Not the Boss of Me

Chapter 7

Claire

I stand in front of Elliot’s desk, trying to keep my eyes open and friendly rather than slitted and irritated. He has yet to look up from his computer screen as his fingers fly across the keyboard.

I don’t relish being ordered to do anything, especially when my immediate compliance isn’t appreciated. Resisting the urge to fold my arms across my chest and tap my foot, I politely clear my throat, which only garners a distracted, “One minute.”

I’d love to march back out of his office and tell him to call when he actually has time for me, but I remain silent. I’m supposed to be his eager, unflappable assistant.

He finally stops typing and, after a few clicks of the mouse, turns his attention to me. His eyes travel slowly up and down my body, a dissatisfied look crossing his face.

I glance down. Is there something wrong with my outfit? I know I’ve already worn the skirt twice this week, but it’s a simple black skirt. It’s adaptable.

Besides, what does he care? What business is it of his what I wear as long as I dress office-appropriate? It’s not as if I’m made of money and can afford a closet full of business clothes, unlike Mr. High and Mighty. I bet he has a walk-in closet the size of my bedroom with rows of bespoke suits and shelves of designer shoes. He probably has a personal shopper who buys him thousand-dollar shirts and ridiculous accessories like cuff links and ascots. I’m not even sure what an ascot is, but it sounds like something a rich guy would wear. On a yacht. In the Caribbean. While sipping champagne surrounded by a bevy of bikini babes.

We can’t all be as blessed as Elliot Blake. And in any event, I plan to raid Gina’s closet this weekend.

He waves to a chair and I sit, taking care to not bump into it this time or inadvertently flash him.

“Ms. Smith.”

My stomach dips at the sound of his voice: disapproving yet . . . sexy. Ugh. “Yes?”

“I trust you find working at Blake Capital satisfactory.”

“I do.”

“You seem to be keeping up with your workload.”

“I am.”

“I expect the Shielding binder before the earnings call later today.”

“You’ll have it within the hour.”

“Good. Do you have any questions?”

Absolutely. Do you engage in insider trading? Does anyone else know about your illegal activities? If I run my hand through your hair, would I find it soft and silky or would my fingers get stuck in hair product? “No.”

Elliot stares at me as if trying to determine how truthful I’m being.

Or maybe I’m just paranoid.

“Ms. Smith, would you describe yourself as an observant person?”

Where did that come from? Has he noticed something off? Is he on to me?

My heart rate picks up. “Yes?”

“You’re friendly.”

I don’t know where he’s going with this, but I give him my most affable, don’t-fire-me smile.

“You seem to get along with everyone here at Blake Capital.”

“I do.”

He considers me for a moment before continuing, “I have an additional task for you.”

I sag with relief. He’s just giving me more work. “Okay.”

“I need you to . . . observe the traders.”

My heart stops. Observe the traitors? There are traitors? Is he referring to me? Am I a traitor? I suppose I am a traitor. I technically work for him and am looking to bring him down. Oh my god, he knows I’m a traitor.

“Sorry?” I croak.

A look I can’t decipher flashes across his face. “It has come to my attention that one of my traders has been sharing details of Blake Capital’s trades with Sentinel Global Investments.”

I let out a breath. One of his traders, not traitors. Although it does sound as if his trader is a traitor. I bite back a smile.

“I need to know who’s talking to Sentinel.”

Of course. And then he’ll probably smite the fool.

“Which is why you’ll watch them.”

My brows wing up. “I’ll watch who now?”

Elliot frowns. “The traders.”

“Oh.” I nod. “Wait. What? You want me to watch the traders?”

He clenches his jaw. “Yes.”

As in . . . “You want me to spy on your traders? On your own employees?”

His lips form a hard line. “Is that a problem?”

I appreciate he doesn’t beat around the bush or try to sugarcoat the request, but . . . spy on his employees? My colleagues? Sure, I’m working at Blake Capital pretending to be my roommate so I can spy on Elliot Blake, but that’s different. That’s Elliot. Elliot’s a lying, cheating fraudster.

And what would this make me? A double spy? Like a double agent? But maybe cooler. Maybe a double agent ninja spy, since I’d have to be careful to keep all my identities secret.

“Um. What exactly would that entail?”

His face reveals nothing. “I need you to observe them, befriend them, see if anyone is acting unusual, and report everything you see and hear back to me.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Blake, why me? I mean, I’m new here. I’m a temp. I don’t know your employees or what would qualify as unusual behavior.”

“That is precisely why you’re perfect. You’re new. You’re not involved with whatever this is. And whoever’s working with my competitor won’t expect you to be . . . observing.”

I furrow my brow. How am I supposed to observe them? Does he expect me to walk around the office, peering over people’s shoulders? Maybe with a spyglass in hand? And what does he mean by “befriend” them?

“Just to be clear, when you say ‘befriend,’ you mean talk to them around the water cooler and chat with them when I see them. Not . . .”

He furrows his brow. “Not what?”

I shift in my seat. “Not . . . you know. Seduce them or anything.”

His eyes go wide. “No, of course not.” Shaking his head, he frowns. “I just need another set of eyes and ears.”

Another set of eyes and ears. This is so weird.

“Can you handle that?”

No. “Sure.”

I have to. Although the real Denise would probably hightail it out of here and never come back, I need this job. I need the story. Even if it makes my stomach dip as I realize it’s going to require lies within lies.

Elliot leans back in his chair and tents his fingers. “Given the nature of this task, your discretion is required.”

“Of course.”

“You are to tell no one, Ms. Smith, including your friends and family.” He frowns. “Or your boyfriend.”

“I understand.” As much as I’d like to discuss this latest development with my friends, I could do without hearing their inevitable concerns. “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Why did I feel compelled to add that? It’s none of Elliot Blake’s business whether I’m in a relationship.

“Good.”