Page 17 of Room One Hundred and Eighteen

I smile at him. “I’m sorry.” I hold my hand out and shake the hand that he holds out, trying to ignore the fact that he’s sweating so bad that his skin feels like an oil slick. I even make sure that I don’t rub my hands on my dress like I’m dying to do. Not only might it offend him but it might ruin the fabric of my dress. And it’s one of my favorites. I wore it this morning to try and feel a little more in charge of myself. Gird my loins I guess. My lips twist at the phrase which actually sounds awful.

“I’m sorry…what is your name?” I cock my head and shoot him a dazzling smile, hoping that he is suitably impressed.

“What’s your name?” He asks me. The man’s eyes read more suspicious than dazzled, dammit!

“I’m Courtney Monroe. That one.” I point at the picture on the wall that shows all the executives currently, including me in it.

He immediately jumps to his feet, almost falling over the desk and sending a waterfall of papers to the floor. He bends down to pick them up and I lean over to help and almost get beaned in the head. I back away.

This guy’s so jumpy that I might end up with a concussion if I’m not careful.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Monroe. I should have recognized you.” He stands up with the papers in his hand and nods to a seat in front of the desk that looks like its legs are about to tip over.

I shake my head. “That’s alright. What’s your name?”

“Jerry, ma’am.”

I cringe at that word. Dammit, I hate hearing that word. Nothing is worse to a woman than a strange man calling her ma’am. It should be illegal.

“Please, Ms. Monroe is fine.”

“Okay, Ms. Monroe.” His face flushes and I try not to notice the hero worship he’s throwing my way. It actually might make it easier to talk him into keeping our conversation quiet.

I give him a conspiratorial look. “Jerry. I saw one of our cars out last night and it looked like it was parked in an unsafe neighborhood and I was very concerned. I want to make sure that the person that used the car is alright. Do you think you can help me?”

He straightens his pudgy little shoulders and firms his chin. “Absolutely, ma’a…I mean Ms. Monroe. All I need is the license plate number and I can check who took the car out.”

I nod my head like I didn’t know that. Then I lean over and whisper to him. “Do you think we can keep this just between us, Jerry? I don’t want to embarrass this other person by having it get out on the old office grapevine. You know how fast these stories get passed around.”

“Absolutely, Ms. Monroe. I’d be happy to do this for you. Do you have the license plate number?”

I hand him the crumpled up piece of paper and he looks it over before nodding and sitting at his computer. He looks at me over the top of his very thick glasses. “This will just take a minute, Ms. Monroe.”

A man of his words, he glances up when he’s got the name. “That’s odd.”

“What is?” My voice is breathless with anticipation and I’m about to jump out of my skin, my eyes darting between him and the doorway, expecting someone to leap through it at any minute and distract either one of us.

“It’s Mr. Henry. Evan Henry. And he’s got his own car so I don’t know why he’d need another car.”

My shoulders slump and it feels like all the air is sucked out of the room. Evan. He was following me.

I pace back and forth, my focus on my own thoughts and not the man who’s still spouting his theories about why Evan might need a different car.

“Can I see the car?”

He nods and picks up a set of keys. “Sure. I haven’t checked it yet so I might as well come with you.”

So we step out of the office and he locks the door behind us. He eyes me and smirks. “You can’t be too damn careful.”

“Very true.” I answer him but inside I’m wondering if I could have been more careful. Could I have picked up on whatever is going on with Evan?

And does this sudden problem with the security systems have anything to do with that.

But I smile and follow him, keeping my uneasy thoughts to myself. We reach the car and I walk around it with him and then he opens the door and peeks inside.

It’s spotlessly clean, not one thing out of place. He opens the back doors and then he walks around, muttering to himself and running though a checklist, making a mark each time he answers one of his own questions.

When he turns to check something else in the back, I notice something in between the seats and reach down to grab it quickly, hiding it before good ol’ Jerry can realize I snagged something from his car.

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