Chapter 51
FIFTY-ONE
Reese was in the open-air restaurant in the six-story atrium of the hotel, reading a lifestyle magazine and munching on a bag of peanuts, when Markson approached her.
“Uh, Reese, can we talk?” Markson’s hand was shaking a little as he tugged at his tie.
Reese shoved her feet back into her sandals and sighed.
“What is it, Stan?”
He probably couldn’t figure out how to have his shirts dry-cleaned in the hotel. Her eyes wandered back to the article she’d been reading outlining the new rage—orthodontics for dogs. Braces for Fifi so the other poodles don’t make fun of her crooked teeth? Reese stifled a laugh.
“Can I sit down?”
Reese looked up at Stan and dropped the magazine. Markson seemed nervous, more so than usual. “Sure. What’s going on?”
“I’m ready to do that interview with you.” Markson glanced around at the mostly empty restaurant. He winced when the lobby elevators swung open and a crowd of businessmen and women walked out, talking loudly.
Reese followed his gaze, felt his increasing anxiety. She hoped like hell her voice was soothing. She wanted this interview in the worst way. “That’s great, Stan. I promise I’ll do the piece your way, with all the facts set straight. We’ll show America that you’re a hero.”
He picked at the cocktail napkin in front of him. “Not a hero. Just trying to do the right thing. I want people to know that I wasn’t doing anything illegal, I didn’t want to sell out my buddies, but I just couldn’t stand by and let Delco cheat its customers.”
“That sounds perfect. Let’s go up to my room where I can take notes and we can be comfortable, okay? Unless you’re fine with me recording on my phone?”
Sitting out in the open like this was making her nervous.
She could probably explain it with a lie or two if Chatterton or one of the other execs walked by, but Knight was another story.
He could see through her BS in about five seconds and would want to know the true story.
She could not tell him about the interview with Markson.
At least not until the case had gone to the lawyers and the piece was on its way to the Chicago Tribune.
“Let’s go upstairs. It’s not a good idea to be seen together, is it?”
“No.” Grabbing her magazine, Reese felt in her purse for her room key and headed for the elevators, Markson trailing behind.
There was a small alcove by the elevators filled with potted plants and a shoe-shine stand. The stand was empty, but Reese came to a screeching halt in front of it. Markson walked into the back of her, grunting in surprise.
His hands went to her shoulders to steady them both and Reese whirled around, intent on hiding from Jenkins and Goldberg, who were waiting in front of the elevators, looking bored.
She did not want to explain why she was with Markson, realizing she could probably lie her way through it, but he would more than likely blush and sweat and stammer.
“Back up,” she whispered to him fiercely.
“What? Why?” His hands still rested on her shoulders.
Given their collision, they were still just about on top of each other and Reese grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket and shoved, panic setting in.
This wouldn’t look like a casual sure, I’ll send that request for you, sir.
Now if they were seen, they would look like they were a little too friendly to be just an exec and an assistant, and the thought of sending that message grossed her out just a little. A lot.
“Jenkins and Goldberg are by the elevators.”
Markson swore and backed up, tugging her with him.
“No, you’re not supposed to take me with you!” Yikes, now they were practically holding hands.
Yuck. Reese stumbled forward right as she heard Jenkins say, “What the hell? Is that Markson with Reese?”
That other deep voice had to be none other than Goldberg. “I’ll be damned.”
Reese ended up catapulting into Markson when his backward progress was stopped by the shoe-shine stand. A fern hit her in the face and she put her hands up to knock it out of her way, considering knocking Markson on the head while her hand was airborne.
Great restraint prevented her from doing so, though she did put her hands back on his chest to shove him out of her way.
“Oh, my God, she’s all over him,” Jenkins said in wonder.
Idiots. Reese prepared to turn around and hurl her purse at Jenkins. Markson grabbed her hands and squeezed hard, holding her in place. “Just stay still,” he whispered fiercely. “This is better than getting caught spilling company secrets to a reporter.”
“Yeah, great, fabulous idea. This looks way better.” She didn’t know what could explain her having an affair with a married man fifteen years older than her who looked like a bowl of custard with glasses.
The last thing she expected him to do was laugh, but he did, a low chuckle. “I would have loved for something like this to happen in high school, but it never did. You know, having guys think I scored the hot girl.”
She frowned, relaxing a little, though she wished he would drop her hands and back up.
Markson was right about keeping his secret her secret.
If either of their covers were blown, she wouldn’t get the interview, or the Delco story.
Let those guys think whatever they wanted, no matter how insulting it was.
“I’m not kissing you or anything like that.” Just in case he got any ideas.
“I don’t want to kiss you. I’m a happily married man.”
That further relaxed her. Markson was a good guy, trying to do the right thing. And it didn’t matter what any of those other guys thought about her. It’s not like she had a long-term career planned with Delco. Let them think whatever the hell they wanted.
“What does he have that I don’t have?” Jenkins complained. “I flirted with her and she blew me off.”
“Money,” came Goldberg’s reply. “He makes more than you and he saves more than you. And a quiet guy like that, she’ll have him wrapped around her finger in no time. Hell, he probably got her the job at Delco in the first place. She’s the shittiest assistant I’ve ever seen.”
As the voices receded, Reese looked at Stan, whose amusement had disappeared. Tugging her hands out of his, she said, “Do you want to maul them or should I?”
A slur like that couldn’t go unchallenged.
She was not a shitty assistant.
Okay, not a great one. But shitty was overstating it.