Possessed By You (Overworld Underground Book 1) (11 page)

The moment the doors closed, I let out a long breath. A group of people from sales walked around the corner, huddled together like frightened sheep, their eyes glued to the closed lift doors.

"Son of a bitch," Kevin said.

"Let's give him a few minutes," said a woman. "I don't want to bump into him when we go for lunch."

The others in the group nodded.

"Is this what he was like before?" Horror gripped me with cold fingers.

"It's Jones one point oh," said one of the other guys. "Complete and utter asshole."

"Can we hit him on the head again?" asked the woman. She pressed the lift button and sighed. "I'll bet he's gonna take our flex time away too."

"Did you get your presentation done?" I asked Kevin.

He nodded. "I already had it in another program, so it was easy to copy the charts. When I told him it was ready, he didn't even seem to care."

The lift arrived and the huddled mass of sales people got on, faces sad, and hearts obviously heavy at the current state of their boss.

The day crawled past like a dying animal. Every time I saw Thomas, my heart caught in my throat, but by the end of the day, it was clear he was just Mr. Jones to me. Whatever spark had been between us over the past two days was gone, snuffed out overnight. I tried not to brood, but a part of me felt like I'd just lost my best friend. Like all the magic in the world had just vanished.

Isabel greeted me at home with a fresh pot of her Cajun chili. Despite her Chinese roots, she'd been raised in southern Louisiana and knew how to cook a meal, even if she rarely bothered.

"Date night, girl!" she chirped, waving her arm at a kitchen table set with wine glasses and the chili. "Just you and me."

It took every ounce of will to move my lips into a smile. And then I burst into tears.

Isabel's arms wrapped around me in a fierce hug. "What did that bastard do to you, Em? I will fuck him up if he hurt you."

I tried to talk, but sobs wracked my body. "T-t-t-tissue."

She grabbed a box. Held one out to me.

After a few minutes, I finally composed myself, despite a few aftershock sobs and tears. "He didn't hurt me, really." I blew my nose, trying to figure out how in the hell I could explain things to her. Nothing made sense. I finally decided to just blurt it all out and hope she might see something I'd missed. "And he doesn't even seem like the same person." Retelling the story made me burst into fresh tears.

"What in the hell?" Isabel said, her face screwed up in confusion. "A little bump on the head?"

I nodded. "With an itty-bitty bandage."

She stood and paced, a wine glass in her hand. "So the guy goes on vacay, comes back a changed man." She stopped and looked at me. "A very nice and cool guy. But some FBI-looking types are after him for some reason. Maybe he did something on vacation, and it took all this time for them to catch up."

I shrugged. "Why did they let him go, then?"

"Yeah, you're right. It doesn't make sense." She took a sip of wine, paced for a moment. "And he said they weren't with law enforcement?"

I nodded, walked across the room to get a glass of wine for myself. It was becoming a terrible habit. "Damned men," I snarled. "Not worth it. Not worth the pain or the bloody weight gain." As my voice slipped into its natural state, I remembered Thomas telling me how much he loved my accent. Moisture pooled in my eyes, and the room vanished in a blur of hot tears.

Isabel laughed. "Oh, Emily, aren't they just terrible?" She sighed. "And I can't get enough of them."

"I wish I could just use them like you," I said. "Throw them away and not get attached." I cleared my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Is that what you think I do?" Isabel said, her forehead pinched into a sad look. "I—I don't do that."

"Yes, it is," I said. "Are you dating the guy you slept with last night? Or the one from a week ago? Have you dated a guy for more than a month since university?" I wasn't trying to be mean. I was just pointing out the simple truth.

Her olive skin flushed and she jerked straight. "Yes. I have." Her voice went cold, and her blue eyes flashed. "And you know I have." She wiped at her eyes. Grabbed a bowl of chili off the table along with the wine bottle. Stormed into her room and slammed the door.

I stared at the closed door, my entire body shaking with—with what? It felt like grief. But deep down below the surface I felt boiling anger. I
hated
men. Ever since—
him
. My teeth clenched tight to the point of pain. They were all dicks on legs. Assholes. Why had I let myself feel anything for Thomas?

Because he gave you no choice
.

