I hold it out, intentionally a bit out of reach. He leans forward to snatch it from my hand, leaving behind a stinging papercut on my palm as the little flappy bit in the back rakes across my skin. He ignores my sharp inhale of pain as he rips the flap open.

  I stand there in shock, owed an apology but quite sure I’m not going to get one as he pulls the stack of papers out. His finger tenderly traces the signature on the front page.

  That’s the only reason I notice it . . . Layla Franklin.

  Wait. Layla?

  As in The Layla?

  Got Mark on his knees, beggin’ darlin’ please just a few moments ago Layla?

  My mind flashes back as Mark mentioned a contract on the phone, now that I think about it. It didn’t even register at the time. I guess I was thinking a contract for an apartment or something? I mean, it fit with the lovey-dovey sappiness of his tone of voice.

  Or hell, maybe a contract killer to take out Brandon, for all I know. Mark’s never struck me as the kind to do any type of wet work himself.

  But this is . . . different. Especially with a Layla also sending something to Brandon. The daisy chain of Mark sending something to Layla, and Layla sending something to Brandon makes my head whirl with possibilities.

  Oh my, Layla. What game are you playing at?

  I try to read a bit more of the cover letter, looking for a clue about what the double-timing Layla could be sending Brandon, but I only see the blue of the logo in the top center of the page. It’s a geometric line drawing of a triangle with the initials TRE inside.

  I lean forward a bit more, which garners Brandon’s attention. Like a skittish kid busted doing something wrong, he slaps his hand on the paper, looking up at me in exasperation. “Excuse you. Is there anything else?” he snaps.

  “Oh, uh . . . no,” I reply, melting back some. “Have a good day.”

  I go back downstairs, and as I ride the elevator, I try to figure out Mark, Brandon, and this Layla Franklin. Even the last name is new information, but I feel certain the Layla who calls for Mark and Brandon and the Layla who sent that contract to Brandon are one and the same.

  I move the puzzle pieces around in my head.

  Layla calls for both Mark and Brandon. Stephanie and I feel pretty sure that’s romantic in nature, but the contract angle might make me reconsider that. Especially with the corporate cover letter to Brandon.

  I seriously doubt she’s sending love notes on fancy-schmancy embossed three-color ink letterhead.

  Reaching the front desk, I whisper to Megan and Stephanie, “My office, now. Team meeting.”

  Megan and Stephanie look scared, like I might bite their heads off. That fear only grows when the phone rings and I growl as I grab it, “Fox Industries. How can I help you?”

  I listen and then press the buttons to transfer the call quickly, slapping the phone back down. Megan and Steph are worried when we get to the back, and I turn to face them. “Okay, we have a situation. I just saw and heard some shit upstairs that has me worried.”

  Both women relax and focus at the same time, realizing that I’m not busting them and I need their help. Megan grabs a pad of paper from my desk and a pen. “Ready. What do you need?”

  Stephanie nods, her phone out for her own notes. “How many bodies do we need to bury?”

  Their varying responses are perfectly in sync with their personalities. Thankfully, I don’t think Stephanie actually knows any contract killers. “Prep for two, but possibly three.”

  Megan pales, taking me seriously. Hell, I might be serious. I’m not sure yet.

  “On my way upstairs, I ran into both Mark and Brandon in Acquisitions.”

  Stephanie raises an eyebrow. “Did they find out they’re dating the same woman?” she asks eagerly, likely disappointed she missed the fallout battle to the death that would result in. “That’d be fun to watch.”

  “No, but there’s more. So, so, so much more,” I reply a little keyed up, and their brows climb their foreheads. They might as well be begging tell us, tell us with their expressions, and for some reason, I’m reminded of Ace’s dog, Kevin. “Okay, I was walking down the hall and heard Mark on the phone.”

  I give them the quick one-minute summary of the call I overheard, focusing on the ‘babe’, ‘Layla’, and ‘contract’ comments. “I figured he was getting ready to cock block Brandon, but then when I got to his cubicle, I gave Brandon that envelope and he was such a dick I didn’t say anything.”

  “Good move.”

