The Stranger I Know (Dark Romance) (2 page)

I need to be at work tomorrow at five am. That is, if I don't want Stacie trying to take over the merger deal. I told her I would handle it, it's what Michael assigned me. She is fresh meat in the company, but is moving up quickly. I hate it. It only reminds me of how slowly I worked my way up. She's popping her breasts out at any chance she gets and making strides. Meanwhile, I'm fighting tooth-and-nail to keep vultures like her off my back. Why hasn't anyone pulled her aside and yelled at her for fucking her way to the top?

I'll handle the deal, and I'll become a fixture in the company. Not her.

If I could just get this swelling down.

I
wake up and shove the blankets away from me in a hurry. I learned to stop lingering long ago. Flipping the light on in the bathroom, I stare into the mirror and scrub the facial mask off. I peel away the layers and let them fall like the unwanted husk of a snake's skin. Rejuvenated, is what I would say. Since the bottle says the same thing, mostly.

I apply my make up and dress. I step outside my apartment and brace myself against the chilling winds. The dark sky is overbearing, like a suffocating presence working along with the winter to try and make sure spring can't ever come back.

The stranger's spanking still stings a little, and I find myself constantly scratching the bruise. I almost look like I'm fidgeting, which is better than people knowing what I'm actually doing.

I back my car out of the garage and head back downtown, to my office.

On the way, like always, I'll pass the same hotel that the stranger and I meet at. I'll stare at it longingly, wishing I didn't have to work but could stay up in that room. Where time is frozen and there is no work to do for the day.

Sometimes the light from the room we use will be on, and I'll curse whoever is in there. Like I own it, I wonder.

***

I
walk inside and take the elevator of the Hollet-East building to the top floor. The most expensive, but also the most luxurious. I guess if you get your name on the building, you can choose any floor you want to use.

Few others are here this early. Notably, Stacie — who looks pissy — and Gwyneth, our accountant.

"Hello Marcy," Gwen says to me as I walk past her desk. I stop and stare down at her work and then snap my head to look at her. She's always been kind to me, never turning her nose up or asking me stupid questions. I appreciate how much she respects my time.

"Good morning," I reply. I start to walk away, but hesitate and decide to shoot her a question. "Is it possible to buy a hotel room?"

She has a light laugh, one that you'd think could only come from someone at a birthday party. "What kind of question is that?" Gwen says. She thumbs through a couple of the papers on her desk, absentmindedly, I assume. "I'm sure you can, for the right price. But why would you want to?" She swivels her chair around to face me.

"No reason," I chuckle a little. "I just thought about it this morning."

"Wouldn't you rather have a condo?" Gwen asks, loudly. Enough that Stacie can hear. I avert my gaze just as Stacie pops her head above her cubicle wall and toward us.

"A condo?" she asks. "Who's getting a condo?"

"No one, Stacie," I sigh. Stacie frowns. I nod to Gwen who just gives me a smirk, and I walk toward the corner office that I call my own.

I shut the door and flip the blinds closed. Thank God.

I drop my bag on the guest chair and slump into my office chair. My desk is neatly organized, which makes it easy to start looking over what I need to do to make this merger happen. Hollet-East started looking into buying out a rising competitor in our industry, a company with vague name; Capital Inc. Whoever supplied the value of Capital Inc was horrifically misinformed. Our offer ended up being an extremely insulting lowball. With egos on the line and Capital Inc threatening to put us under, I have to fix it. However that will work.

The last time Gwen dug up some information for me, she pulled a file for a man named James Pierce. According to the paperwork, he took over for their board as CEO. Apparently his father used to own the company, and he only recently stepped up to take that position of power. Some photos and documents are littered in the folder, and some hand-written numbers I can't make sense of. Other than that, there isn't a whole lot.

With the bid shot down and potential embarrassment on my company's hands, I am going to try and strike up merger suggestion. If I can persuade an executive in their company, it'll be that much easier to pull the idea in. Maybe.

That was always the hard part.

