The Stranger I Know (Dark Romance) (3 page)

He laughs and tosses his head back, making sure everyone in the entire shop can hear us. I look around to see if anyone important is lingering in a booth or couch. When I look at him again, he's regained his composure, but still has his arm swung back behind the chair. He looks like a teenager. "I can say whatever I want, Ms. Stone, because my company
is
acquiring yours. I don't know where you've been getting your information, but it's dead wrong. Stop bullshitting me."

"I'm not. We're moving through with the merger. Whoever is telling you that it's an acquisition is..." I bite my tongue for a moment. It throbs. "Misinformed."

"You weren't going to say misinformed, were you?"

I shake my head. I have the upper hand, don't I? I'm the one with the file on him. The shredded and reconstructed resume. I smile a little, which he responds to. He must think I'm agreeing with him. "I can tell this was a useless meeting. I should have known that daddy's boy would still be getting spanked for his bad behavior. Am I right? How else would someone go from delivery room busboy to executive in under a year? I just didn't know he was hiring out the help now."

His expression transforms in an instant. His cheer vanishes and is replaced with a fury. He slams his fist on the table and spills his paper cup, the hot liquid pooling and pouring off the edge of the table. He runs his hands through his hair and tidies it up, locking his jaw and staring at the barista. Like he's waiting for them to come clean it up. No... like he's waiting for them to yell at him, so he can
really
explode.

I'm not buying it. "A temper, too? Look at you. A fucking mess." I stand up and pull my jacket back on. I leave the mug and gather my purse. "It's time for me to get to actual work, and stop screwing around with children."

As I slide past him, he grabs my wrist and stops me. I pull without a thought, but he only digs his fingers into my tendons even more. I wince as his gaze slowly runs up my arm and reaches my eyes. "So, you do feel emotion?"

"Let go of me!"

My wrist is in his control. I try and keep myself calm, but the sight of warm red pooling in my upturned palm makes my stomach weak. "You call me a child? I know you were burning yourself every time you drank that coffee. Knowing where and how I take my coffee is one thing, but bringing up bullshit about a dead man is another. Your company is toast," he says. "I expected more of you, Marcy."

His voice wavers as it hits my name, and he releases his grip on me. I coddle my injury and stare at it. It's light, more like a cat scratch than anything. There's hardly any blood. Was I imagining that?

"You'll live," he says, while turning away from me and back to the table. I shake my head. My feet won't move. "Your company will be mine. I don't care what your superiors think is going to happen. That isn't the truth of it. When I go inside your building, the whole place will be mine."

I rub my wrist absentmindedly. When I notice, I cover it with my sleeve again. "Then I'll have to make sure you don't step a fucking foot inside the place."

"You'll try."

I shake my head. "When you're ready to discuss this like adults, you have my information. Obviously." I turn and head out the door, nearly bashing the glass with my feet as I kick it open. I could just destroy it, couldn't I? Shatter it all and pick up a shard of glass, run back inside, and stab it into his fucking neck. How dare he grab me like that. How dare he touch me at all.

But I can't. My heart isn't racing from anger. I'm too turned on to be angry. I hike back through the streets to my office. I feel like I'm holding my breath the entire time until I finally reach the inside of the elevator. Halfway up to my floor, I slam the button to stop it.

I crumple down in the corner, only barely using the rails to keep my knees from touching the ground. A dress skirt in this weather is insane, even if I am wearing thick leggings. I pull up my jacket sleeve and stare at where he grabbed me. It feels like there should be electrical burns in my skin.

The whole time he dug his nails into me, I just... wanted to scream for more.

Maybe my weekly meetings with the Stranger are having more of an affect on me than I thought. Being empowered is one thing... but crippled at the touch of another man? What's the use of my power then?

I groan and shake my head, trying to replay the whole moment back in my head. Did his eyes twinkle? Did he like it, too?

He couldn't have.

I regain my composure and release the elevator again. It jolts back to life. It finishes the ascent to the top floor, and I step out of the double doors just as they slide open for me.