  “He deserved it.”

  “Perhaps. Anyway, he opened it and it’s business paperwork, fancy logo and all, signed by Layla Franklin. I think that’s The Layla.”

  Stephanie makes the leap first, putting into words the thought that gelled up in my mind on the way downstairs. “Wait, so you think they’re mixing business with pleasure?”

  My head bounces up and down like a bobblehead. “Yes! Something like that. What have you noticed lately? Anything sketchy at all?”

  Megan lifts her pen up like she has a sudden revelation. “Oh! You know how the legal team is doing a step challenge?”

  Stephanie gives me a perplexed look, but I’m open to any insights, even if they don’t seem related. Yet. “Yeah?”

  “Davis and I were walking at the park last weekend, and I saw Nikki there with her dog. It’s the cutest little peanut of a thing.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “The dog was wearing Nikki’s FitBit, running around like crazy and racking up the steps. Something tells me she’s going to win, but not fair and square.” Megan nods sagely, as if that was some super spy-level intel.

  Stephanie and I meet eyes questioningly as Megan fast ‘walks’ her fingers through the air demonstrating what the dog must’ve been doing. Clearing my throat, I ask, “What does that have to do with Mark and Brandon?”

  Megan tilts her head, her hands wide with her palms up. “Uhm, nothing? You just asked what we’ve noticed about folks around the office. I noticed that.”

  It takes an admirable amount of strength to keep my eyeballs facing forward and not rolling back in my head in exasperation. She’s right, that is what I asked. Just not exactly what I meant. “Good job, Megan. Thank you. Now, what else do we know about Mark and Brandon?”

  I remind myself that with Megan, sometimes I have to be very, very specific to get what I’m looking for. But both of them are like me, invisible around the office, and they both say little and see a lot.

  “Mark’s been smiling more,” Stephanie says. “About the same time he started getting the Layla calls. I figured he was getting top-tier vag in the mornings, the way he looked.”

  “Mmm, and Brandon has a swagger that hasn’t always been there but he’s more douchey.”

  “Brandon got a new haircut and colored the little premature grays at his temples.”

  We swap little bits of observation around until Megan lifts her pen again. “What was the logo on the paperwork?”

  “TRE is all I got, and some blue triangles,” I admit. “Helpful?”

  Megan snaps her fingers and points at me like I’m the logo in question. “That’s one of the companies Fox is working on some big contract with. I made copies of a presentation for one of their meetings. I remember that logo since it looked so much like some video company from the 80s or something.”

  I cut my eyes at her in surprise, not knowing that. “You sure?”

  Megan nods, and Stephanie whistles softly. “So dating is definitely a conflict of interest if she’s from a company in consideration.”

  But the puzzle pieces are clicking together faster for me, not just the border edge they’re messing around with but the bigger picture. And it’s an ugly image of deceit and double-crossing. “What if it’s not just a conflict of interest? What if it is the interest?” I ask. “Like an inside track on the company?”

  Stephanie’s still a little confused. “But they don’t know they’re both dating her?” Her eyes fall to the floor, ticking left and right as she thinks. “Or at least we don’t think they do.”

  The idea hangs in the air heavily. “Maybe they’re in it together?” I ask. “I mean, this is the Twenty-First Century.”

  “I told you it might be a throuple thing,” Megan reminds us but then quickly switches back to all business. “We need to tell someone.”

  I ignore Megan’s quip, in boss mode. “I know what to do.”

  Part of me wants to run upstairs and talk to Daniel, lay out the data, and let him make the same connections we have. But I’m not sure the direct approach is the best one when our own situation is convoluted too. So, I make the next-best step and pick up my phone, hitting a number on speed dial.

  “Hello?” a deep voice says.

  “Ricky, I need you to come to my office right now, please,” I tell him. “It’s an emergency.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks sharply. “Do you need help?”

  Touched, I show him affection the way he understands it best—by fucking with him. “Yes, but nothing serious,” I tell him, “I’m totally fine, but there’s a dead body I need you to deal with. The FedEx man finally pushed me over the edge.”

