Warren clenched his jaw so tightly that rays of pain shot through his head and neck. This specialist was the best that money could buy, and yet he still found nothing to use as leverage on Ms. Alcazar. Not only was Warren out of money for this rush job, but he'd squandered precious time for covering his tracks on the overtime voucher fiasco.
Five whole irritating, confounding days had passed, and still, nothing. Warren's efforts to isolate and exploit Iris had failed every day since the launch, as outside forces conspired to prevent their meeting. Whether it was that nosey intern woman or Mr. Cavendish himself, Warren's Office Specialist was constantly being swept up with one task or another, causing his blood to boil.
At least he still had some time left, as it was Tuesday, and payroll ran on Wednesday afternoon. Payroll would flag Claire’s and Iris’s anomalous pay stubs by then, and he would be found out, unless he doctored the logs somehow. If only he could find out how she got access to the submission software in the first place. That alone could be grounds to get her in trouble.
Warren straightened his tie and forced his hair back into place after waiting on the rooftop for his disappointing news. He practiced his smile in the elevator back down to the GC&S office, forcing his face to contort unnaturally to achieve a believable expression. Another roadblock on his path to freedom meant more mental energy spent on this little nobody of an employee, especially if a smile alone was so draining.
If only he could press his luck with the call center trick he’d pulled earlier. Alas, the call logs Iris had requested Warren to check had proved her story to be true. It would only cause him further hardship if Iris begged a superior to check the logs and confirm that she had been abandoned by the other employees that day. No, this required actual leverage; threats without substance would merely backfire right in his face.
Maybe I can get rid of her like I did with Dorothy… Warren toyed with the idea as he spied on Iris arriving at her workstation from behind his office blinds. No, that won’t do. It’d take too long, and she’s so d*mned ugly, I couldn’t bring myself to…
The shiny black office phone rang on his desk, with a “parked” call light on from Javier’s number on the screen. Warren struggled to sound pleasant as he fielded the call, all while keeping an eye on Iris settling into the workday.
Iris yawned mightily again this morning, exhausted from another night of shadowing the lady Paxoram through the canyons of Zhalterra. Though tired from the effort, Iris enjoyed flying with her host, even if she had to pay for the experience with drowsiness the next day. It had been five days since she had encountered Khazmine’s plate coating, yet the dreams persisted. Mr. Salvatore had faithfully driven her to and from work the whole time, so at least she could sleep soundly during her commute.
She had stopped mentioning the dreams to her roommates, thinking that such news would only upset them. Byxx had been the only one to report dreams of his home world, and Zayzann remained cryptic in his responses about his own experiences. Khazmine had gone notably quiet at mealtimes when dreams were discussed, and often stared off in the middle distance, unmoving and vigilant.
It had been a busy few days, punctuated by Iris hosting Curtis to visit the apartment on Saturday for their game, and Mrs. Rozniak delivering her lease renewal, as promised. Her roommates were in much better spirits over the last few days, and Iris believed that things were starting to return to normal.
That new lease was the greatest worry of all, as the rate jumped nearly twenty percent from last year’s, and Iris was struggling as it was to make rent. She already worked a full-time job and Iris wasn’t confident that she could take on another without risking her precarious health. As with all financial challenges, her choice was to either cut costs, or, ideally, make more money. Cutting costs any further meant that Iris would struggle to feed and shelter her roommates, which was totally unacceptable in her eyes.
Taking a break to fetch coffee and a snack to have with her medication, Iris slinked away to the kitchenette with her faux leather bag in hand. Her heart sank as she recognized a familiar plastic lid with her name on it peeking out from the rim of the trash can in the kitchenette. Iris peered into the bin and tensed her brows at the unfortunate reality that stared back at her. Someone had stolen and eaten the food her roommates had prepared for her.
“No…” Iris whimpered to herself. “That’s all I had…”
“Hey Alcatraz, why the long face?” A thoroughly irritating voice grated on her last nerve, confirming Ryan’s entrance into the kitchenette. He’d found a new nickname to mock her with, sounding close enough to her surname to get a rise out of Iris. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you for your astute assessment.” Iris wiped a tear from her eye and averted her gaze away from him. Ryan stood in the doorway and blocked her path with his body. “Do you have anything else to say, or may I pass?”
“Geez, lighten up, Jane Eyre.” Ryan needled her, still barring Iris’s way. “I wish you’d stop treating me like someone waiting around for a chance to kick your dog.”
“You showed up at my home, Mister Dämmerung.” Iris strained to keep her words enunciated and civil as she stared up at him with a venomous sneer. “You attacked me, shook me senseless, and had regularly tormented me and Evelyn. How else should I treat you, hmm?”