James Pierce is a problem. One that I will handle.

The Stranger is another, who I will deal with when I meet him again this weekend. Some things are going to have to change though, if it's just going to get all my wires crossed like this.

I can't have that happening. Not when my job, my life, and my lifestyle ride on it all.

***

G
wen perks up when she sees me and smiles. "Marcy! Didn't you hear me when you were leaving?"

I shake my head, still flustered. I can't tell if my cheeks are burning from the cold or from my shame. "I didn't."

"I was trying to tell you we just got some information from Capital Inc, they're going public with our bid amount for the merger." She swivels her computer monitor to show me and highlights a headline for me. CAPITAL INC, TO AQUIRE HOLLET-EAST.

I lean in closer and skim the rest of the article. Turns out James Pierce not only blabbed to the reporters that he was buying us out, but made it official. It had everything, the pitiful bid offer we sent them and their reply. He claimed he was going to take over our little shack and turn it into a mall.

I close my eyes and try to breathe, but I can feel Gwen's gaze on me. She's waiting for my reaction. That's the last thing I want her to see. "Thank you, Gwen." I say through my teeth. Like a wooden doll, I make it to the corner of the floor and manage to unlock my office. I fall inside and shut the door.

I lie on the floor and stare under the crack of the door for footsteps. I can't believe this shit. If I thought I made a fool out of myself back there in the cafe, I've only just found the tip of the iceberg.

The article mentioned me. That I was the reason Hollet-East was getting purchased. The timestamp was right after I got off the phone with him. Just before I left for the coffee shop.

I'll destroy him. It's the only thing I can do now.

Even if it means destroying myself to make it happen. It doesn't matter anymore. He won't undo years of work. The years and years of work I've put into gaining this position. The work into perfecting my stare, my bargaining, my cold shoulder. If I don't have any of that, then I have nothing.

Except the Stranger. He might be the only one who can actually help me. I might have to try and move our next meeting a bit closer. He's the only one who can tease this stress out of my muscles. The kind of stress that creates knots at your temples and knives in your back. He's the only one who can actually unlock the shackles that keep my feet bound together and my wrists stuck behind my neck.

I gulp as a pair of slick black shoes walk past my office. My light is off, no one could know that I'm in here unless Gwen told them, so no one should try coming in. The feet come closer to the door and there's a sigh.

A note is slipped under the door.

It's pink.

I reach out and snatch it with my fingers and pull it closer. Am I fired? Is this really how it goes down? Just a note without a knock or a 'see you later' or 'I'm so sorry'?

I stare at it. It isn't a release of work slip. It's a note from the mailroom to come pick up a package. Looking at it closer now, it isn't even pink. It's more of an orange. My office might be a little too dark.

Standing up from the floor, I brush myself off. The sun has lifted over the blinds and streams in flat lines of light across the wall. I walk over and pull the blinds open, letting the shadows vanish. The sun almost feels warm. I can't let this whole deal with James get to me. I need to be proactive.

Men like him were what stood in my way in the beginning, and I won't let them stand in my way at the end of my career either.

***

D
own in the mailroom, I tap my fingers on the receptionist's desk. Even the mail has assistants. After a bit of time, a stressed out woman with wavy hair and dark lines under her eyes appears through the small doorway. She registers my presence, but doesn't say anything as she sits down at the chair at the counter.

"I have this," I say, pushing the slip across the laminate desk. "Someone slid it under my door. I have a mail slot."

"Oh," she looks at me and suddenly away. Do I intimidate her? "I'm sorry, that was my fault. I'm... new."

"What happened to Eric?"

"He quit," she says. She takes the slip and pulls it down to her level on the desk. "Looks like it was too big to go in your slot, that's what it was." Her fingers search along the keyboard, finding the right letters, and tapping them one at a time. Her name tag is attached to a lanyard around her neck. Her sweater looks worn and is peeling, and her slacks are a little loose. The belt too cinched to really be of any help. She must be in her mid thirties.

Is that what I'll look like? If James gets his way and his employers get theirs?

