Tricks (Take It Off #6)(18)
Author: Cambria Hebert

I took a breath, reigning in my extreme temper. “So I’m not fired?”

“Of course not! We would never fire one of the most bright, young, and promising men at this firm.”

Uh-huh.

And mother’s liked watching their sons go off to war.

“What happened yesterday? It’s not like you to not show up. To not call. Is something wrong? Is Charlotte okay?”

My back teeth slammed together. I did not like hearing Charlotte’s name on this scum’s lips.

“Charlotte is fine,” I said, short. “I had a bit of an accident.”

“Oh?” he said. The sweat on his forehead was much more pronounced now.

“Someone ran my car off the road,” I said, watching him very carefully.

His eyes widened and his lips parted. It was a good impression of being surprised. “My God! You weren’t hurt?”

“No, but my car was totaled. It was quite a mess to clean up,” I said, flat. “And my phone was destroyed so I couldn’t call in. I’m sure you’ll understand.” I looked directly into his eyes, not backing down, not so much as glancing away.

“Of course, of course.” He came around the desk and motioned to my office. “So glad you’re okay.”

I almost laughed. I considered picking up the stapler on the end of the desk and hitting him upside the head with it. I considered confronting him here and now about his dirty, underhanded dealings.

But I didn’t.

I needed to control myself.

Self-control wasn’t something I was good at.

“Was there something you needed?” I said, changing the subject abruptly. I wanted to keep him on his toes.

“Excuse me?”

“You were going through my desk. Is there something that you needed? A file? A phone number?” A flash drive.

“Oh, yes,” he said, his eyes darting around. “I was looking for the Matthews account file.”

“It was likely in my car the other night. Nothing was salvageable.”

His face paled. “You’re very lucky to have not been hurt.”

“Oh, I don’t know about luck,” I said, walking around and taking a seat in the black chair behind my desk. After getting comfortable, I glanced up. “I’d call it more divine intervention.”

“You would?”

“It’s not my time to die. There are still some things here on Earth that I need to do.” I enjoyed the ominous undertone to my words. I hoped he understood exactly what I was saying.

I’m coming for you, fucker.

“Well, we’re certainly glad to have you back, Maxwell,” he said, turning to leave.

“Mr. Wallace,” I called and he turned back. Thank God the Feds made me learn some of the names of people who worked here (or rather the suspects).

“I’ll get another copy of that file you were looking for and get that over to you ASAP.”

“The file?” he said, like he had no clue what I was talking about.

“The Matthews file?” I said like it was obvious.

Idiot.

“Oh, yes. Please get that to me. I need it right away.”

“I’ll just get the info off my flash drive here and print it out.” I patted my briefcase as he walked away.

My words halted his steps.

He turned to look at me.

“What did you say?”

“I said the information you were looking for is on my flash drive.”

Our eyes locked.

In the moments that passed, we both knew exactly what we were talking about.

“You son of a bitch,” he breathed out.

I smiled.

It was a real smile. The smile of a predator. “Something wrong, Mr. Wallace?” I asked innocently.

His face flushed and he took a step forward. I couldn’t wait to hear the threat he was about to let loose. It made me wish I was wearing a wire.

Before he could speak, someone walked into my office behind him. It was a man of about sixty with gray hair and a crisp suit.

“What’s going on—” His words halted.

He looked at me.

He looked at Mr. Wallace. His son.

Mr. Wallace Sr. was the driving force behind this company. He had been at the helm for almost thirty years. In the past five years, his son, Johnathan Wallace (the little puke I wanted to punch), had come aboard and that’s when the money laundering, the fraud, and the espionage began to take place. Or so the FBI told me.

Looking at the two lizards now, I would surmise the Feds were right.

“Maxwell,” Wallace Sr. said, “we were concerned about you.”

I smiled and leaned back in my seat. “I was just telling your son here that everything was fine.”

Wallace Sr. looked at Wallace Jr. They exchanged a silent word.

“Wonderful!” Wallace Sr. said.

“If either of you need anything I’ll be in my office all day, catching up.”

“Well, then.” Wallace Sr. began. “Have a great day.”

I watched them leave the room and then got up to shut my office door. Before I did, I watched the two men walk into a large corner office and shut the door.

I smiled.

They were likely calling up their hit men right now and demanding to know why I was still breathing.

I chuckled and shut the door to my tiny office. The walls were bare and it was literally shaped like a box. It made me feel claustrophobic. I couldn’t understand how Max spent so much time in here.

I didn’t have to understand. I just had to do what I came here to do.

Judging from the look on Wallace Jr.’s face, he hadn’t found the flash drive. Which meant I still had time to get to it first.

I yanked off the navy suit jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. Then I rolled up the sleeves of my white dress shirt and got to searching.

12

Charlotte

The hours in today seemed endless. As if this were some twisted form of Groundhog Day and I was doomed to live this day for all eternity.

Or maybe I just needed to take off these stupid heels.

Heels were like acceptable modern day torture for women. What was worse is that women everywhere actually paid for it. But nothing quite complimented a pair of legs like a hot pair of heels.

It was dark and I was exhausted so I hailed a cab once I left the restaurant and sank into the back of the yellow car, trying to ignore the pungent smell of onions. My stomach lurched. It reminded me of the man in my apartment.

The cabbie took off, veering wildly down the street and swerving around some walking bystanders who started yelling at his insane driving. I didn’t even blink. All the cabbies in NYC drove like this. I used to pray every time I got in the back of one. Now I barely noticed. One time my driver actually hit a pedestrian on a bike. He didn’t stop. In fact, he started muttering in some language I couldn’t understand.