They—he, I now saw—swung around, screaming at an even higher pitch than me, hands jerking over his head protectively. I could see then that he was wearing the strangest thing.

Asuit.

Who breaks into a store wearing asuit?

Confused, I backed up, but still held the crowbar at the ready, just in case he tried something. “Get out of my store!”

“I-I…” he stammered, his hands shaking.

“Get out! I’ve already called the cops!”

He didn’t need to know I was lying.

“I’m from the bank!” he squeaked.

Okay. Hadn’t expected that. I lowered the crowbar and frowned, my confusion turning into something more worrisome. “You’re from the bank?”

“Yes.” He peeked at me through his arms, his skin pale and shiny with sweat. “I’m here to evaluate the building.”

Dread crept over me, and I backed up a few more steps, my hip bumping against a shelf. I had a feeling this would not be good, but I was proud of how calm and level I sounded as I asked, “Exactly why are you here to evaluate the building? And how did you get in?”

“The bank—they wanted it evaluated before the sale.” He dangled something in front of me that flashed as it caught the light from outside. “Look…I’ve got a key.”

I darted forward and snatched it from him, staring in dismay at the key as I tried to figure out what he was talking about. A sale?What sale?

Glaring at him, I demanded, “I need to see some proof.”

“I…please, ma’am. I need the key back.”

I shoved it at him. “Proof.”

He blinked rapidly, eyeing the crowbar I still held. “Can you…put that down, maybe?”

“I’m a woman alone in a closed store with a stranger,” I said coolly. “No.”

He jerked his head and reached into his rumpled suit jacket. “My business card,” he said when I tensed.

“Okay.” I supposed I was close enough to knock anything else out of his hand if it was somethingotherthan a business card. I tightened my grip on my weapon.

But what came out was indeed a business card, one of the fancy, thick ones that cost a mint and served no purpose but to say,Look, I make a lot of money!

“Gilbert Gold,” I said, rubbing my thumb over the embossed print. It gave his name, a phone number, and an address that, sure enough, identified him as acommercial real estate valuation analyst.

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