Chapter 9 – Anna
NINE
ANNA
She knew there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed. But she didn’t see them.
The first thing that stopped me was the door to the suite. I had a fob that was programmed to unlock the door the minute it touched the side panel. Out of habit, I immediately attempted to pull the glass door open without checking to see if the green light showed above the panel.
But when I tugged on it, it was clearly still locked.
I attempted the fob again and this time watched the panel successfully light up green. But when I pulled the chrome handle again, it didn’t budge.
Which meant the deadbolt hadn’t been unlocked. Something E.G. did with a key every morning. Just like he locked it every night before they headed to the elevators.
He was late. It was no big deal. I’d just wait by the door until he arrived.
He was never late.
I turned that voice off. Just because he’d never been late, didn’t mean he couldn’t be running late today. Traffic. I hadn’t experienced it on my walk to the building complex, but of course it happened.
An accident. Like the one he’d been in before.
Ridiculous. Why had my brain gone directly there? From, he’s a little late, directly to disaster.
E.G. was fine. He wasn’t late because he’d been in an accident. He was stuck in traffic and any other thought was just my crazy brain spiraling.
Twenty minutes later, the panic set in.
I had his number. Of course I had his number. He’d insisted I purchase a cell phone as soon as I’d gotten the job so he could reach me and I’d obeyed. Up until then I’d had a burner, but now I had an official iPhone with a cell phone plan and my own number.
He wasn’t the type of boss who texted very often. Usually, only if he knew his schedule was going to change. Never on the weekend. Never during my personal time.
He wasn’t that kind of boss.
Except technically, this would be considered a schedule change.
One he hadn’t let me know about.
You should call him.
Hard no! He was the boss. If he wanted to sleep in, go to brunch, get laid and show up after noon, it was his prerogative.
Except he hadn’t done any of those things, at least to my knowledge, up until now.
Should I go home? Should I set my ass downstairs in the lobby and just wait? Should I call someone else?
His driver’s name was Ricky. I did not have Ricky’s number.
Five minutes later, panic moved into fear. I could feel my heart pounding and I didn’t like it. I wasn’t someone who was prone to panic attacks, or anxiety, for that matter. It was simply how I’d been hard wired as a child. To be practical. Always assessing the situation. Then taking action.
There are some who might look at this as a snow day. Boss didn’t show up. Free day off.
I wasn’t one of those people.
A call seemed too intrusive, but a text?
It took another five minutes to craft the most innocuous message I could imagine.
Me: Hey, I’m at the office. Do you have an ETA?
I waited and paced, hoping that the elevator doors would open any second and E.G. would come rushing out with an apology.
Instead, nothing happened and I took a sip of his cold brew. Not sure if it went flat, but I was almost certainly going to need to get him a new one.
Blah! So bitter, with sweet stuff on top. How did anyone drink this?
My phone dinged and I almost dropped the cup in my hand.
Bossman: Fuck. Sorry. Overslept.
I let out a calming breath. He was fine. He simply overslept. No big deal. I waited, because surely there was more information to come. Like when he thought he might get here.
Bossman: Go home. Not coming in. Think I have a fever.
And that made even more sense. He was sick. That’s why he wasn’t feeling well. Seems redundant.
Me: Do you need anything?
I watched the dots come and go, which I could interpret a number of ways.
He did need something but didn’t feel comfortable asking me. Not likely. The man wasn’t shy when telling me what to do.
He was too feverish to form a reply. That also seemed improbable.
Ultimately, the dots stopped with no message.
I walked down the hallway and dumped his ridiculous order in the trash and decided there was only one thing to do.
I knew E.G.’s address off the top of my head because it had been his original address on all his billing information that had to get changed over to the suite. I’d checked it online because of course I wanted to see what all that money would buy him.
However, there was no street view, as he was behind a gated fence.
I figured as a billionaire, he’d probably need that fence when the revolution started.
As I made my way outside the building and back to the bus route, I had the unfortunate realization that I was going to be one of those poor peasant servants who probably lost her head trying to protect her billionaire boss when the masses finally did revolt.
I would be all like…no, no he’s a decent billionaire!
First stop was a pharmacy where I bought as many cold and flu remedies as seemed manageable.
