Divine's Emporium Read online

  "I always figured I should save my complaints for important things. Kind of like not crying wolf."

  "An executive who thinks about something besides his own advancement is a rare thing. Now, back to what I was saying. Miss August tells me that you sent her over here to apply for work."

  "Sir, at the time, I thought Miss August was a junior high boy, and I was thinking of that after-school position in the mailroom," Ken hurried to say.

  Myerhausen laughed, but it wasn't a nasty laugh. "And that, son, is exactly why I'm not worried you'll take advantage of her position as my secretary to gain undue influence over the inner sanctum. Unlike Felicia and Allistair and that whole ugly scene. I may be eighty-plus, but that doesn't mean my eyesight and my ears aren't as sharp as they always were." His smile got a little wider, and his eyes twinkled with humor.

  Ken settled back in his chair and let go of the armrests. "If you'll excuse me, sir, why did you call me in here? I was sure I was going to be called onto the carpet for some infraction I didn't realize I committed."

  "Hmm, and I suppose Allistair dropped hints all morning?" Myerhausen's smile cooled. "Some people rise to the level of their incompetence or their immaturity. Have you ever heard of the principle of giving someone enough rope to hang himself?"

  "Uh... Yes, sir."

  "Let me say, then, that I have complete confidence you will never hang yourself, son." That smile reappeared. "We'll soon partner with Flagstaff Promotions Manufacturing, and you have the difficult but key responsibility of being our liaison."

  "Sir?" Ken grinned, fairly sure that he had just been complimented, but part of his brain refused to accept it. Another part of him cringed. An image filled his head, of Allistair stepping in and taking the liaison role in a year, after Ken had done all the sweating and suffered all the headaches and ulcers. "Sir? Um... I thought-- That is, everybody already assumed Allistair--"

  "Mr. Somerville's opinion that his skills and intelligence are overwhelming is just that. His opinion. Which is neither accurate nor true. And don't worry about having this project taken away from you, once you've done all the hard work, laying the foundations. This project needs someone who can commit and stick with it, not flit from one golden opportunity to another. You've proven you're someone to be relied on for the long term, Ken. Stick with this, and I can guarantee that you'll have the position until you decide you don't want it anymore." He chuckled. "Or until we take on another tricky, valuable partnership that can only be trusted to someone like you."

  * * * *

  Maurice nodded in satisfaction. He liked Ken. All right, the guy had a little too much Dudley Do-Right in his blood, but anybody could see he was one-hundred-percent male when he talked to Jo. The guy had good taste, and Maurice was here to make sure the two got a chance for more than tasting.

  He vanished from the top bookshelf in Myerhausen's office, to reappear in the fern in the corner of the reception area, where he could watch over Jo's shoulder. That girl sure could type fast. An unpleasant jangling along his nerves warned of disaster approaching. Maurice muffled a few choice curses and flew over to the doorway to look down the hall. What did the Slime King want now? Besides getting his tentacles on Jo?

  Maurice hovered in the doorway, invisible, watching Allistair saunter down the hall, and considered making the fire extinguisher malfunction all over the intruder. He trusted Jo not to fall for the Slime King's lines, but she was just a little too nice and patient and didn't know how to tell him to get lost. The girl needed some rescuing.

  Maurice snickered as he got a brilliant idea. He flew across the office to land on the sleek, multi-buttoned intercom that connected Jo's desk to every executive office and lunchroom in the company. He considered opening every channel and letting the whole building witness the latest load of bilge from Allistair's collagen-enhanced lips.

  No. He'd save that tactic for later. Right now, only one person needed to hear it.

  * * * *

  "Is Mr. M. busy?"

  Jo didn't recognize Allistair Somerville's voice right away. She smiled as she turned away from her monitor to respond. What was it about smooth, deep voices that made her feel so good? And why did the sight of his chiseled, airbrushed-tan features make her stomach take a nosedive? She remembered the nasty sneer, the superiority and threat in his cold voice, echoing out of the lunchroom into the hallway.