No. I always had a choice. I took a gulp of wine. Stared at the glass, and dumped the rest out into the sink. I would not let men control me. I would not let my foolish emotions rule me. I sure as hell wasn't about to let this drive me to alcoholism. I was going to be strong. I'd done it before, and I'd do it again. This was nothing compared to what Peter had done to me.

I ate a bowl of chili, savoring the sting as it burned my tongue. Wishing I could boil Mr. Jones in a pot and feed him to hungry dogs. What if this was all some ploy, some elaborate act on his part to be rid of me? But if it was, why hadn't he slept with me first? What man in his right mind would pass up getting laid before breaking a girl's heart? Thomas Jones was certainly going through a lot of trouble to cover his tracks with me. Amnesia and personality alteration were not easy to fake.

Just thinking back to the night before—how parts of me had tingled like never before, how happy I'd been. How much fun I'd had dancing. Kissing. Looking forward to feeling his body on top of mine. Despite his outward appearance, he'd seemed larger than life. But why? For God's sake, he was handsome, but not amazingly so. What in the hell was wrong with me? I thought about how he'd looked today. Smaller, duller, a pale shadow of the exciting man who'd swept me off my feet only hours before.

I suddenly wished to have the wine back.

You're acting like a baby
.
Instead of pouting, you should get up and do something about it. Fix him!

I jerked to my feet and stared blankly. "Fix him." Was it possible? It had to be. The feelings he'd woken in me were too strong to forget. If I was honest with myself, I'd never felt that way about a guy, not even
him
. Even if I had to knock him over the head with a shovel, I was going to make Mr. Jones turn back into Thomas. A little growl emerged from the back of my throat, startling me.

After brushing my teeth and preparing for bed, I stopped outside Isabel's door. I heard the telly buzzing inside, and raised my knuckles. But I couldn't bring myself to knock. Part of it was foolish pride, I had to admit, but the other part was the anger. I still felt right about what I'd said to her. We'd both been virgins in high school. We'd sworn to stay that way until marriage.

Isabel had been the first to break our social contract. I hadn't blamed her, I really hadn't. She was in love. Young, stupid, foolish love. I wondered if love ever stopped being foolish. Instead of knocking, I went into my room and closed the door. Set my alarm and tried to sleep. Without a drunken haze to soothe me, my mind raced over plans for fixing Mr. Jones.

I thought of everything from taking him to the dance studio for more lessons, to taking a paperweight and hitting him right on the bandage with it. But if what we'd had was really magical, shouldn't the mere sight of me bring his memories back from the grave? Thinking about that made me angry and sad. Before long, I was crying into my pillow. I didn't want to feel powerless. I wanted to feel like I could change him, put him back together again. But another part of me told me I couldn't.

Just do it!

I couldn't live with the pain of not trying. Of not knowing.

Ready or not, Mr. Jones, here I come.

Chapter 10

George Walker stood in his favorite spot the next morning. Somehow, I knew he had something to do with Thomas's new attitude.

I stormed up to him and jabbed a finger in his face. "What did you do to Thomas Jones? Did you wipe his mind?"

He held up his hands defensively. "Now, now, Miss Glass."

I jumped back a step. I'd never given him my name. "How do you know my—"
Duh, he's with the government.
"Never mind. Were those your men chasing Thomas the other night?"

He looked slightly puzzled at the question. "No. We have no interest in your boss."

"Were you spying on us at the dance studio?"

Once again, George shook his head. "I'd planned to ask for your help, but you were obviously quite busy."

I didn't believe him for a moment.

I reached inside my purse and gripped the stun gun. Perhaps if I knocked him out and dragged him into an alley I could force some answers from him. For all I knew, he planned to wipe my memories as he had Thomas's.

George looked at the purse. "It won't work on me, Miss Glass."

"What won't?" I gave him an innocent look.

He smiled. "The stun—"

I lunged at him with the stunner and caught him right on the hem of his collar. He didn't even flinch as jagged electricity surged between the prongs. The stun gun fell from my limp fingers and clattered on the sidewalk. I stepped back, eyes widening with surprise.