  He grunts, not playing along, and I huff in disappointment. “Fine, there’s no body. But I need to talk to you.”

  “Can it wait?” he asks. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

  “Sorry, Rocksteady,” I tell him, hoping I’m really not trumping something that vital. “It can’t. It’s important.”

  I hear him whisper something to someone, probably Billy. But hopefully not Miranda. A moment later, he comes back on. “I’ll be right down.”

  I don’t wait for Ricky to come downstairs. Instead, I’m waiting impatiently, stalking back and forth in the hallway and watching the stairs as I shovel peanut butter crackers into my mouth like a squirrel storing acorns for the winter.

  This is major.

  Or it might be.

  What if it’s nothing?

  I don’t know for sure, but everything in my gut tells me that something is wrong.

  Ricky always skips the elevator unless he’s with Daniel, and I hear him coming from half a flight up. Thud, thud, thud, thud, like a baby rhino dropping ten inches at a time. His footsteps are even louder as he comes into sight. His eyes meet mine and do a quick and clinical head to toe scan to make sure I’m truly okay, and though I’m fine, he must see something in my eyes because he picks up the pace.

  Or maybe it’s the extra cracker I stuff into my already full mouth, orange crumbs cascading down my blouse to tumble to the floor for the janitorial team to take care of.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I grab him by a bulky carved bicep and drag him toward the office, as if I could drag him anywhere without his cooperation. I give Megan and Stephanie a pointed look as we pass by them.

  “We’ll hold any calls for you,” Stephanie says, saluting. “Nice to see you, Ricky.”

  I shoo them out and close the door, giving us some privacy for this conversation. I swallow thickly and take a big drink of water from the bottle on my desk. “What do you know about Mark and Brandon in Acquisitions?”

  Ricky’s face goes hard and blank, immediately telegraphing that he knows something and isn’t willing to share with the class. “Why? What do you know?”

  I shake my head and cap my water purely out of habit. “Asked you first.”

  “This ain’t first grade, Tiff,” he growls. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I think you should check them out,” I tell him simply. “They’re up to something.”

  “Like what? You think they’re stealing toilet paper or company intel?” he asks. “Those are kinda different things. Tell me more.”

  “Can I trust you?”

  He gives me a withering look. “You called me, remember?”

  I think it through and realize he’s my only option. Quickly, I tell him what I saw and heard, keeping it to a ‘just the facts’ version without much speculation until the end. “So I’m thinking there’s some mighty hinky shit going on between Mark, Brandon, and this Layla. Maybe I’m wrong, and they’re just setting up a devil’s triangle. But I doubt it.”

  Ricky’s face has gone from thundery to homicidal, his jaw clenched down so hard I can hear his teeth grinding. “I don’t like it, not a bit. I’m going to kill them both. And then you.”

  “Me?” I protest. “I didn’t do anything!”

  “Except go near guys you already knew were potential creeps,” Ricky says, and I have to roll my eyes.

  “Or you could look at it as me protecting my staff from them. I mean, Megan up there? No way.” I draw a line across the desk, indicating my hard limit. “Can you just look into them?”

  “Already on it.”

  Chapter 19

  Daniel

  Nothing about today is going to plan. I’m slower than usual, my mind on Tiffany and not work.

  I think about the way she smiles, her eyes sparkling with joy I want to feel.

  I think about her sharp tongue and the way I’m never quite sure what she’s going to say, an exciting prospect.

  I think about her body, each flawless curve . . . and the feeling of her warm, tight pussy enveloping me.

  Now that I’ve seen her in a new light, she’s all I can think of, and I balk at the blinders I’ve been wearing that let me never truly see her before now. How could I have missed her?

  So much wasted time.

  Make the most of it now.

  That is exactly what I had intended to do tonight. I had planned to spend the night together, exploring Tiffany’s mind and body, having a candlelight dinner and then hours of intense passion.

  Instead, I’m eating takeout Thai with Tiffany, Ricky, and Billy. We’re gathered around my dining table, boxes opened up and chopsticks sticking out of about half of them as I listen to their story.