  Karen and Debbie had tried to hurry her down the hall before Jo realized she was the topic of conversation, but their effort had been too late. She'd crept closer to the door, and listened. She had caught her breath when she heard Ken respond so calmly. She'd cringed when she heard his friend ask if they were 'getting it on,' and had been relieved, disappointed, and flattered, by Ken's response.

  Ken had talked about her as if she were a real lady, worth respect, not a grubby kid scrambling to make ends meet. Not at all like the way Allistair made her feel. She remembered what Karen and Debbie had told her about Felicia, and wondered if Allistair was about to try to recruit her to take his paramour's place.

  "Yes, very busy." Jo reached for the pink message pad and the pen lying across it. "Did you want to leave a message for when he's free?"

  "Who's he with?" Allistair flashed her a smile that would have made her knees melt if she hadn't already seen his other personality in action.

  "I'm sorry, but Mr. Myerhausen has impressed on me the importance of confidentiality."

  "You know that doesn't include me." He winked and leaned forward, resting one manicured hand on the edge of her desk.

  "Actually, I don't know any such thing. I've found that it's always best to take my directions from the highest authority."

  "Tell you what. Why don't you let me take you out to lunch, and I'll help you get the hierarchy at Myerhausen all straightened out in your cute little head?"

  "No, thanks. There's a major project I have to finish." Jo barely stopped herself from nodding at her computer screen, which held the final revisions on the Flagstaff dossier.

  "All work and no play makes Josey a dull girl." Allistair hitched his hip up on the edge of the desk and leaned a little closer. "Let me rescue you from the cafeteria."

  Jo barely kept herself from clutching the collar of her green wool dress, so he couldn't look down her neckline. What was with this guy? How could someone so slimy have climbed so high in the company? Maybe he hadn't climbed, but slithered, and strangled and whatever else a snake did to kill the competition.

  "I brought my lunch."

  "I'm sure you're a great little cook, but it just can't compare with this cute French bistro that just opened up down the highway in Medina." Allistair winked.

  "No. Thank you."

  The door opened and Allistair slithered back onto his feet. Now Jo knew how he got away with so much dirt, without anyone catching him. He moved fast and knew how to present an appearance of innocence.

  Her heart skipped a beat as Mr. Myerhausen and Ken emerged. Ken looked daggers at Allistair. Almost as if he knew Allistair had been there and what he had been saying?

  "Miss August." Mr. Myerhausen gestured at the computer. "How soon can you have that dossier printed up for Mr. Jenkins?"

  "I'm about one page away from sending it to the printer. How many copies do you need?" Jo refused to whine like Felicia reportedly had done, and blame Allistair for the delay in finishing her project. Even if Allistair really was to blame.

  "Just the one, for now. I'm sure you would have had it done ten minutes ago, if you hadn't been distracted." He rocked back on his heels and flashed a stern glance at Allistair.

  Jo nearly choked. How had Mr. Myerhausen known?

  A wave of warmth and appreciation for her employer flooded Jo. Nothing could get past Mr. Myerhausen.

  What was Allistair doing, hanging around? Didn't he usually slither out to keep his tail from getting stepped on? Or was he so full of himself, so oblivious, he didn't realize Mr. Myerhausen had caught him?

  "Sir." Allistair pasted on a smile j
ust two degrees short of being a smirk. "I'd like to talk to you about the Flagstaff project. I have a few ideas, some suggestions to make, that might help you decide whether or not to go ahead with it."

  "Save your suggestions for the organizational meeting. What date did we agree on, Ken?"

  "January fifteenth, sir." Ken nodded to Jo. "I'd like to get together with you to discuss putting a few meetings on the calendar, whenever you have a chance."

  "Ken?" Allistair nearly choked. "Sir, I must have mis-heard, but it sounds like--"

  "Mr. Jenkins here is our liaison with Flagstaff." Mr. Myerhausen rocked back on his heels, his chest thrusting out like a proud father. "I'm sure the new project is in more than competent hands."

  From the fury that filled Allistair's eyes for two heartbeats, Jo was very sure that he had already put mental dibs on that project. She would have to warn Ken.

