I hurried back to the stairwell and ran up the stairs, silently making my way to the Devil’s Den, as I usually referred to Storm’s office.
I jiggled the handle, not surprised he kept it secured when everyone else I’d checked had left their doors unlocked. Muttering under my breath, I grabbed the spare keys and let myself inside.
It paid having friends in the janitorial department, and I made a mental note to bake my buddy the homemade snickerdoodles he liked so much.
Weak light filtered into the room via two overly large windows, giving me an easy look around. After closing the blinds on his office door, I set to work.
I spent a good twenty minutes searching and had developed a throbbing headache. I leaned back in his surprisingly comfortable leather chair. It was just as I thought.
Storm spent too much time working and womanizing. He wouldn’t have time to set me up, not between working the Brown LTD account and seducing his latest Barbie look-alike.
And that snide thought had little to do with rumor and everything to do with the scene I’d witnessed a month ago.
Lunching at my favorite diner on a much-deserved day off, I’d been stunned to watch Marcus break up with Darla Mitchell, the Mitchell Publishing heiress, on a very public street corner.
Granted, Storm had the looks and charisma to charm his way into any woman’s bed. But he really needed to perfect his break-ups. Or at least do them in private and off the street.
Smothering a yawn, I realized I’d come up with less than nothing and should just leave.
But before I could get my sorry butt out of Storm’s chair, I heard a faint scratching sound and froze. I hadn’t checked the small closet on the far side of the office. Because why would anyone be hiding in Marcus Storm’s office closet on a Saturday night, anyway?
The scratching turned into a weird clicking.
A fountain pen rolled across the floor, where it must have fallen, up the side of the desk and across the surface to stop in front of me.
The suspect list flew out of my pocket to flap in my face before falling to the desktop next to the pen.
Frazzled, I watched in disbelief, wondering why the hell my telekinesis had to start up again when it had been dormant since my experience yesterday after work.
Then the office door flew open.
I stared, horrified, at an equally shocked Marcus Storm.
Chapter 7
Marcus
The blasted human had been in my thoughts all day and now sat behind my desk, in my office.
So much for an escape from Tessa Sheridan.
“What are you doing here?” she croaked, looking like a sexy stalker in a black ballcap and jacket.
I cocked my eyebrow, knowing how much Tessa detested the affectation. “Sorry, I was under the impression this was my office.”
“But it’s Saturday night!”
“And?” I glanced at my desk, curious about the paper she seemed intent on covering. “Isn’t that my fountain pen?” I referred to the expensive gift from a happy client.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” She stared down at it with distaste, as if expecting it to jump up and bite her. “It was on the floor. You must have dropped it.”
I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it, amused at the polite dance of words between us. Anxiety, worry, and a bite of anger lingered in her big, blue eyes.
My mood brightened despite the circumstances. I thoroughly enjoyed watching Tessa lose her temper.
I studied my fingernails, then glanced up casually at her pale face. “I suppose I should ask what you’re doing in here.”
“Uh, well, yes. You probably should.” She licked her lips, and I wanted to groan.