  Billy pushes his food away, looking frustrated, probably because he wasn’t able to hit up the gym the way he prefers to in the evening. He’s been too busy. “After the meeting, we looked into Mark and Brandon,” he reports. “They think they’re smart, but they’re complete dumbasses.”

  “Two villages are looking for their idiots.”

  “More likely, glad to be rid of—”

  “Guys!” Tiffany says, cutting them off before they can ping-pong more ‘dumb’ insults between them. “Focus, please?”

  “Tiff’s right,” I remind the guys evenly. “Tell me what you know.”

  Ricky clears his throat and sips at some sparkling water. “Oh, yeah. Anyway, we were on it today after the meeting weirdness. I did a few drive-bys through the department, sweet-talked and charmed a few people—”

  “Women,” Billy interrupts. “Smooth as oil on a frozen lake.”

  “They are all well aware that I’m a taken man,” Ricky says hotly. “Don’t make it sound like I was fucking around on Miranda. That shit’s not funny. If that thought even crossed her mind, she’d have my balls in a vice.”

  I know he’s right. When Ricky and Miranda became public, he did everything short of wearing a ‘Miranda’s Man’ T-shirt to make it quite clear that in his case, at least, the line was now redrawn at being ‘nice’ and not ‘flirty’. And while Miranda’s understanding, she’s not going to tolerate foolishness.

  “And you found out . . .?” I prompt before things go further. “We know Miranda’s your girl.”

  “Thanks, Unc,” Ricky says, taking a deep breath. “Basically, acquisitions is brutal. Harsh to a cutthroat degree.” He mimes breaking his neck, his eyes closed and tongue sticking out. “When we got up there, everyone was all too happy to tell me the dirt on Mark, Brandon, and everyone else.”

  Billy takes over the story. “Want to know who’s a sexual deviant? Those folks will tell you. Who’s living on the edge of credit card collapse? Yep. Who is gunning for a promotion, working their ass off, and likely to get it? Oh, yeah. And who’s hanging on coattails.”

  Ricky grunts in agreement. “Gossipy fuckers.”

  “And our boys Mark and Brandon aren’t exactly peoples’ favorites,” Billy says. “Lots of talk about those two.”

  “We figured it was jealousy and we could slow burn things, really get all the deets for certain for you,” Ricky says. “Then Tiff called and freaked me out.”

  I look to Tiffany sharply, who gives me a look like what? You’re surprised?

  I shouldn’t be. “Why?”

  “I didn’t know about all that” —she waves her hand at Ricky and Billy, indicating their investigation— “but I felt some bad juju from them. Mark and Brandon, I mean.”

  “Bad juju?” Ricky scoffs. “You were nibbling at those crackers like a raccoon who hit the trash jackpot and didn’t want anyone to steal the prize.”

  “I was not!” she argues loudly, and I’m suddenly hit with the image of Tiffany rapidly nibbling her way through a cheese and peanut butter cracker with tiny, machine-gun-like bites. It’s cute, but I keep my face even as she quietly grits out through clenched teeth and unmoving lips to Ricky, “I know stress eating is a bad habit of mine. But I’d prefer that Daniel not have an image of me stuffing my face, dropping crumbs everywhere. We’re still solidly in the honeymoon phase where you pretend you’re super neat, never gassy, and donate to every charity with a commercial featuring a Sarah McLaughlin soundtrack.”

  I can’t help but smile now as I give her a wry, wondering look. Fuck Mark and Brandon, this is more important at this very second. “Honeymoon phase?”

  Tiffany looks stricken, while in the background, Billy and Ricky both look amused, like they anticipated this. Perhaps they did.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean . . .” She looks at Ricky and Billy, seeming to decide whether she’s going to speak freely in front of them, and I find myself on the edge of my seat, eager to hear what she’s going to say. “Look, I get it. I’m basically a one-weekend fling at this point with a whole sloppy mess of tangled strings who showed up uninvited on your doorstep tonight like a stage-five clinger. But this whole Mark and Brandon thing is real, not some ploy to get at you again.” She pauses, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Though that would’ve been a great idea. I should’ve thought about that years ago.”