  "Miss August, whatever Mr. Jenkins here needs to carry out his new duties, I'd like you to personally handle. If you don't mind?"

  "Oh, no sir. No problem at all." Jo bit her lip to keep from babbling. Her face got hot as she met Ken's gaze, and he smiled at her.

  "I think once that dossier prints, it would be a good idea for the two of you to have lunch and discuss it. Away from the office, and any distractions." He nodded, and Jo could have sworn he winked at her. "Go to Clarice's, and put it on the company account."

  "Thank you, sir," Ken nearly stammered.

  "I'll get that dossier printed up right now," Jo said at the same moment. She turned quickly to her computer and glanced through the last two pages. But she wasn't quick enough to avoid seeing the momentary slip in Allistair's smooth, yes-man mask.

  "Ken, when you have time," Allistair began, his voice strained.

  "Mr. Myerhausen doesn't want me discussing the Flagstaff project until January," Ken said. His voice sounded calm, no triumph or irritation. Jo wondered if she had imagined the look he cast at Allistair. "There's a lot to get up to speed on, and we want to move forward with the new year."

  "How are you going to handle your old duties?" Allistair nearly growled.

  "That's what tomorrow's executive meeting is about," Mr. Myerhausen said. "Dividing up Ken's responsibilities among the rest of you. Some people around here seem to have an amazing amount of free time to wander the halls and harass other people's secretaries. A little more work might keep people out of trouble."

  "Sorry, sir. I do have some things that need to be done before lunch." Allistair departed.

  Jo hit the print button for emphasis and bit her lip to keep from laughing. Bad experience had taught her never to gloat over her enemies' misfortunes. They didn't take kindly to others' happiness at their expense.

  Mr. Myerhausen laughed. Soft, yes, but a hearty sound all the same. Jo turned and saw him and Ken grinning at each other.

  "Miss August, before you go to lunch, I suggest you call maintenance." Mr. Myerhausen headed for his office. "There's something wrong with your intercom." He nodded to them, winked, and closed his door.

  "My intercom?" Jo flinched when the printer banged and started spitting out the dossier. She knew she gaped, but she couldn't seem to figure out what her boss had meant.

  "We heard everything Allistair said," Ken offered. He sat on the edge of her desk. Funny, how his warm, crooked smile took away the feeling of threat that she had when Allistair sat in that exact same spot.

  "I didn't turn it on."

  "We know. There was a lot of static and Mr. Myerhausen couldn't get through to you. And then we heard what was going on and we decided to... Well, in Mr. M.'s words, give Allistair enough rope to hang himself." He gestured at the printer. "How much longer?"

  "It's a pretty big document. One hundred pages." She gestured at the printer. "It's fast, so we won't lose too much of our lunch hour."

  "Take an extra half hour," Mr. Myerhausen said, his voice clear and static-free through the intercom.

  Jo and Ken grinned at each other for a few seconds, then they both laughed. She liked his laughter, warm and low and rumbling.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, Allistair followed Ken into his office, so close on his heels he ran into his back when Ken stopped to hang up his coat. "Have a nice lunch?"

  "It went pretty fast. There was a lot Jo needed to explain to me. I can see now why Mr. Myerhausen told her to work with me. She knows everything that's going on, because she put the dossier together." Ken ordinarily wouldn't have given that much information to Allistair, but better to distract him than give him time to think of something nasty to say.

  "Why didn't the old man put her in charge of the Flagstaff project, then?" He settled on the edge of Ken's desk, just as Ken was preparing to sit.

  Ken refused to concede dominance to Allistair in his own office. He stayed standing and crossed his arms. Let Allistair lecture him again on body language, and he might just learn what sort of communication a fist and nose could make.

  Stop that, Ken scolded himself. You're not a kid in high school.

  Yeah, another part of his mind retorted, but does Allistair know that?

  Nothing could take away the glow that remained after his pleasant lunch with Jo. There was nothing like talking with a smart young woman who had a sense of humor and couldn't wait for Cleveland Indians' spring training to start. She had laughed when she got in Ken's car to ride to the restaurant and saw the vintage Carlos Baerga bobblehead doll sitting on the dashboard. They almost forgot to talk about the Flagstaff project at lunch, in favor of discussing last year's Tribe.

