Chapter Twenty-Three #2
She considered telling Stratos about Brad’s suspicions to vindicate her insistence on discretion, but a good time never came up. He was stuck in hologram meetings and then, in the late afternoon, he announced he was leaving for the appointment with his mother.
“I expect I’ll be back before close of business,” he said, “but if I’m not, go ahead and go. A vehicle has been confirmed and will be waiting for you at 6:10 p.m. It will pick you up in the morning at 8 a.m.”
“That’s later than I normally come in,” she said. And it was picking her up to go home earlier than she usually left. The government-mandated Oberian workday was ten hours, but to stay ahead of the workload, she logged twelve, sometimes more.
“You work too much,” he said.
This was a new twist—a boss telling an employee she worked too much! Just as Brad had noticed—there were signs she was more than his assistant. “You work too much, too,” she replied.
“But someday, I’ll control the company.”
By then, she’d be long gone. A depressing thought.
“Besides, I want you home safe and sound before dark.”
Having a vehicle rendered being out after dark a moot argument, but his concern gave her a zing of pleasure.
“Anyway—I have to run,” he said.
“Wait—can I have my panties back?”
He grinned. “No.”
* * * *
By the time she had to catch her ride, Stratos hadn’t returned, so she shut her work station down and left like he’d told her to.
She had hoped they’d have some time to talk.
Did he intend to see her after work? She’d laid down one ground rule—no sex in the office, but what did he expect of their “relationship”?
Did they even have a relationship? Or was she his assistant with benefits?
She had no idea what his expectations were.
For her, a relationship came before the sex, but she’d entered into this backward—had sex first and now had to wonder where it would lead.
If he thought he could drop by her apartment for a booty call when he got the itch, he had another thing coming, and it wouldn’t be orgasms! Assuming she could resist him. Unfortunately, a growl, a touch, and her good intentions went up in flames.
“Leaving early, huh?’ the night guard relieving Isomar said by way of a greeting. It was shift change at security.
“When you get in late, you make up for it by leaving early.” Isomar chortled.
Why did I ever wish the guards would warm up to me? Is everybody aware of my schedule? People were far too perceptive. This confirmed a private affair needed to remain private. “You two are real comedians,” she said. “Good night!”
Outside, the vehicle hadn’t arrived yet, but it was only 6:05 p.m. The setting sun ushered in a night breeze that threatened to lift her skirt. Jerk. This is the last dress I ever wear to work. She wound her fabric tight in her fist to avoid flashing pedestrians and passengers.
Isomer left the building and waved to her as he ambled down the street.
Six ten. A vehicle descended and slowed, and she stepped forward ready to board, but it continued on.
Several more went by. At 6:20 she backtracked to the security desk.
“Um, a company vehicle was reserved for me. It was supposed to pick me up at 6:10, but it’s not here.
Can you check on it?” she asked the guard.
“Sure.” He called up a screen on his console, tapped it a few times, then ran his finger down a list.
“Right.”
“Sorry. Nothing.”
She bit her lower lip. “Uh, anything for Stratos?”
He shook his head. “No.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Th-thanks for checking.” Heart racing, she stumbled toward the exit.
This is the dream!
No, it’s a coincidence. They caught the dorian. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
But her churning stomach didn’t believe it.
Perhaps if Stratos hadn’t made such a big issue of her taking a vehicle, she wouldn’t be as freaked out about walking home, but with him so concerned, how could she not worry?
She turned. “Would you please contact Stratos and tell him the vehicle he ordered did not arrive?” Maybe he was back in his office. If he was still with Frysta, he would be incommunicado. Or, he might have gone home, leaving straight from the meeting.
“Sure.”
She waited while he connected. The guard shook his head and then began to speak. “Sir, this is Security. Savannah Mays asked me to let you know the vehicle you ordered did not arrive.” He disconnected. “Sorry. He didn’t pick up. You heard my message.”
“Thank you for trying.”
Why didn’t I let him take me home? She dragged herself outside. Night had fallen hard, and streetlights had come on. Her stomach clenched with dread. Just a dream. Just a dream. The wind had whipped up. Screwing up her skirt in her fist, she headed down the street.
Although she had government assurance the dorians were gone, and intellectually she knew that dreams were nonsensical neuron misfirings, her fear grew with every step.
By the time she reached the alley, she’d broken out into a sweat and could barely breathe.
Gasping and wheezing, she feared she’d pass out—if she didn’t throw up first. Her body seemed to be moving in slow motion. Hurry. Hurry. Have to hurry.
Something in the alley skittered, and her heart leaped out of her chest. Run! Run! she screamed in her head, but her body froze with fear, and her leaden feet wouldn’t move. Her throat closed up, and she couldn’t breathe. Vision grayed and blurred. I’m going to die…