K. R. Treadway
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Opposites Distract 7: Admin At Large
🕑 Added 2024-12-22 16:00:07 +0000 UTC
~ Liv ~
Liv strode down the exact center of the shiny black hallway that ran the length of Phase Energy’s second floor. Having been from one end to the other, she knew a third consisted of administrative offices, another third was conference and meeting rooms, and the remainder was cushy executive suites for the top brass—including her big-wig VIP boss, due to arrive in a week.
She was sure “Mr. Johnson” would be on time…if he were real.
Conrad Griffon had been true to his word about clearing the way. Last night he’d informed Phase Energy’s president about the hidden investigation. This morning, the two had issued a joint statement proclaiming that their newest executive hire, Mr. Johnson, was coming in to optimize the forthcoming Hydro Cyclic production line.
The email had implied—in boring Corporatese—that Mr. Johnson was a reclusive high-strung genius. “Bearing that in mind,” it finished, “his personal assistant, Ms. Olive Howell, will be arriving early to make arrangements and conduct an initial survey. Please afford her every courtesy.” Translation: Don't get in her way if you value your job.
Liv arrived in front of a polished wooden door. She held her badge in front of a reader and the lock clicked, allowing her to slip into the outer room of an ostentatious executive suite. Mr. Johnson was fiction, but thankfully his office was real. The instant the door shut, she winced and took off her heels, suppressing a groan of pleasure as her bare feet sank into the thick carpet. What had possessed her to wear stilettos on her first day?
She fell onto the soft leather couch and flexed her feet for a few precious minutes. Her initial foray to study the building layout and some of the personnel had been productive. It wouldn’t be long before she was well-situated to cover the sabotage half of the investigation. She still felt constrained by Hartnell’s directive, but she figured it would be all right to snoop for the data thieves as long as it didn't interfere with her primary task.
Resting her eyes, Liv waited for the next part of her plan.
Most of the foot traffic outside barely penetrated the thick door of the suite. The scuff of a corporate loafer or sensible flat barely made a sound. But after five minutes, the distinct thump of hard soles had her sitting up. Danny Hines was back from lunch, his heavy work boots announcing the fact better than a memo.
Liv pulled her designer torture boxes back on with a rueful smile, realizing her own footwear made a distinctive sound too. Whatever. Tomorrow’s shoes would be sensible heels. Taking a breath in front of the door, she adopted the intense stare of a high-powered admin whose boss was a nightmare, and stepped back into the main corridor.
Danny Hines was pushing a compact cleaning cart down the hall. His back was to her, but she’d seen him on her earlier scout. He was tan and in his late twenties, with light brown hair in a sensible cut. Fairly nondescript except for an unusual aura of discipline. His khaki custodial uniform was spotless, with a tucked shirt in perfect alignment with his belt buckle and pants, the so-called “gig line” that military types used to judge a soldier’s appearance. It didn't mean Danny was an operative—his background included military service—but Liv wanted to be sure.
Walking slowly, she pretended to text on her phone. Up ahead, Hines slid his cart against the wall and removed a toolbox-sized tray loaded with cleaning supplies. He walked to a secure metal door and pressed his ID against the reader. The extra-heavy lock released with a loud chunk. He went inside. Liv’s eyes flicked to the sign over the door. What was a custodian doing with access to the server room?
She would have to find out.
Walking on, Liv stopped at the midpoint of the building. Here, the corridor featured large interior windows overlooking the first-floor workspaces. On one side was the research laboratory, while the other looked down on the turbine assembly room. Keeping the cleaning cart in her peripheral vision, she studied the latter.
Liv had toured the assembly area earlier. She’d tried not to seem awestruck by the massive Hydro Cyclic prototype looming overhead, but it hadn’t been easy. Seen from above, the turbine resembled a bizarre-looking jet engine in a nest of custom scaffolding. She watched the engineers and analysts climb up and down ladders as they lovingly tended it.
Hesitating, she slowly turned and drifted towards the other side of the observation corridor. In the research lab below, men and women were at work amidst a haphazard array of lab benches and white boards. Liv reluctantly found herself searching for one lab-coated man in particular.
There.
Edgar was standing at a workstation entering data into a computer. She watched his sure fingers fly over the keyboard as he glanced between a hardcopy readout and the screen. The typing abruptly stopped. He leaned closer to the readout and frowned. His brainy glower was oddly charming.
Thank God she wasn’t attracted to intense nerds with classically handsome features.
Liv felt a spot of cold on the tip of her nose. She blinked, realizing she’d leaned in far enough to touch the glass. At that moment, Edgar’s frown gave way to a satisfied smile and he resumed typing. A frisson of awareness she could only describe as “yummy” zipped up her spine.
“Oh no…” she breathed.
He was the reason.
