Page 247 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
After a lunch of takeout from a steakhouse downtown, he abandoned his dirty plate and returned to his desk to call one of his suppliers and chew him out over a shipment that was only a few hours late. After issuing demands for a price reduction, he finally accepted 15% off for his next order, then hung up. Leaning back, he issued a loud burp that he followed with a hoarse laugh, then hauled himself out of his seat and headed to his executive washroom.
I was starting to get a feel for Jansen’s routine, and I knew he’d likely be in there for up to twenty minutes. He did his ‘business’ in the afternoon, and I was free from the incessant clamor of his never-ending phone calls for a brief and blessed interlude. But instead of leaning back in my seat and closing my eyes to enjoy the silence, I realized this was an opportunity I shouldn’t pass up.
As quietly as I could, I moved behind his desk. The desk was so disorganized, it was almost impossible to tell what each document was about. Giving up on the scattered papers, I decided to dig through the draws, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. With one eye on the washroom door, I cautiously picked my way through the endless junk in his drawers. Finally, I stumbled upon something of interest.
It was a manila envelope that had been slit open. Out of it spilled the corner of a photograph. I slide the photo out and some companions came with it, so I carefully removed the small stack of photos and began to examine them.
The first one contained a group of older men standing in an alley against a brick wall. None of them looked familiar, but it was still an oddity among the memos and invoices I'd found. Pulling out my phone, I snapped a picture of the photo. Setting them down on the desk, I fanned them out, trying to get an idea of what they contained. The remaining photos looked to be of some kind of ledger. There was a list of scrawled names and corresponding numbers. I managed to snap a picture of the top ledger photo, but then I heard the toilet flush.
Acting as quickly as possible, I shoved the photos back into the envelope and crammed them back among the debris of the desk drawer. Then I pushed it closed and crept away from the desk, resuming my position near the office door.
Jansen came out of the washroom and ambled over to his desk. I wondered idly if he’d washed his hands. He didn’t seem like the type to pride himself on his hygiene. I often wondered if he bothered to change the tailored shirts he wore, untucked, every day.
It wasn’t long before he was back on the phone, raising hell with the distributor he’d dealt with only a day earlier. I stopped listening to the conversation, knowing he’d just try to wheedle more favorable terms out of the company. Jansen seemed to think the rules didn’t apply to him.
Which made him an excellent candidate for blackmail. Jansen was the type to make mistakes and not take pains to cover them. He bragged about spending nights behind the velvet rope of the VIP section at exclusive nightclubs and dropping thousands of dollars on exotic dinners. He liked to be seen, liked people to know he had money. And that made him a target.
Still, for some reason I didn’t see Jansen as a victim. Sure, he had money and had probably done unsavory things, but there was something about his behavior that made me think he wasn’t a man being manipulated. No, if anyone was doing the manipulation, it was Jansen himself.
That meant the only other option was true: Jansen was blackmailing someone. Perhaps the photographs were a clue. The ledger pages were certainly intriguing. But without context, I had no idea where to start. None of the names I’d seen had meant anything. In fact, I didn’t even think they were real names. They’d been odd. Mr. Sparrow. Mr. Heron. Mr. Cormorant.
That evening, I paid close attention to make sure I wasn’t followed. It took longer to get back to the office than usual, but I made sure to double back on my trail a few times, and to take random turns to throw anyone off the scent.
That meant that, by the time I got to the office, everyone else was gone. Except for Emma, who was just locking the front door.
“Is your father around?” I asked, already guessing the answer.
Emma looked up at me with those gorgeous eyes, which were shining in the dim light of twilight. “Nope. He’s got that big community fundraiser tonight.”
“What about Matt?” I didn’t want to mention the pictures to Emma. She didn’t need to get further embroiled in the mess that was Dexter Jansen. Or the mess that was Jack Walsh.
“He’s got a hot date,” Emma said with a roll of her golden eyes. “Matt takes forever to get ready. I don’t know why. It’s not like a hot shower can wash off his kind of ugly.”
I cracked a smile. Her quirky sense of humor was one of the most attractive of her many appealing traits.
She turned, putting her back against the door and crossing her arms over her chest. The motion pushed her breasts together, creating a hint of cleavage that I wanted to run my tongue over. I had to force my eyes away, counting the cracks on the sidewalk while willing away my erection.
“I’m the only one around.” Emma gave me a searching look. “You’ve got something, don’t you? Something on Jansen?”
I hesitated, debating whether to tell her what I’d discovered in Jansen’s desk. If there was any real danger associated with the businessman, I wanted to keep Emma as far away from it as I could.
Before I could respond, she slapped my arm. “I knew it. Let’s go back inside.”
CHAPTER 8
EMMA
I unlocked the office door and waved Jack in, then locked it again behind us. “What do you have?” I asked, excited to hear his reply. I’d been working for Shadow Security for three years now, and the most interesting thing I’d done was carry on a lukewarm flirtation with the package delivery guy.
Dad had kept me isolated from any hint of danger, and Matt, now that he was working here, was just as bad. Maybe Jack would let me help with something more exciting than reconciling payroll.
Jack stopped at my desk and turned to face me. I saw the tight look on his face and realized he wasn’t thrilled to be having this conversation. Shit. Just like Dad and Matt.
“Oh no,” I said, pointing my finger at the muscled chest I’d been obsessing about for most of the week. “You’re not shutting me out now. I know that Dad brushed aside your concerns, but I trust your instincts. Dexter Jansen is a grade-A asshole. Nothing you have to say will surprise me.”
“Emma,” he said, his heavy voice sending a wanton shiver down my spine. I love when he says my name. “I don’t think—.”
“Then leave the thinking to me,” I said. My finger pressed into his chest. “You’re going to tell me what you have on Jansen. Or I swear I’ll start losing your paperwork, serving you cold coffee, and accidentally deleting your paychecks.”
