Page 13 of Undeniably Corrupt
“But—”
“Let’s go. Time’s ticking, and he’s already in the office. I came down here to grab him something to eat.” She holds up a to-go bag as she takes me by my upper arm with her other hand and pulls me along. “That’s rule one with him. You have tomake sure he eats because he works twenty-four seven and takes the worst care of himself. If unchecked, he’d live off a vending machine and not be bothered by it. It’s a wonder he isn’t seven hundred pounds. He gets lost in his work, and hours along with everything else evade him when he does.”
“Brilliant, genius type,” I parrot her words from before.
“Exactly.”
I let her guide me because at this point, I have nothing else to lose, and more than that, I believe she might be fate once again stepping in for me. At least I hope she is. I have no choice but to hope she is.
I never needed anyone to save me. I saved myself, and I continue to do so. But there have been angels—pun intended—along the way for me. I believe people come into your life when you need them most. That was Christine, who Hazel’s middle name is for. I met her at a rest stop on the Mass Pike when my life fell apart. I was literally stranded since my car had run out of gas, and I had no money. I was crying in the bathroom, positive my life was ending, when she offered me a ride. She brought me out to California and got me a job. I thought Mattia was another one of those people for me, and yes, he gave me Hazel, but he left us in ruin.
Now let’s pray sweet, bubbly Champagne is another angel. The good kind.
The building is up the block, just off campus, and is large, modern, and beautiful with a lot of glass and high-end furnishings and art. And that’s just the lobby. She swipes us in with her badge and waves to the security guard, while I ogle my surroundings. There’s a large sign overhead with the company name and logo, but I don’t catch it as Champagne pulls me onto a waiting elevator.
“What type of company is this? What sort of work do you do here?”
“Cybersecurity.”
“Oh.” Something I know nothing about.
She must read this because she says, “Don’t worry. Business is business, and your job, more or less, is simply to manage the CEO’s calendar, his emails, ensure he gets where he needs to be when he needs to be there, and vet people who try to see or speak to him.”
My heart picks up an extra beat. “I’m sorry, did you say theCEO?”
She throws me a side-eye. “I wasn’t going to let that slip just yet, but yes, the CEO. But don’t let that get you into a fret. He’s a young, reluctant CEO, if that helps anything. He does his own thing most days, and his own thing is very private. If you’re hired, you’ll have to sign a lot of paperwork, including nondisclosure agreements and noncompete clauses, among other things. He’s not big on trust, and it takes a while for him to get there, so just remember what I said about a heart of gold underneath.”
Oh boy. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Before I can fully question that—or perhaps run—the elevator doors open on the top floor, giving way to more polished refinement. It’s early still. Not even eight in the morning, and the floor is fairly empty save for a few people coming and going.
“This is the executive floor.”
I gnaw on my lip and fiddle with the half heart on my bracelet. “You’re sure about this?”
“Positive. Don’t worry. You’ll do great.” She pans her hand out, and we walk down the long corridor. Our shoes—her heels and my ancient Vans—tap lightly against the industrial gray carpet that transitions to a trendy cement floor. “What brought you to Boston?”
“How do you know I’m not from here?”
She throws me a look as if to say it’s obvious, but I’m not sure how it could be.
“You have a bit of a different accent. I can’t place it, but it’s not Boston or Connecticut.”
Oh. I never realized, but I guess compared to hers, I do.
“I was living in California before I moved to Boston with my ex,” I explain as I glance around at the neatly arranged open-concept workspace. Offices line the periphery of the floor, while the center is cubicles and a smattering of comfy sitting areas, along with a few old-school arcade games and even a cornhole setup in the center. The skylight overhead lets in plenty of light, making the whole space feel airy and almost fun for an office.
“He a jerk?”
I turn back to her with a wry smile. “You could say that.”
“I just did.” She winks at me. “I have one of those, too. Left me with our two girls and rode off into the sunset with my best friend.”
I blanch. “Damn. I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
She shrugs as if it’s not a thing for her anymore, and I can’t wait until I get to that point. “Yeah, but I got him good with child support and alimony, and I’m better off without them. So are my girls since he decided not to be their father either.”
“Mine left me and our little girl after he took all our money. We were never married, and he’s an Italian citizen back in Italy. Hard to fight that in the courts.” You also have to have money to fight it, and I don’t.