Edgar was why she’d picked the awful stilettos. Because they made her legs and ass look amazing and some wayward part of her had wanted him to notice. Just like she’d cut and straightened her hair into a high maintenance bob that framed her face just right.
She hadn't acted unprofessionally—the heels and hair both helped establish her undercover persona—but knowing that she’d been seeking his attention in any way? Liv leaned far back, cursing under her breath.
On the floor below, a heavyset man suddenly stormed over. Wielding a pen like a dagger, he crossed out entries on the readout Edgar had been working from, then jabbed his finger at a different section, his mouth moving in a way that suggested his words were scathing. Edgar kept his cool, simply nodding along or making quick notes without rising to the bait.
You reaped the whirlwind, Ed.
What had possessed her partner to intentionally collide with Frederick Haymer? At first she’d thought it had been real. He had been distracted. She recalled his wide eyes and slightly gaped mouth as he’d taken in her new look, and the thrill of feminine power she’d felt in the moment. But after replaying it in her head, she was certain the hit itself had been deliberate…
A distinct click brought her back to the present. Danny Hines had exited the server room. Showtime. Holding her phone casually in one hand, she wandered in his direction.
He turned as she got near, a look of mild bemusement on his otherwise neutral face. Up close, the creases in his uniform looked sharp enough to cut. Did the guy iron them or something?
“Hi there, um…” She pretended to read his name tag. “…Danny. You just came out of the server room, right?”
“Yes.” He carefully set the tray of cleaning supplies in his cart.
“My name is Olive Howell. I’m the senior admin for Mr. Johnson, who will be arriving in a week as Head of Product Optimization.”
“From the email,” he answered, wiping his spotless hands on an equally spotless rag. “Welcome aboard.” He tossed the rag into the cart and started pushing it further down the hallway.
Rude.
She walked after him, letting her heels come down with a bit more force until they were louder than his work boots. “It won’t be,” she told him, her tone much more terse.
Hines stopped the cart and turned back, looking even more puzzled. “What?”
“A welcome,” she said, adjusting her electric-blue power frames. “It won’t be a warm welcome, a cold welcome, or any welcome if I can’t get everything prepped in time.”
“Sorry to hear it.” He shifted uneasily.
“Let me tell you, Danny, it is a lot of pressure. Working for the entitled, I mean.” She tilted toward him like a gauge needle edging into the red. “Not a single person has ever told him ‘no,’ which makes him…petulant. The man is a genius, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes he abuses it.” Liv leaned in more, lowering her voice. “The last time he was brought in as a consultant, he got an entire maintenance team fired because the temperature was two degrees over his comfort level. Two degrees. Can you believe it?”
Danny Hines blinked, and suddenly his skin seemed a bit paler. “He really did that?”
Liv nodded, her expression only mildly sympathetic. “He saves his clients millions on their assembly lines. Compared to that, what's a dozen workers getting a pink slip? But I hate to see it.”
The custodian reached up and scratched his head, finally creating a few imperfect strands. “So…did you need something?”
“I need a lot of somethings, Danny, but for now I’ll settle for getting a card to the server room so I can make sure Mr. Johnson’s hardware specs are being met. Who authorized your access?”
“Amy,” he said at once.
“Amy?” she prompted, raising her eyebrows.
“Uh, Amy Hernandez. In security. She had to run a background check, though.”
Liv nodded, tilting her mouth into a corporate facsimile of a smile. “Great. I’ll just go have a chat with Amy. Thanks, Danny.”
He nodded, still looking a bit shaken, and pushed his cart away. As soon as his back was turned, Liv dropped the act and frowned. His story was plausible, at least on the surface. She remembered Amy Hernandez from the staff dossiers. It was rare for maintenance personnel to have access to secure server rooms, but not unheard of. She’d have to look into Hernandez and confirm the woman had run a proper security check on Danny Hines.
Halfway back to her phantom boss’s office, Liv’s phone buzzed. She stopped, surprised to see a text from Edgar.
E: Meet me after work? Need some help.
She stared at the message, her brows pinched. Then she typed a reply.
L: Okay. Where?
E: Research lab. Thanks.
Liv lowered her phone and backtracked just enough to glance through the observation window. On the floor below, Edgar was sliding his phone into his pocket as Fred Haymer stormed over to yell at him some more. She saw an exasperated scowl just before his bland expression fell back into place.
Great. What did Edgar need, and how involved was she about to get?
Comments
K. R. Treadway
If you've got a leaky bucket, everyone starts to look like rust. 😆
K. R. Treadway
Oh no...what are the freaking odds that a random name turns out to be a whole-ass grocery store chain?? UGH. Time to replace a gazillion names. Thanks for letting me know, honestly.
VeryFinePrint
Also, Fred Meyer is a grocery chain out where I live 😆
VeryFinePrint
Guilty, guilty, guilty. Everyone is guilty! Or maybe just a suspect.
