Chapter 9 #2
She watches me for a moment as if considering something, and then wheels away from me. “Joshua, my bag hit your desk this morning, and I think some things might have fallen or gotten mixed with mine. Can you check if you’re missing something?”
Joshua groans. “Keep your bag away from my desk unless you have food in it.”
“Just check, will you?” She nudges his chair with her foot.
Complaining under his breath, he checks his things. After a few minutes, he shrugs as he looks her way. “I don’t see anything missing. But if you want to get me something anyways, I’m not complaining.”
Eve shoots me a look, and when Joshua gets up to go to the kitchen, she whispers, “He’s very disorganized. He wouldn’t know if he’s lost something. Now what is this about?”
I take out my phone and place it in a way where only she can see it. She watches the video, and her eyes narrow. Her voice is a whisper. “That looks like a jammer.”
“The surveillance cameras installed are state of the art. A normal jammer shouldn’t work on them.”
Eve is silent. “My brother, Rafael, knows a lot more about jammers than I do. He has friends who make homemade jammers, and they test them against cameras in their dorms.”
When I just look at her, she rolls her eyes. “What? You think this is me? Do you know how much hair I have? How is it going to fit under that ballcap? Besides, that’s a stocky build. I’m petite.”
“I didn’t say it was you.” I frown.
“Then don’t look at me like that.”
“Why’re you being defensive?” I poke her in the arm.
She grabs my finger and twists it. “Don’t make me break your finger, Wilder.”
“Reynolds. And fine.” I pull away from her.
Her words have given me food for thought, though. If someone has the ability to just check a camera type and create a jammer against it, that means they’re very knowledgeable about these sorts of things. Definitely something I’ll have to discuss with Ethan.
* * *
Throughout the day, I keep finding more hair—clusters of strands on my desk, on my chair, even scattered across the campaign files I’m reviewing. Each discovery makes me more confused. This can’t be normal.
“You might want to see a doctor,” Flora suggests kindly when she notices me checking my reflection on my phone screen anxiously. “Hair loss can be a sign of vitamin deficiency.”
“I’m not losing my hair,” I insist, but my voice lacks conviction.
Eve glances over from her desk, those damn bells jingling. “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, Reynolds.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” She returns to her typing with what looks suspiciously like a smirk. “Just that most men have trouble admitting when they’re going bald.”
“I’m not going bald!”
“Of course not,” she says in a tone that suggests the opposite.
I reach over and flick one of her ridiculous bell earrings out of pure frustration.
“Stop it!” She bats my hand away, glaring at me.
By lunch, I’m panicking. When I check my coat before heading out, I find several more strands clinging to the fabric. My paranoia reaches new heights when I discover multiple strands in my sandwich bag after returning from lunch. How the hell did they get in there?
“This is getting ridiculous,” I mutter, examining the offending hairs.
“What’s ridiculous?” Eve asks, appearing beside my desk with a coffee cup, those silver bells announcing her approach.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, shoving the strands in my pocket.
“If you say so.” She picks up the report from my desk and dusts it excessively. “Seriously, Caleb. Do something about your hairfall.”
I look down at another cluster of blonde strands on my keyboard when Eve leans over, examining the evidence.
“You know, denial really isn’t going to help at this point,” she says with fake sympathy. “Maybe you should invest in a good hat collection.”
“I’m not—”
“Perfect timing,” Iris’s voice cuts through our argument as she appears at our desks, looking uncharacteristically frazzled.
Her usual composed demeanor has cracks in it, and there’s something anxious in the way she clutches her tablet.
“I just got off the phone with the yacht club. They’re confirmed for the Serastra launch event, and the chef’s table concept is approved. ”
Eve straightens up. “What about the craftsmen demonstrations?”
“All three confirmed,” Iris says, but her voice sounds strained. “The woodworker from Maine, the metalsmith from Newport, and—”
“Iris!” A man’s voice booms across the office, cutting her off mid-sentence. We all turn to see a tall, well-dressed man weaving slightly as he approaches our desks.
Richard. I recognize him from the day I first met Eve. Iris’s boyfriend looks like he’s had a liquid lunch, his expensive suit rumpled and his movements just a little too loose.
“Richard,” Iris says, her voice dropping to a mortified whisper. “What are you doing here? I told you I needed to get back to work. Go back to your own department.”
