“Shh. That was Grayson who called.” She scooted her chair over to her friend’s desk. Since they both dealt with accounting—whether it be money or inventory—no one would suspect they were trying to find the skeletons in the Harrison Industries’ closet. It was by pure luck that they both worked the same shift. Most people balked at working Sundays. She wished her boss, Doug Peterson, had opted out of the weekend duty, but they were paid a little extra for that shift.
“What did Grayson want? To ask you out on a real date?” Jenna winked.
“No. I told you, things are strictly professional between us.”
“Sure they are—until they aren’t.”
“Fine. Until they aren’t. In this case, Grayson told me about something he found.” As quietly as possible, Paris explained about the metal door in the ground. “He wanted to know if maybe it was an escape route in case of fire.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I would ask if you knew anything about it since I don’t.”
Jenna sucked on her bottom lip, and then pretended to look at her computer. They both understood what was at stake if anyone caught wind of their distrust of the company. “I’ve never heard mention of it. What do you think it means?” she said pretending to study something on the screen.
Paris shrugged. “It might be an escape route to the outside in case our esteemed leader is caught doing something he shouldn’t.”
Jenna looked up. “I hope your men station someone outside in case he tries to escape.”
“Maybe they will.” Paris pushed back her chair. She didn’t need people to ask what they were discussing.
She’d just returned to her desk when someone she didn’t recognize came up to her. “Paris Mansfield?”
That sounded ominous. “Yes?”
“Can you come with me, please?” The woman had her blonde streaked hair in a tight bun and wore way too much makeup. While she was wearing the Harrison Industries’ uniform shirt, she had on a short skirt and very high heels. It was a strange look.
“Where are we going?”
“To see Mr. Delancey.”
Her heart nearly stopped. “Me? Why?” And on a Sunday no less. Who knew he worked on the weekend?
“I don’t know. He just asked to speak with you. Now.”
It wasn’t as if Paris could tell the woman to go to hell. That would result in her losing a job, and then Paris might never be able to prove the man was scum. She stood. “Lead the way.”
CHAPTEREIGHT
As she headedto Richard Delancey’s office, Paris’ mind raced. What could he want to discuss with her? He’d never met her, and Paris hadn’t been with the company long enough to deserve a promotion.
As she followed the woman, Paris made note of as much as she could—from the number of employees in this off-limits area, the number of offices, and the type of activities being conducted. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, not that she believed she’d see wrapped cocaine packages stacked against the wall.
The woman knocked on the man’s door. When he said come in, Paris had to draw on every ounce of courage she ever possessed to move. The only way to get through this was to tell herself that he was some random nice man.
Okay, that was a stretch—a big one.
The woman opened the door and motioned Paris inside. It almost felt as if she was walking to her execution. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
It took all of her effort to add that bit of civility.
“Yes. Please have a seat.”
Paris had to move closer to him, something she was loathe to do. The man was dressed in a well-fitted, blue silk suit with a red tie. His slightly graying hair looked freshly cut, and he was manscaped from his eyebrows to his nails. So not her type.
Paris sat down. Maintaining her posture, she waited for him to start.
“Doug Peterson came to me saying you had concerns about some discrepancies in the inventory. I find that very troubling. We need to know where every drug is and where it is going. We can’t afford to lose track of even one item. What can you tell me?”