CHAPTER 6
Elena
“Morning, Miss Elena,” the security guard greets me at the gate. “Didn’t know you were coming in over the holiday,” he says, jotting down my car’s license plate number on his log sheet.
“Morning, Rudy.” I smile despite the apprehension I’m feeling. It’s not his fault I’m in this mess. “Bill asked me to come in at the last minute.”
“Mr. de Marco’s at the office,” he says, handing me the clipboard. “In case you’re here to meet him.”
I check the log, but there’s no mention of his name. “He been here long?” I add my signature next to my name and title, hoping he just arrived.
“I’d say going on three hours,” he says, taking back the clipboard while I wince. “The owners are exempt from having to sign when they come through.” That explains why Addler’s not listed. “Mr. de Marco seems like a nice guy.” He puts the pen under the clamp on the clipboard. “Most places, the owners don’t even bother to stop.” Rudy cocks his head. “Now the manager, he’s another story.”
“Oh?” I drift back to yesterday’s conversation with Sage. She’d also mentioned Ezequiel.
“Yeah.” Rudy slips the clipboard under his arm. “Mr. de Marco added him to the no-sign list as a courtesy. I don’t know if it was a courtesy to him or us.” He gives me a nod then taps his hand on the car door. “You take care now.”
I pull away from the security gate, still chewing on my bottom lip. If Addler’s still waiting, he isn’t going to be in the best of moods. And I still have work to do outside of what I’ll cover with him. Right now, Bill has to be my main concern. I have to work around Addler, even if it means a few sleepless nights. I just have to figure out how to fix this.
The road dips, bringing the office building into view. There are only two vehicles in the half-acre, caliche-covered parking lot. A little Ford used by one of the guys in the field and a big 4x4 truck I’ve never seen before. My stomach twists. It has to belong to Addler. The vehicle is as big and imposing as the man himself.
I pull in beside his vehicle and turn off the engine. Glancing around, I check for any animals, or people, really, that might be hiding in the area. Everything’s clear. The only danger arrived in the truck next to me.
Am I ready for this? I don’t really have a choice now, do I. Slowly, I reach across to unbuckle my seat belt before grabbing the backpack off the passenger seat and stepping out. The gravel crunches under my feet like an ominous echo. Each step is taking me closer to an unknown fate.
My brain is still grasping for a way out of this mess. Maybe Bill has a list of the expenses on his credit card statement. I can try calling the vendors and asking for a copy of the receipts. I’m sure this isn’t the first time someone’s had this issue. But I don’t even know if all the charges are recent, or which are his and which are for the company. Thirty thousand dollars can be a lot of small expenses. The best I can hope for is that he has something on his calendar that tells me who he might have met with.
My legs feel weak as I take those last tentative steps up the half dozen stairs to the doorway.
I stop, frowning at the six-by-eight-inch black box next to the doorknob. The sensor normally picks up my phone and unlocks the door, but this morning, the little indicator light remains red.
Addler? He didn’t change the code, did he? It’s something he would do, especially after I’ve kept him cooling his heels for a couple of hours. I reach for my back pocket, only to find it empty.
Damn it. I forgot my cell. Worse, I forgot my lunch. It’s sitting on the kitchen counter, next to the enchiladas I’d planned to have as soon as I had a couple of minutes to grab a bite. Ugh, I forgot to turn off the air-conditioning. The south Texas heat makes it impractical to keep the air on when we’re away. Even if we keep it at ninety degrees, it’s murder on the pocketbook.
Letting out an exasperated breath, I look to the dark clouds in the distance for inspiration. Is this fate messing with me? Making me screw up in the worst possible way.
With no other choice left, I pound on the door. If Addler’s sitting in the conference room, he may not hear me. Warm air crawls by, heavy enough to feel the humidity sitting on my skin.
A few seconds later, footsteps echo all the way to the small foyer. With each heavy footfall, my heart sinks farther into my stomach.
Pushing the door open, he looks down his nose at me. “Morning,” he says dryly. His large frame fills the doorway, the rust-colored button shirt doing all the right things for him. Pivoting, he flattens himself against the wall as he holds the door open to let me in. The black jeans he’s wearing are a perfect frame for the leather holster secured around his thigh.
“I’m so sorry.” I slip past him with barely a couple of inches between us. Awareness flashes inside me as it did yesterday when he was at my door. “I had originally planned on working from home, so I hadn’t set an alarm for this morning.” It’s the best I can come up with on short notice. And it isn’t far from the truth.
“I suppose that’s better than you deciding not to show up,” he says from behind me.
I clench my teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. The one and only time I said no to Addler de Marco, and he’s never let me forget it. “It won’t happen again.” Knowing Addler, this isn’t going to get any better. The best thing for me to do is finish the corrections then start looking for another job.
“It wasn’t this hot in here yesterday,” he grumbles.
If the hallway’s stuffy this early, I can only imagine what it’ll be like around two or three o’clock. I grew up without air-conditioning at home. It was one of the reasons I looked forward to going to school every day. “The thermostat’s programmed at a higher temperature today.”
“Why?”
“Regulating the temperature is part of the company’s goal to be more ecofriendly. The office would have been closed for the three-day weekend. Thus, it’s more cost efficient to switch it to this setting.” Addler glares at me, as if he knows I’m the one who suggested using a programmable thermostat. “Energy cost is one of the highest expenses for the company. Any little bit helps.”
He unbuttons a cuff and jerks the material back, folding it over itself as he bares the corded muscles on his forearms. “Can you change it?” he asks, as if he’s struggling for patience.