There wasn’t a convenient bus route out to where E.G.
lived, which was west of Houston’s sprawling downtown area.
He was tucked away in an area known as Bunker Hill Village, where all the big gas and oil money dudes lived around golf courses.
My only option was an Uber, and again I had zero problems putting all of those expenses on the company credit card.
The way I saw it, I was just doing my job.
The Uber driver dropped me off in front of the gate, framed by two stucco pillars, one which held the intercom unit. No security guard or anything. It’s not like he was famous rich. Just rich, rich.
I walked up to the wrought iron black gate, at least twenty feet high, and felt every inch of my five-foot five frame when I looked up at the thing. There were spires on top, which gave a decidedly stay out kind of vibe.
This was a mistake.
E.G. was a grown man and capable of dealing with flu symptoms, but the idea of leaving work to go home on a Wednesday, when there was possibly something to do, just didn’t sit well with me.
Letting out a slow breath through pursed lips, I walked up to the intercom system and hit the single black button available. A camera at the top of the fence swiveled in my direction and I looked up to wave at it.
“I brought some cold medicine,” I said to it, like it might understand me. I held up the plastic CVS bag as evidence. “And some throat lozenges, some herbal tea, and well, basically everything the girl working at the pharmacy counter told me to get.”
The camera stayed pinned on me like it was still assessing my threat level.
Finally, a voice came through the speaker above the button.
“Flowers,” the voice growled.
“E.G.?” I asked. “Shit, you sound terrible.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I think saving your life, based on the way you sound,” I told him.
“Fuck,” he muttered. But somehow, I didn’t think it was directed at me.
Finally, a buzzer sounded and the gate started to open. I could see a winding paved path beyond the gate, and, not going to lie, I felt a bit like Dorothy on her way to see the Wizard.
It worked out okay for her, right?
Deciding I’d made it this far, I walked past the gate with my bag of medicine and heard it shut behind me. I didn’t look back.
No lie, it took a solid ten minutes to arrive at what I assumed was the front door.
“Holy fuck.”
I stood there for a few minutes while I processed what I was seeing. It was by far the largest home I’d ever seen. Might be the largest structure, period? Although, granted, my experience was limited.
It had a red shingle roof, that same neutral colored stucco facade that the gate pillars were made out of, and it was covered in what appeared to be a structured vine system. The damn thing sprawled for days.
A large running fountain with a mermaid structure in the center of it coughed up an endless flow of water, and as I walked around it toward the massive wooden double doors, I had that same instinct from before overwhelming me.
This was a mistake.
Was I supposed to knock on these wooden doors? I didn’t have to think about that for too long, because apparently the giant who lived beyond the doors had seen fit to take pity on me.
Except when the two twelve-foot-high doors opened, it wasn’t a giant on the other side.
Just E.G.
He wore loose athletic pants and a Stanford t-shirt that had seen better days.
His feet were bare, his hair was sticking up at odd angles and he had the worst dark circles under his eyes I’d ever seen.
“I didn’t tell you to come,” he grumbled.
I held up the white plastic bag loaded with all the shit that had been recommended.
“You want me to take it back?”
“Come in,” he sighed, like I was the imposition of a lifetime. He pushed himself off the door and walked back into his…den, lair, cave?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t a home.
More like a museum with colorful intricate tile in the foyer that bled into a dark wood floor, which exploded into arches that led to the right and left. My head was on a swivel, but I couldn’t take it all in.
The library to the right, with a massive fireplace situated between bookshelves, with a facade that ran up the entire length of the wall.
“Is that a Picasso?” I gasped. I think I’d seen something similar when our junior year class had gone on a field trip to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
“Duchamp,” he said, like I knew who that was. “But close, Flowers. Good eye.”
“I think I need to leave.”
“By all means,” he said, dryly. “Drop the bag and go.”
Then he started coughing. That I could focus on.
Not the awe of the room or the art or the light that seemed to filter in throughout the ceilings. He continued back through the various different archways and I followed him until we reached what I thought might be the kitchen.
Except, it was all this neutral beige. The cabinets, the walls. Nothing on the counter. A faucet and massive sink underneath it, might have been the only thing that resembled anything kitchen-like.