I thumb through the pages of the file. The corners are dog-eared and worn from use. It almost reads like a resume, but with... strange objective facts. Why would his jacket number and mailbox be listed?

A 42 jacket, and with the picture paper-clipped to the page, it isn't because he's fat. Muscular, I don't know how he manages the time. Dark hair, corporate cut, and a jawline that'd make any woman swoon.

I shake my head and set the picture down again. I need to dig in and find a common interest, or better, a weakness that I can take advantage of. A list of facts doesn't do much. Does he like something really embarrassing like ice skating? I'm sure his associates would love to find out about that. Or something really twisted, like snuff films.

I bite my pen and lean back in my chair a little bit, letting it strike the locking pin. The cold light coming in from behind me is all I need to see the file, and I hold it in my hands like a pulpy novel. He's definitely my type, tall, dark and kind of scary. But I can't let that interfere with my work. Fooling around has gotten a lot of people into trouble before, and I won't be like those idiots.

That doesn't mean I can't have a little fun though.

I drop the chair back down and lean forward to grab the phone. Before I can wrap my fingers around it, it starts ringing. I grimace and shove the receiver against my face hard enough to make my cheekbone hurt. "This is Marcy."

"You need to go meet with this James Pierce. Right now." It is the impatient voice of my boss. I didn't think he'd be in so early. I let a little sigh out under my breath, even though I'm tempted to let it air out right into the microphone. Pissing him off won't make my day any better. But it'd be awfully satisfying.

I nod, even though he can't see me. "What happened?" I let the pen I was fondling drop to the desk. It rolls a few inches toward me.

Michael grumbles over the line. "He's rattling off to reporters that his company is buying ours. We can't have that kind of crap going around. It could tank our stocks. Fix it."

"I'll handle it." I hang up the phone before he has the chance. The little thrill of satisfaction makes my heart race. I twist my chair around and stare out the window across the street at the other skyscrapers. They almost look ashamed to be in the presence of our building, with their downturned roofs filled with broken machinery. I wonder which one James Pierce works in? The smallest one? Maybe the one across from my office window?

Figures the first day back from my weekend and I already have to start running around acting like my head is cut off. I trace my finger along the edge of the candid photo someone took of Mr. Pierce leaving a coffee shop. His jaw is tight and his hair is flagged against the wind. His eyes are a color that would make ice shiver.

His phone number is probably one of the few important pieces of actual information that the file has on him.

I dial the number and wait for the connection to go through.

One ring. One beat.

The line comes to life. "James Pierce." His voice is smooth as stainless-steel. I'm caught off guard, but only for a second.

"Marceline Stone. I think you might have heard of me. I work with Hollet-East."

"Work with? Not for?" There's a scrape of paper or something across the line. He says something indistinct, as if he's turned his head away from his phone or covered the mouthpiece. "I can't say I have heard of you, Marceline." His voice grows louder as he returns his attention to our conversation, if you could call it that.

"Please," I chuckle a little. "Ms. Stone is fine."

I close his file and fume silently to myself. I can't tell if he's just being coy or if he really is that stupid. "I'm in charge of handling the merging of our companies. You were the man I could reach."

A breath, like he just stood up. "You mean, acquisition, right?" His voice is threatening, but has a hint of playfulness to it. I return with some of my own chill.

"I mean what I said, Mr. Pierce." I don't give him a chance to get a word in, "When do you want to meet? It sounds like you're getting a little ahead of yourself about this whole deal. A little out of bounds, if you understand." I recall the coffee shop in the picture. I flip open his folder again and catch myself trapped on his blue eyes, slightly averted and looking off frame. He didn't know he was being filmed. "How about the coffee shop... Java? Down on Seventh?"

"Ms. Stone," James says. "Have you been spying on me?"

"You'll be there in a half hour." I swallow air, trying my best to keep my voice from wavering. I can hear him grinning over the phone, his voice stretched by his own smugness. My chest burns and I don't know why.

"I'll be there," he finally answers. He hangs up the call before me.

