Page 36 of Meet Me at Midnight

“What do you think?” I ask, looking around the room while I try to gauge everyone’s reaction.

“I think I love it,” Eddie comments with a big smile.

“Me too,” Laura agrees. “But I can’t decide if we need to give the viewer a little more of an idea of what Midnight is about, or if the ambiguity is the point.”

“We’re on the same page, Laura.” I nod. “Let’s consider showing this to a few selective focus groups after we get the final cut. I’d love to get some objective feedback on it. Open feedback, of course, but let’s also lob a specific follow-up question about the ambiguity after we get their initial thoughts.”

“I’ll work on getting that set up,” Madeline offers, and I give her a thumbs-up.

“Perfect. Let’s also add a question that weighs the favorability of how exclusive it feels. Is that selling, or do we need it to feel more relatable?”

“Will do.” Madeline jots notes on her pad and nods.

I glance down at the Rolex on my wrist and see I have about forty minutes until my next meeting—a teleconference with the CEO of Dalencia Fashion. It’s not much time, but it’s going to have to be enough to grab a bite to eat and go through all of the unanswered emails my assistant Natalie has already forwarded to my inbox.

“All right, I think we can close up shop for the day.” I shut my laptop, grabbing it and my files from the table. “Thanks for allyour hard work on this. Any questions before we regroup next week?”

“I think you covered everything,” Harry remarks cheekily as Eddie pretends to bow.

“Our fearless leader has it all covered,” Laura adds, and I actually laugh.

“I wish it were as glamorous as it sounds.”

“Oh, we know it’s not glamorous.” Madeline snorts. “That’s why we let you do it.”

I nod, chuckling. The five of them file out to their offices, and I follow, a running list of questions I have for Natalie swirling through my mind.

Wednesday meeting with Voltare timing? Are we still golfing with the Walman’s execs next week? Has she heard from Accounting on the budget numbers for the rest of the quarter with Wellness Pro?

It’s a fucking mess of shit, and I’d be lying if I said my brain didn’t feel like a ping-pong tournament at all times.

As I pass by Hillary Smith’s office, I offer a smile and she waves, and my mind immediately bounces in yet another direction.

ElizaBeth,my Midnight Mystery Messenger.

With the nature of my job, I spend a large part of my day outside the walls of my office, talking to staff. I jump between floors and offices and get on the phone more times than I can count. But ever since I started chatting with my Mystery Woman, everysingle bit of it has become dual purpose. I do my job, and I do PI work at the same time.

It’s only been a week, and we’ve only had a few conversations, but I can’t get her out of my mind.

Everyone I come into contact with is suspect—or, at the very least, a new lead in my search for her identity. This morning alone, I questioned Steve, who works at the front desk downstairs, and Cal, the night janitor, who was just trying to finish cleaning up as I arrived. I don’t really suspect that they’re the ones messaging me anymore—I’m fairly confident it’s really a woman now that we’ve been actively flirting—but anyone could have knowledge that could help find out who she is, and Ineedto know.

There’s just something about her. Something…irresistible.

There’d have to be, I guess, for me to keep going back over and over, despite knowing full well how stupid and fucking reckless it is.

I’m a top executive in the company, for shit’s sake, and I’m teetering on the cliff of some very inappropriate behavior with an employee whose identity I haven’t a damn clue about.

If I’m being honest with myself, I shouldn’t be doing it at all.

Hell, yesterday, I questioned Luke from Copywriting, who spent the majority of his time asking me about my fucking sister—the reason for which, I absolutely don’t want to know—and I tried to talk Ella, a twentysomething girl in Web Development, into sharing some of her personal details while we rode in the elevator together.

She either thinks I’m insane or is filing a harassment suit against me as we speak, I would assume. Though, she did smile when she was getting off the elevator, and it wasn’t shaky or scared. Hell, for all I know, sheisthe Mystery Woman. None of my questions were direct enough to know for sure.

I take my time walking toward my office, looking around the massive space, taking in the faces and making a mental checklist of the names of the people on my floor.

There are at least twenty women up here who are in the right age range, have been around long enough to know the details of the office that my Mystery Woman does, and would’ve had every opportunity to be in Seth’s vicinity to overhear the things she did.

Clara Lay’s office, for example, is across the hall from mine and right beside Seth’s. If anyone is within hearing distance of that bastard every day, it’s her. And I’m pretty sure she’s only a few years older than me, early thirties, and the last I heard, she just got out of a long-term relationship.

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