I began to rifle through the papers on her desk. There wasn’t much—a dry-cleaning bill, a routine memo from accounting, and projections for quarterly growth. I had to rifle very carefully, taking note of exactly which spot on the desk I lifted each paper from; Portia’s office was a fascist’s dream, neat to the point of insanity. Papers were crisp, mahogany and steel were polished, and personal effects were nonexistent.
I found her datebook in the second drawer on the left, and quickly took several photos of its contents for the next week with my phone. A moment’s thought, and I copied her call sheet too. I couldn’t tell now whether or not they held any useful information, but give me a little more time, Google, and all of Grant’s passwords to the company database, and there was a good chance that they would paint me a distinctly un-pretty picture of what Portia Smith was up to.
The computer was the only thing in the office that looked in less than pristine condition; my guess was that Portia didn’t relish showing her age by having to ask for help with an upgrade. I quickly logged in using the password Portia had helpfully jotted down on her memo pad, and my eyes were immediately drawn to a file on the desktop labeled ‘Accounts Payable.’
Now, what was such a boring and out-of-her-job-description sounding file doing right there on her desktop, where she could immediately access it? I clicked it, and whistled under my breath.
It was an entire presentation on the takeover. Undeniable proof in black and white.
I almost clicked on the Google Chrome icon, but stopped myself just in time. Tempting as it was to send myself the file in a few seconds, the fewer digital tracks I left on Portia’s computer, the better.
Time to do this old school.
I hit Print instead, and then almost had a panic attack as Portia’s ancient printer started up, wheezing and groaning like an asthmatic with a face full of pepper spray as it struggled to heave and jerk and finally wheeze out the ten-page document, at a nail-biting rate of one minute per page.
I held my breath. What if someone else was working nearby and came to investigate the noise? What if Grant was on his way back with the secretary and this alerted her that someone had broken in? Maybe I should have e-mailed it after all?
But either no one was around, people were around but were also deaf, or everyone in Portia’s workspace vicinity had grown accustomed to the sound of a dying elephant every time she wanted a hard copy of something, because no one came knocking.
When the printer finally surrendered all the pages to me, I grabbed them and made a quick circuit of the room, doing my best to put everything back exactly as I found it. I locked the door behind me, smirked at my good fortune, and ran around the corner right into Grant Devlin’s broad chest.
“Well, hello, young lady,” he said with a smirk. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“We’re totally about to school Portia’s ass,” I said, breathless from both the impact and his smile. I narrowed my eyes in a mock-glare. “How’d the ‘intimacy’ go?”
“It was quite fun! I had to let her down gently after awhile, of course, but I’ve set her up with a nice accountant from NYU.” He slid an arm around my shoulder. “You know, you’ve quite corrupted me. I could get used to you being my partner in crime.”
? ? ?
The mood was tense in Grant’s office where we pored over the documents I had pilfered. Earlier had been fun, and our budding relationship do-over was still giving me butterflies, but we couldn’t afford to focus on things like that now. We had to be all business.
I was just sitting in his lap to save space, that was all.
It was a very solid business decision. It definitely felt solid.
“It looks like she’s planning to do this at the shareholder’s meeting,” I said, trying to ignore how good Grant’s neck smelled, only inches from my lips. I could just reach out and lick—no, BUSINESS. “She wants them to vote on a takeover from Pinker Inc.”
“She’s stabbing us all in the back,” Grant said grimly. His hands were at odds with his angry words, gently massaging my shoulders. “She’s going to bait the shareholders with all these cost-saving measures—”
“By which she means, firing everybody who isn’t nailed down,” I put in.
“And the shareholders just might go for it,” Grant said with a grim nod. “The payoff is certainly big enough. But the national employees are in for a royal screwing.” A frown creased his brow. “And in this economy, it won’t be easy for them to bounce back.”
“What are we going to do?” I asked. “How can we fight this?”
Grant’s face set in an expression as determined as it was sexy. It was really difficult to decide whether to get out of his way or jump his bones that very second.
“No way is she stealing our company out from under my nose,” he growled, his eyes hard and resolute. “I’m going to fight for what’s mine.”
And I realized, looking at him, that so was I.
NINE