The third report was again from Ivy: She had reported her car stolen. An old Toyota 4Runner that had been parked in front of her apartment building. One morning, it was gone. Wes had also been interviewed, because they lived together.
At first, nothing in it stands out. Not until she sees the date the car was stolen.
* * *
—
Bianca swipes her key card, opening the side door of the Siphon building. The parking lot is empty. She has hit the sweet spot, after the staff has left but before the cleaning crew arrives.
Normally, she would’ve stayed until everyone was gone, but tonight she had to leave before she was alone. Two reps were still in the office, plus Tanner, and she’d had a family dinner to attend. If it had been anything else, she would have blown it off and remained in the office. But pissing off her mom was something she avoided.
Yes, the company will have a record of her card swipe. Doesn’t matter—no one ever checks. And if they do, she can say she forgot to do something, an important task that couldn’t wait. As long as nothing is missing or vandalized, no one is going to care if an assistant works late.
The sales department is actually kind of nice at night. Quiet and dark, but the windows allow enough light for her to see where she’s going. She sits down at her desk and takes out her Russian nesting dolls, opening them until reaching the master key.
Tonight, she has to look at more than just Wes’s schedule. He’s been working at Siphon for years and has a huge number of emails. God knows how many files. While she can access them through her own computer with his password, she doesn’t want that kind of record on the server. Better to be safe than sorry, especially because she has the key.
She doesn’t turn any lights on in Wes’s office, only his computer. She begins by searching for the oldest emails first and organizing them chronologically.
Ten minutes later, she hears the elevator ding.
Too early for the cleaning crew, which means it’s one of her coworkers. Has to be. She contemplates running out of Wes’s office. Or she could hide under his desk.
“Bianca?”
Too late.
Tanner walks up and stands in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” he says. “And what are you doing in Wes’s office?”
Bianca’s hand shakes as she closes out the inbox and shuts down the screen. “There was an issue with his schedule,” she says, fighting to keep her voice even. “It was my fault. I came here to fix it.”
“But how did you get in here?”
“The door was unlocked.” It’s darker now, without the light from the computer, and she can’t see the expression on his face. “I needed to make sure our calendars matched. He has a meeting in the morning, and I needed to double-check the entry.” She stands up, straightens her skirt, and starts to walk out. “All done,” she says.
As she passes by him, she smells the alcohol.
“What are you doing here so late?” she says, talking over her shoulder as she heads back to her desk to get her bag.
“Bianca.”
She turns. Tanner is right behind her, a foot away. Scotch. He’s been drinking scotch.
“Yes?” she says.
“You must be one of the best assistants we’ve ever had. No, you’re the best assistant. Ever.”
“Thank you.”
“Not many people would come down here this late to fix a scheduling snafu.” Tanner steps toward her, closing the gap to a few inches. “But you did.”
She moves back and bumps into the edge of her desk. “It’s no problem. I wanted to make sure it was right.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, because I don’t mean anything . . . weird about it,” he says, “but you are extremely attractive.”
She nods. Doesn’t answer him, doesn’t say a word when he gets even closer, pressing his chest against hers.
“Seriously,” he says. “You are beautiful.”
This. Can’t. Be. Happening.
Her brain gets stuck on those words, unable to process what’s unfolding in front of her. Unable to process who is in front of her. Tanner is her boss. Her drunk boss.
This. Can’t. Be. Happening.
“I really should get going,” she says, trying to reach over the desk to her chair, where her bag is sitting.
His hands are on her waist, pulling her closer. She tries to push him back, but he doesn’t budge.
They always said he was a prick.
They were right.
“Tanner, stop.”
He doesn’t. The smell of his breath is making her sick, and he pushes her harder against the desk. She tries to lift her knee to kick him away, but he’s blocking her with his legs.
“Come on, Bianca,” he says, his voice right in her ear. “You were flirting with me the other day. I know you were.”
She was. But it wasn’t an invitation to grope her.
“Stop it. I’m serious.”
He licks her ear. “Aren’t you feisty.”
This. Can’t. Be. Happening.
Time shifts, splits in half.
Tanner moves quick, his hands are everywhere at the same time, holding her against the desk while feeling her up.
She reaches behind her, grasping for something. Anything. Something to hit him on the head with. Just enough to stun him for a second so she can run. But it feels like she is moving so slow. She can’t find something fast enough.
Sticky notes. Mouse. Notepad.
His hand moves between her legs as she fumbles blindly around, trying to reach the pen holder.
Finally, something useful.
A pair of scissors.
23
I screwed up.”
First words out of Ivy’s mouth. Wes has just arrived at her place, is barely through the door, and already he takes a step back.
She called him today at work, but he was in a meeting, so she sent a text claiming she “absolutely, positively” had to talk to him. So dramatic. He refused to deal with it at work, so here he is. Ten o’clock at night, after the meeting at White Rabbit. His brain is maxed out, but once again, Ivy has shocked him. She seems to have a never-ending supply of the ability to do that.
“You screwed up,” he says.
“Come inside already.” Ivy walks away from the front door, into the living room, leaving him to follow. He does. If only to see what this is about.
She sits down on the couch, half-sideways, waiting for him to take his place next to her. An open bottle of wine is on the coffee table, along with two glasses and a plate of cubed cheese and apple slices.
Wes gets a bad feeling about this. He sits down gently, like the couch might bite him.
“The dress,” she says. “I’m sorry. When I bought it, I honestly didn’t even think about . . . all that.”
He doesn’t have to roll his eyes. Not after all this time.
“I know it sounds like I’m lying, but I swear,” she says. Ivy tilts her head down and looks up at him. “If I wanted to remind you of that, would I really pick a sky blue dress?”
She has a point. Subtlety isn’t in her DNA.
“You believe me, right?” she says. “Tell me you believe me.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
Ivy pauses to pour the wine and eat a cheese cube. “Have some,” she says.