Ryan struggled for words to counter Iris’s claims and found himself at the depths of the hole he’d dug continuously for the past three years. “I was drunk, and it was stupid, and… I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe you.” Iris shook her head and tensed her brows and ears in disgust. “If you hadn’t gotten in trouble that day, you’d still be harassing us both. You’re not sorry at all.”
“What can I do to convince you?” Ryan practically begged as he removed his hands from the doorway and clasped onto Iris’s arms, clamping them to her sides. “I meant what I said about earlier. This remedial training is really killing me, and I can’t get through it until you forgive me. What do I have to do to—”
“Do we have a problem here?” Mr. Cavendish approached the kitchenette, trailed by a handsome man Iris hadn’t seen before. “I seem to remember giving explicit instructions—”
“It’s not what it looks like, sir.” Ryan released Iris from his clutches and turned to face his supervisor. “I was just—”
“You’re free to leave, Ryan.” Mr. Cavendish silenced any paltry excuses from the distressed subordinate. “We need updated projections on Matheson and Combs before the end of business today. I suggest you spend your energy on that instead of whatever’s going on here.”
Ryan skulked out of the kitchenette with his shoulders drawn up to protect his foolish head from onlookers, stomping his feet defiantly as he passed the dapper stranger. Iris permitted herself to relax and smile politely at Mr. Cavendish and this visitor who’d stopped in for a break on his way to the C-suite.
“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Corwin.” Cavendish apologized before introducing him to Iris. “This is Ms. Alcazar. She works with Mr. Maker on your account.”
“How do you do, miss.” Corwin smiled a toothy, whitened grin and shook Iris’s hand politely. Aside from his smile, his entire person could be summed up with the word “beige.” He was sun-kissed, with sandy hair and a trim, beige suit that fitted him perfectly. “I hear you’re the ones to speak with regarding replacement products.”
Iris wasn’t sure which account Mr. Corwin was referring to but played along regardless. “Of course, sir. Do you have a few minutes that we could compare notes on? We want to make sure you’re getting all the missing products on your follow-up order.”
Mr. Cavendish smiled warmly while the pair chatted in the kitchenette. Without having to explain who Mr. Corwin was with, Iris had maneuvered him into not only telling her more about the missing product, but giving her enough information to realize that he was a representative from Helix, Limited, who had been displeased with the faulty launch last week. He appeared to have mistaken Iris for someone who had the influence to take immediate action on the missing orders, spilling details that Iris absorbed. She listened intently to Mr. Corwin droning on about his displeasure with the delivery discrepancies and answered him with unwavering grace and charm.
“That sounds dreadful.” Iris empathized with Corwin without giving excuses for the mix-ups. “We’ll get on this right away for you, sir. Can I get you anything while you wait?”
“Oh, no thank you.” Corwin felt the vibration from his cellphone in his pocket. “One moment, please. I need to take this real quick.”
Corwin darted out to the hallway to find a quiet place to take his phone call, leaving Iris and Mr. Cavendish alone in the kitchenette. The timing was perfect for Iris to see if she could request extra hours to help make rent, but her body trembled at the thought of him turning her down. Mr. Maker’s warning about him still rang in her ears, but Iris steeled herself to take a chance. Though she was nervous, with sweaty palms and a tightness in her throat, Iris managed to conjure enough courage to speak first.
“Sir, would you mind if—”
“—Would you have some free time to…” Cavendish spoke in unison with her, pausing until they both stopped talking, and gestured with a friendly hand for Iris to talk.
“No, go ahead, sir.” Iris pressed, not wanting to interrupt.
“I was wondering if, and you can say ‘no’ if you don’t want to…” Mr. Cavendish also struggled with potential rejection, giving himself an “out” for her refusal. “Would you like to join me for the next few weeks to help sort out all of the client mess?”
Iris was surprised, to say the least. She wasn’t in Finance or Accounts and had only passing knowledge of the specifics of each missing product, so it was an unusual request from Mr. Cavendish. She struggled to figure out why he would want a novice to get involved with so granular and specific a task. As if reading her mind, Mr. Cavendish elaborated while fetching himself a small polystyrene cup of office coffee.
“I was thinking about that night in the elevator.” He took a hit off the disgusting beverage before dumping the dregs into the sink and tossing the cup. Mr. Cavendish knew full well that the coffee was a sad imitation of Iris’s sweet brew but had swallowed it anyway to buy him a moment to form a coherent thought. “About the tumbler and what you said about details. I know it’s not what you were hired for, but I could use a hand with this… Can you help me, please?”
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