“We’re not done talking,” he slurs slightly, his eyes hard despite the alcohol. “You think you can just walk away from me in the middle of our conversation?”
I notice Eve stiffen beside me, going completely still. The tension in the office ratchets up several notches.
“We’ll continue this at home,” Iris says firmly, though there’s embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “This isn’t the place—”
“Don’t tell me what the place is,” Richard snaps, swaying slightly.
“I deserve that finance head position, and you know it. You just don’t want me being successful.
You like keeping me beneath you. You think you’re better than me, don’t you?
Just because you’re the head of a department and I’m only a manager. ”
Eve’s hands clench into fists at her sides, fury radiating off her in waves, but she stays put. I can see her jaw working, like she’s biting back words.
Richard’s bloodshot eyes swing to her, taking in her appearance with obvious disdain. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing worth my time,” Eve says through gritted teeth, but she doesn’t move from her position.
I start to stand, but Iris raises a hand, clearly humiliated by the scene unfolding. “Please, just... Richard, you need to leave. We can talk later.”
“I’ll leave when I’m damn well ready.” He reaches out and grabs Iris’s wrist, his grip tight enough to make her wince. “We’re going to finish this conversation right now.”
“Hey!” I surge to my feet, but before I can take a step, another hand shoots out and clamps down on Richard’s wrist.
“That’s enough.”
The voice is pleasant, almost conversational, but it carries an undercurrent of fury that makes the hair on my neck stand up. I turn to see Jake standing behind Richard, looking every inch the ruthless attorney in his expensive suit. I hadn’t even heard him approach.
Richard jerks in surprise, his grip on Iris loosening. “Who the hell are you?”
Jake’s smile is all teeth and no warmth. “Jake Wilder. I’m the company’s legal counsel.” His grip tightens on Richard’s wrist, and I watch the man’s face go white. “And if you value your current employment status, I suggest you remove your hands from our employee.”
“Legal counsel?” Richard’s voice cracks slightly as he tries to pull free, but Jake’s grip doesn’t budge.
“That’s right.” Jake’s voice remains calm, but his hazel eyes are cold as winter. “I handle all matters of workplace harassment, among other things. Fascinating area of law, really. So many ways to destroy someone’s career.”
I’m impressed despite myself. I had no idea Jake was here, but his timing is perfect. More importantly, the fact that Richard doesn’t seem to know who Jake is surprises me. I would have thought the company’s legal counsel would be more well-known among employees.
“You can’t—” Richard starts.
“Can’t what?” Jake’s smile widens, and it’s genuinely terrifying. “Can’t protect our employees from drunk colleagues who think they can put their hands on women without permission? I think you’ll find I very much can.”
Richard finally wrenches his arm free, stumbling backward slightly. His face is flushed with anger and embarrassment. “This isn’t over, Iris,” he says, his voice ugly with promise. “We’ll talk later.” Iris hugs her tablet tighter to her chest.
“Oh, but it is over,” Jake says with that same cheerful tone, pulling out his phone with casual efficiency.
“Security? Yes, I need someone to escort an employee back to their department. Seventh floor, Marketing.” He pauses, his smile never faltering.
“And do make sure to document any alcohol on his breath. For HR purposes, you understand.”
“You son of a bitch,” Richard snarls. “Iris—”
“Is under our protection,” Jake cuts him off smoothly, his voice still mild but carrying an undertone that makes even me want to step back.
“And if you attempt to harass her during work hours again, or show up intoxicated, well...” He shrugs with theatrical regret.
“Let’s just say I have a very creative imagination when it comes to handling employment law violations. ”
Two security guards emerge from the elevator, and Richard’s bluster deflates slightly as he realizes he’s outnumbered.
“This isn’t over,” he repeats, but there’s less conviction in it now.
“I’m afraid it is,” Jake says with exaggerated concern. “At least the professional portion of your relationship. What happens at home is between you two. But here?” His smile turns razor-sharp. “Here, she’s mine to protect.”
As the security guards escort Richard toward the elevator, he shoots one last look at Iris. “We live together. You can’t avoid me forever.” The words make Iris flinch with embarrassment, and Eve immediately moves to her side, her face still dark with anger.
“Are you okay?” Eve asks quietly, her voice tight with controlled fury.