George leaned down and picked up the stun gun. He stepped forward and dropped it into my purse. "As I was saying, it won't work." He sighed. "Let me tell you why I'm really here. You possess an ability that would be very useful to us."

My eyelids fluttered as I attempted to regain my senses. "An ability?"

He nodded. "The sensations you feel when certain individuals are near you."

"It's just intuition."

He shook his head. "We believe it's more than that. If you work with us, we could help you develop it."

"Bollocks." I shoved past him. "Go to hell, George, or whatever your real name may be."

He didn't try to stop me. "We'll be in touch, Miss Glass."

I didn't bother to respond. I had far bigger items on my agenda today. I had to fix whatever the government had done to Thomas.

I arrived at work and hurried through my morning chores as quickly as possible so I could greet Mr. Jones the moment he stepped off the lift. As I stood watching and waiting, my hands trembled and a chill prickled my skin as if a ghost was dancing through my body.

I rehearsed my lines again. I'd gone down to the coffee shop and grabbed his newspaper and coffee. I would hand them to him while saying, "Did you ever get the coffee stains out of your shirt when I ran into you the other day?"

And in my fantasy world, he would stop, his lovely green eyes going wide, and say, "Emily? My God, Emily! I remember!" We'd skip work, go dancing, and he would dazzle me with a heretofore-unmentioned ability to play classic guitar and sing in Italian.

The lift dinged.

I flinched. Grabbed his coffee and paper.

The doors opened and Mr. Jones stepped out.

Nearly tripping over my own feet, I rounded the desk, holding them out. "Did you—"

He waved a dismissive hand at me, pointed to the wireless earpiece in his ear, and said, "Look, I was obviously out of my mind when I bought the stupid vehicle. You can't bind me to a contract when I was crazy."

I held out the coffee and paper to him. He gave them a confused look, holding up a plain Styrofoam cup with a lid on it, and walked into the executive wing while cursing at whoever was on the other end of the line.

My lower lip trembled, and hot tears pooled as I stared down the hall after him. The lift dinged, and a crowd of salespeople got off, talking, laughing, and enjoying this dismal morning straight from the backside of hell.

"You okay?" Jack asked, lingering behind the crowd.

Biting down hard, I was able to get the tremble under control and nodded. "I bit my tongue."

"Ouch! Yeah that'd bring tears to my eyes too."

I smiled the best I could and nodded. "Would you like some coffee and a newspaper?"

He glanced at the shunned items. "I sense a story hiding behind this somewhere."

A half-laugh, half-sob burst from me, and I had to bite my lip to keep from bursting into hysterics. "Mr. Jones apparently no longer wants his daily coffee or paper."

"Ah, I see." He picked up the coffee and sniffed it. "Well, smells better than the—" he broke off and gave an apologetic grin.

"Oh, you can say it," I said. "Anything is probably better than the cheap coffee I make in the break room. I don't care if you despise it."

"Something else is bothering you," he said, his forehead wrinkling. "Want to talk about it?"

The lift dinged and a short, pudgy man with thick glasses got off. "Somers, what the hell are you doing up here chit-chatting? In case you forgot, today is the deadline for the code review."

"Sorry Mr. Hinkle." Jack grabbed the coffee but left the newspaper. "Want to do lunch?" he said in a low voice as he leaned forward.

"Oh, I don't know."

"Just say yes. It's easier than coming up with an excuse."

"Yes?"

He chuckled and nodded. "I'll pick you up at noon."

As he went down the hall trailing behind the dwarf-like Mr. Hinkle, someone cleared their voice behind me. I turned and saw Thomas—Mr. Jones—standing there.

"Perhaps you can explain what you were doing with the coffee and newspaper," he said, lips flat.

"Sandra told me you wanted that coffee and newspaper each morning, so I went down the street—"

"Let's get something straight, young lady. I do
not
drink that fancy crap they charge five bucks a cup for, and I stopped reading paper versions of the news when I got a smartphone." He held up a phone with a large screen. "So you will no longer have to fetch those items for me."

I toyed with the idea of skipping the other parts of my plan and going straight to hitting him over the head with the paperweight, but common sense told me that wouldn't be the brightest of ideas. "Did you ever get the coffee stains out of your shirt?"