I slam my receiver down into its cradle and cross my arms. My office feels suffocating all of a sudden, and I know I won't be able to wait a half hour. I have to get out right now. Get rid of this... nervous energy.

No one treats me like this. I stand up at once and wrestle my coat back on, before grabbing my purse and heading out the door of my office. I wave to Gwen as I leave. She tries to say something to me, but I don't catch it. I'm already descending inside the elevator.

I have a feeling dealing with James won't be like dealing with Doug from the last firm we took over. He was a complete pushover. A stutterer.

***

T
he wind has picked up and I squeeze my jacket tighter around my body. The belt attached at the waist can only cinch so much before it's choking me. My scalp hurts, the chill stiffening my hair and turning my bun into a snowball. Good. The less frayed my hair looks, the better.

The walk down to seventh street isn't far, but with the windchill and my thoughts racing like the swirls of litter and snow on the pavement, it feels like ages.

The streets are mostly empty of other pedestrians. The only people insane enough to be out in this weather don't have a choice.  The homeless and the cursed.

I'm one of them.

I reach the end of the block and twist on my heel to cross the street. The blue walk signal feels warm in comparison to how cold everything is outside. A side street and another block later, and I'm standing in front of Java.

I stare into the windows and don't see the familiar jaw or icy eyes that I expect. I huff a bit and step inside anyway. Escape from the cold is all I want right now.

I order a black coffee from the bored looking barista and take my place at the window. The windows are frosted with fake plastic decals, trying to simulate the chill that is as real as the steam coming out of my cup. I'm sure it looked okay a month ago. Now, it's November. Fall has fallen. I let the heat of the mug burn my palms. I tell myself they're just thawing, but I know better.

As I stare across the street and start counting the brickwork built into the facade of the consignment shop, a black limo pulls up in front of the cafe and blocks my view. I nearly stand to try and look over it, peeved that I lost count already. The color of the limo is black so dark it looks like winter hasn't touched it.

The driver steps out in a hurry and races to the back of the limo. I've never seen one in such a hurry. His hat tips back from his movement. Before he can reach the passenger's door though, it opens and a long leg steps out. A man's leg.

This must be him, who else would have such an entrance? I frown and lean down to breathe on my coffee. It's still too hot to drink. James Pierce steps out of the limo and waves the driver off, who looks flustered. They exchange some words that I can't hear. With the look on James' face, I'm sure it's about the driver looking like a fool.

James' eyes move from the driver to the window of the cafe. They stare straight through the frosted glass, fake and real, and into my eyes. I don't flinch. I sip my coffee and let it sear my throat. Bitter.

He pulls on the door and steps inside, letting a brief gust of wind pass by him before the door closes. He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he walks by and goes to the counter to order. I don't know if he's undressing me, or just trying to size me up. Either way, I'll have to make sure he doesn't forget who he's dealing with.

He returns with a cup of coffee, I assume, since it's hidden under a lid. He takes up a seat next to me, climbing onto the stool before shuffling off his jacket. His arms are larger than I thought they would be, but now I probably look like I'm undressing him.

"So, Ms. Stone," he says, that wry voice making my blood turn to ice. "What did we need to talk about exactly?"

I shove my hand over the table and wait for him to respond. He stares at me, a bit agape, before smiling and shaking my hand. I try to crush his hand, but he overpowers me. Usually the men give in immediately when they realize I don't have a fin for a hand. I cup my mug again, letting the heat soothe some of the pain. "It's a pleasure to meet you, James."

"Ms. Stone, you're much too kind. Even going so far as to bring me to my favorite coffee shop? Someone might think we're on a date."

I frown heavily. "We are not. I know what you're thinking... scheming even. It's bad enough you're spouting off to people that you're buying Hollet-East—"

"Who gives a shit?" he interrupts. He leans back and swings his arm around the back of his chair. I stare at him, not sure if I should scold him or avert my eyes. Did he just... fucking interrupt me? He raises a hand and gestures toward me. "Are you really taking yourself this seriously?"

I clear my throat and take another scalding sip. "This is serious. You're threatening both of our careers."