Page 65 of Dirty Little Secret, Baby
Alex
Stunned, I drop into my office chair, staring at the door and trying to understand what just happened.
I don’t want to see you anymore. Ever again.
Those were the words Beth just hurled at me, and their finality is staggering. She ignored my shouts and instead stormed out of the office in exactly the same way she'd burst in.
For a moment, I wondered what the purpose of her visit could have been. Did she just want to vent her anger? At least, that's how it seemed. And yet, my thoughts are mainly on the movement of her curly hair as she vehemently shook her head. Then the next thought, like an express train, races through my mind: a vision of Beth, her cheeks flushed bright red. In thisvision, however, she’s lying naked and sweaty beneath me on the couch, her mouth half-open and...
Shit, I can't indulge in these kinds of fantasies. I have to do something, because this whole thing stinks to high heaven.
Because it really wasn't me who hung up that poster. And I certainly didn't have her thrown out of her shop.
Why would I do something like that anyway? With the shopping center deal and the exorbitant purchase price, I had gone way out on a limb for her, and the whole thing was meant as a surprise for Beth. I wanted to set things right between us again, not make everything worse and have her think I want to destroy her for good.
Even if she doesn't believe me and never wants to see me again—and the thought causes me a deeply unpleasant pain—I have to at least clear this up. I don't want her to think of me like that. Even if I succeed, I don't know if we have a future. But I have to try. For Beth. For her child. And maybe—but only maybe, and only if she wants it: For us.
One thing is certain, though: Something is going on in my company that I don't know about.
And that's not good. Not good at all. I run through my mind who knew about the deal with the building complex on 4th Street and who has the authorization to negotiate a deal with her landlord in my name, a deal that presumably involved a considerable sum being offered to get him to throw Beth out.
Then it hits me like a ton of bricks, and I smack my palm against my forehead. Damn, how could I not have seen it before?
I may not have dementia, and I haven't been diagnosed with schizophrenia either, as Beth had suspected. But if ignorance is a disease, then I must have been infected to the highest degree, because...
I pause.
No, no jumping to conclusions. First, I'll make a few calls and do some digging, because I have to be absolutely sure before I do what I'm planning to do next.
"Boss?" I hear Eric's voice as he pokes his head through the door, and I look up.
"Yes?" I ask, giving him a piercing look.
"I'm sorry the lady burst in like that. I've already called the police and filed a report for trespassing...''
"Call them back immediately and withdraw the report," I snap. "I'll check on it myself later. And now, close the door and don't disturb me. I have work to do."
"Yes, sir," Eric says, pulling the door closed behind him.
Then I stand up, walk quietly to the door, make sure he's closed it properly, and lock it from the inside so that no one else can get in. Especially not Eric.
My fingers tremble with nervousness, because if my suspicion is confirmed, then... Damn, then I deserve an award for stupidity.
"Yeah? Is that you, boss?" I hear an older man's voice on the other end of the line after dialing a number I haven't called in a very long time.
"Richard, I've told you not to call me boss, you know that," I say, remembering the early days of my business and how I took over the first two locations of a rather run-down burger chain. Richard was my very first employee. We did everything together: orders, human resources, expansion plans, you name it. Just everything.
He was my right-hand man, everything was perfect, but then he got sick. Seriously ill. He said the stress had worn him out and asked me for a transfer to accounting, which I reluctantly granted at the time.
But he blossomed there and got better. As the company grew, however, the lunches we had together became less and less frequent. Richard said it wouldn't look good if he ate with the boss. His colleagues would ask questions. So I left him alone as much as possible.
"I know, Alex," he said quietly, perhaps so the others wouldn't hear him. "What can I do for you?"
"You know a lot and know a lot of people in the company, and you know what's said in the hallways and..." I begin.
"You mean you want me to be your spy, Alex?" Richard asks, sounding less than thrilled.
"No, that's not what I mean. It's about a specific thing. Whether you've heard anything. Do you know about a work assignment for scaffolding and putting up a poster on 4th Street?"