I lean forward and try to relax a little. I finally read her name-tag: Stephanie. I don't need to be taking out my frustration with James out on her. I sigh and try to meet her eyes, but her worried look is too deeply etched, her focus too drawn in to notice.

She nods and stands up from the desk. The chair rolls back a bit, and she turns around to dive into the back room. After a few minutes, she emerges with a small parcel in hand. "Here you are," she begins, and then looks at the slip.

"Ms. Stone. It's fine. Thank you, Stephanie." She watches me as I take the package from her outstretched hands. I give her a slight smile and nod and head back up to my office.

***

A
fter shutting the door behind me, I step into my office and drop the package on the desk before slumping down in my chair. I eye it suspiciously. The return address is some PO box, and the handwriting is cursive. Not cursive like a woman's though. It has a harder edge to it. The box is a rough cube and about half my forearm wide.

I poke at it before grabbing my letter opener and slicing into the tape that holds it together. The paper splits and tears as I destroy the address label and tape. With the box unsealed, I peel open the flaps and reveal packing paper. I fish my hand in and find something soft and silken. I pull on it and a black sheet comes out, and keeps coming out.

It's a blindfold. Black, silken and somehow rough to the touch on one side, it's about six feet long. I drape it between my hands and stare at it. Who the hell sent me this? Who do I need to get fucking fired?

I only recognize it as a blindfold because of the Stranger though. Honestly, it almost just looks like a soft scarf or something, but I don't know anyone who wears completely black scarves. Scarves that look a little like lingerie you can't even see through.

The box falls to the floor and I ignore it. The blindfold has stolen all of my thoughts from me. James Pierce, who's he? Stephanie? Who cares?

I feel a throb of heat pulsate through my body, the beginning of that ache that never ends. The same one that draws me back to that hotel room every week. A calling for release. I shake my head and roll up the blindfold before stowing it away in my desk. My face burns with anger and embarrassment.

The only person who could have sent that to me was the Stranger, but that doesn't seem right. He said we'd never interact outside of the hotel. That we would stay anonymous. That's why I told him my name was 'Eve'.

I rest my forehead on my open palm and try to think. If he knows where I work, what else does he know?

I mean... I know he knew what I looked like. But I left my id in my car. I left anything identifying in my car. The only way he could have found out is if he caught me leaving and looked up my license plate. Someone with that kind of connection is... terrifying. And alluring. Who could they really be? Do I want to find out, or let the suspense build? Do I reply now, or bring the blindfold this weekend?

No. I have to act now. I wasn't raised to wait for anything.

My heart is racing. I can't let this affect me. I can't even let him know that it bothers me. What if that scares him away? For all I know, this is a game. An invitation to try and bring that kind of freedom into my normal life. That might be the only thing that'll keep me sane during this circus with Capital Inc.

I pick up the box again and push the flaps together. The return address is a generic PO box, but it's something. I scribble it down on a piece of loose paper and think of what I can send back to get
his
heart pumping.

Without seeing him, I'll have to rely on the same thing he did to me. An item of interest.

I gather the shipping paper from the floor and consider carefully what I can send him. After some thought, I rise from my chair and shut the blinds again. I start peeling my clothes off until I'm nearly nude. This'll have to do. I peel off my panties, wet with dark thoughts, and fold them up like fresh laundry. Red and white stripes.

I place them on the bottom of the box and shove all the paper back in. I get dressed again, only comfortable by virtue that what I'm going to send through the mail will be my dirty little secret.

The bottom drawer of my oak desk has sheets of labels. I peel one off and place it over the old one. I write out the Return Address, and add my office address. It isn't like he doesn't already know it.

Actually. I peel another label off and place it atop mine. I'll use my PO box, too. I don't want someone getting interested in my mail all of a sudden.

As I seal the box up and get it ready to take down to the mailroom, I recline my chair and prop my feet on my desk. If anyone came in, they'd get an eyeful. I don't care. For a few blissful minutes, my mind wasn't racing with stress, but excitement.