  "Got to admire you, Ken, old buddy," Allistair said, with a slightly sour twist to his mouth. Sitting on the desk, he had to look up at Ken instead of down at him.

  Uh oh. Allistair never admires anybody unless he's about to zing them.

  Allistair paused, but Ken refused to rise to the bait and ask, "Admire me for what?"

  "Bringing in that ringer to butter up the old man," Allistair finally said. "Got to admire that long-term planning. I know you hated Felicia. When she got herself run out of the company, you had your chance to get the inside track."

  "I guess fair is fair. You had Felicia in your pocket for so long, it's only right that someone else has a turn," Ken said in as light a tone as he could manage, when his chicken club and vinegar fries were trying to do a mambo in his gut.

  He felt only a slight flicker of triumph when Allistair paled, then went dark red.

  "For your information, I didn't bring Jo in to take Felicia's job. She got her job through her own skills and not through any string-pulling or threats on my part." Ken thought longingly of his intercom. What were the chances he could hit the connect switch without Allistair seeing and realizing?

  No, that would be a coward's trick. I would love it if Allistair hung himself, but once is a coincidence, twice is a conspiracy. A wimp and a whiner tries to embarrass his enemy. A real man lets his enemy shoot himself in the foot.

  Ken just wished Allistair wouldn't take so long with the process of destroying his career.

  "Threats?" Allistair's voice strained, making his patented tone of innocence even less believable than usual. "Are you saying I use threats?"

  "Did I say anything about you?" Ken could play innocent much better than Allistair, because most of the time, he actually was innocent. It amazed him how some people could spend so much energy and time covering up their schemes and lies, when it was far easier to be honest all the time. No worry about contradicting cover stories or filling in the holes.

  "Just you wait, Ken old buddy. We'll see how long you last in your cushy new job. There's a reason why I was named junior vice president instead of you, when all the dupes in this company thought you would get the job."

  Yeah, it's called having a computer nerd in your back pocket to hack into other people's computers to steal their work and put your name on it. Ken made a mental note to warn Jo not to leave any Flagstaff work in her computer where unfriendly eyes could spy and unfriendly hands could sabotage
.

  Ken kept quiet and tried not to cheer as Allistair slid off his desk and stomped out of his office. He waited until his nemesis slammed the door, then let out a long, deep sigh, and sank down into his chair.

  He yelped when he heard a tap on his door. It opened and Jo stuck her head in. She offered a tentative grin. Something inside him that had felt bruised and half-asleep for months stirred to life when he realized that light in her eyes was concern--for him.

  "It's okay. No blood, no broken bones."

  "How does a snake like him get away with so much?" she seethed, quietly, as she stepped into his office.

  Ken opened his mouth to warn her not to close the door because of the company policy on avoiding sexual harassment lawsuits. If no one closed their doors when alone in a room with someone of the opposite sex, then nothing improper could occur. In theory. He stopped short, the words on the tip of his tongue, when Jo caught the door and left it open a good six inches. Then his attention caught on her smooth stride and the sway of her hemline around her calves.

  Why had he ever thought that Brittney's bony features and her swagger were beautiful? Jo reminded him of deer gliding through the shadowy forest. He grinned, remembering their talk of baseball all through lunch, and knew she was the kind of girl who would gladly slide into jeans and sneakers and spend a rainy April evening sitting in the bleachers at Progressive Field, cheering herself hoarse--and not worry about her hair or what the hot dogs would do to her complexion.

  "Excuse me?" Ken blinked, torn out of his daydream when he realized Jo waited for him to answer her. He offered a crooked grin and shook his head when she repeated herself. "He knows all the tricks. The only way to beat him at his game is to refuse to play it, and even then, it's only a fifty-fifty proposition that you'll come out with your skin intact."

  "I heard what he said. Too bad there wasn't another malfunction with the intercom." She shuddered, then slid a three-inch thick accordion file across the desk to him. "Here's the master file, everything that's come in and gone out to Flagstaff."