Page 89 of Marcus in Retrograde
“Where is that coming from?” I hissed. “Why can we hear something going on two floors down?”
Sorcha was staring at me. Or I thought she was, but a second later realized she was staring at the door. I gasped and turned around, staring at it. I turned the knob and the door opened.
We stepped inside to find a bank of computers and displays.
They were full of all the goings on in the studios.
Sorcha shared my look, and her jaw unhinged. Lunging for the keyboard, she quickly studied the monitors and found the one with the conference room on it. She brought up a menu, and had that feed show up on the big screen.
“Oh…my God. How did we not realize this was here?” My voice was hoarse.
Sorcha stared at the equipment. “I thought this was a closet!”
“You brought in Roberts after I had it in the rider that you couldn’t without twenty-four hours notice!” Jerry was turning red with anger. “He just tried to grab my employee!”
“Your rider is ridiculous—”
“Menendez, shut up.”
I gasped at who had spoken. “Was he in there when we were?”
“No! He came in after. Holy shit,” Sorcha gasped. “NelsonfuckingPowers.”
“Sir, this is—”
“I said, shut up, Menendez. I’m talking to Mister Liggit now. The rider on the contract was for…?”
“Mister Romano has a restraining order on Mister Roberts, and the rider was designed to keep both of them safe, by providing a time frame for us to make alternate arrangements for our employee. That was violated today.”
“Get Roberts out of here.”
“Sir—”
Powers started swearing… I didn’t even know what language that was at first, but eventually I realized it was freakin’ Icelandic. Quickly, he realized what he was doing and switched back to English. “Get. Him. Out.”
Menendez turned to Roberts and nodded. With an audible sniff, he turned and walked out of the room.
The wrong direction.
“Follow him…” I whispered.
Sorcha and I turned back to the massive bank of monitors and watched him walked through the halls, down the stairs, and through the studio level below the conference room. He peered into other studios, opened doors, and finally found my studio.
Roberts jimmied it open, and grinned.
“Shit, we need better security,” Sorcha whispered.
“What the hell is he doing? What is he doing in my office. Are there anymore cameras?”
Sorcha started typing like mad, and sorting through the screens she was on. She read menus as fast as she could, and yelped in triumph a moment later.
There on the big screen in front of her, appeared the inside of my studio in a fish-eye lens.
She gasped, “It’s already recording.”
“Oh, my God…” I breathed. Could they actually have the recordings of all of our interactions?
“What is he doing?” Sorcha moved closer to the screen.
