The Meridian Gamble (8 page)

Maybe he’s still watching me, or
can sense me with his vampire powers. I half-expect him to show up again, but
nothing happens.

I can’t stand being on the roof
very long, I’m too nervous. But I finally work up my courage, and do what I
really want to do. I look out over the ledge of the building, and whisper.

“Adam, if you can hear me, I was
wrong. I do want to see you again.”

And once more,
I scurry back to the stairwell. I run back to my apartment, locking myself in.

On Monday, I go to work feeling
exhausted. It seems like I haven’t been off for so much as a day. But for once,
I’m almost happy to be here, to face the drudgery of my tasks. Maybe it’s the
frustration of having been cooped up at home, or maybe it’s comforting to have
other people around, the safety in numbers factor, because there’s no way a
vampire will attack me in the hallways of Creative Quorum.

I get to my office a bit earlier
than usual and throw my things down on the dumpy little chair meant for the
guests who never visit, and set my latte down on the plain brown desk. I
immediately see the horrifying blinking red light on my phone, and any
contentment I felt over being here dissipates. Voicemail is my natural enemy, a
far worse predator than any vampire could be, because the light indicates that
I have messages, and potential problems to solve. And it’s the most depressing
way possible to start my day.

To my surprise, I only have one
message, and the good news is that it isn’t one of the mail boys, which means
none of them have called out sick. It means I won’t have to juggle the mail
runs to figure out who can cover which floor. But the bad news is, the voice I
hear on the line belongs to a woman, Val Cornelius, one of the worst
uber-bitches in the Creative Division.

“Meridian, the garbage disposal in
the 18th floor kitchen isn’t working properly,” Val hisses from somewhere in
the limbo of telephone space, a recorded blip on some chip buried in a phone
closet. “This is unacceptable. I come here on a Saturday to try to do some
work, and I can smell the decaying food from all the way down the hallway. At
my desk! The sink isn’t grinding the garbage properly and I’m sure I’m not the
only executive bothered by this. And just a suggestion, but you should really
have a cell phone on your outgoing message so we can contact you over the
weekend in case of emergencies. Please call me as soon as you get in on Monday.
In the A.M.”

Val is insane, telling me to put my
cell number on my outgoing message. Bitch, please. Like I really want her
calling me up on my off hours. If that’s going to happen, then the company will
have to start paying my mobile bill. And give me a raise.

Val really isn’t even an executive.
She’s a junior one, like Staci, trying to wield her lofty power from a cubicle,
not an office. But unfortunately, she is blonde and pretty, if a bit on the
bony side, and Val does hold a certain level of respect in the upper ranks. She’s
just attractive enough that the men on the 18th floor consider her a hottie,
and she’s smart enough to kiss the ass of anyone and everyone important above
her, just as ferociously as she belittles the peons beneath her. And I can’t
ignore her complaints, because I don’t want to hear her voice any more than is
necessary.

So I take the elevator upstairs to
look at garbage disposals.

When I get to the kitchen, I find a
rotting banana in the refrigerator, and I throw it down the sink to test the
machine. I quickly see that the unit is working perfectly, and I don’t smell a
thing, but I pick up the phone and call the maintenance guy anyway. Better to
be safe than sorry when it comes to the possibility of incurring Val’s wrath.

After I leave a message on the
building maintenance line, I curse my stupidity. I’ve left my Starbucks back on
my desk. But I need a quick caffeine infusion. Even though the office coffee is
disgusting, it is strong, and some eager beaver has made a fresh pot. So I pour
myself a cup.

As I drop extra cream and sugar
into the cheap paper cup to make the gross swill palatable, Staci walks through
the door. She’s wearing a black blazer and black slacks, her signature outfit. Her
blonde hair has been curled to perfection, and her M.A.C. make-up has been
applied flawlessly, in a thick layer.

Her face lights up in surprise when
she sees me.

“Oh my gosh, Meri! What are you
doing up here?”

“The garbage disposal. Val thinks
it’s broken again,” I groan.

“She always thinks it’s broken,
just because her nose is hyper-sensitive. She doesn’t realize it’s probably
something in the building pipes.”

“I know. I think she wants me to
get on my hands and knees to scrub it all out myself. Which I just might do to
shut her up.”

“You know she screamed at me once
because she thought I was burning a candle. It wasn’t even lit, it was just
sitting at my desk. Apparently, the smell of Vanilla Cinnamon offends her. I
had to put it in a drawer to get her to stop bitching about it.”

“She’s such a shrew. What kind of
lunatic complains about Vanilla Cinnamon? I should get …”

But I’m not thinking straight, and
I stop myself. I’m about to say that I should get Adam to eat her, which would
be a mistake.

“… I should get a new job is what I
should do.”

Staci pours some coffee into a mug
she’s carrying, her own personal one that reads, “Positive Attracts Positive”
on the side. Which doesn’t make sense. Positive attracts negative in the real
world, but I suspect it’s an advertising thing. She probably only carries it to
show she’s upbeat and chipper, and that she never misses an opportunity to
promote herself.

“So how was your weekend?” Staci
asks, not really waiting for an answer. “Oh my God, Darcy called. We’re going
out for sushi this Tuesday. I’m super excited. I’m hoping he sees it as a
date-date, and not a networking type of thing. Of course, he is a great contact
no matter …”

“I met a guy,” I say, practically
cutting her off.

I’m not sure why I say it. I can’t
really tell her about Adam, not his true nature, anyway. Who knows, it might
endanger her life. But on a certain level, I must be desperate to dish.

“Oh really? Where did you meet
him?” Staci says, intrigued.

“At Downtown Pub. He was that guy at
the end of the bar I was eye-fucking.”

“You were eying someone at the
bar?” she says, full of surprise. “I didn’t even know.”

“Oh, I thought I was being obvious.
That’s why I left in such a hurry, but he was gone by then. But the weird thing
is, I ran into him on the roof of my building, of all places.”

“The roof of your building? Sounds
stalkery. Does he live there?”

“No. It turns out he works for the
company that owns the place. And he goes up there because he loves the view so
much, like me.”

“It is a nice view. So is he …
what? A maintenance guy?”

“No, not a maintenance guy,” I say,
in a slightly bitchy tone. As if I have to prove that Adam is something
special, which is easy enough to do. “He’s some finance executive who handles
the company’s investments.”

Staci hears hints of finance and
money, and she’s instantly excited.

“Oh. Well, dish! What’s he like?”

I wonder how I can describe Adam,
especially in a way that won’t terrify Staci. But I realize there’s so much
deliciousness to him, it will be easy to impress her while still leaving out
the fangs.

“He’s hot. And super successful. And
really, really hot. This guy is so smoking hot I practically have second degree
burns.”

“How successful is super
successful? I mean, I’m sure he makes a good salary from being an executive.”

“I don’t know. It must be some huge
conglomerate with a real estate division. And it sounds like he’s one of the
partners or something. He offered to buy me an island. Or have his company take
over the agency so I could run it. And let me tell you something, he didn’t
sound like he was joking around. Can you believe that?”

“Wow …”

Staci’s eyes widen ever so
slightly, and a wave of emotions crosses her face, not the least of which is
fear. But she quickly collects herself.”

“I don’t know. It sounds like he
was laying it on a bit thick. Are you sure this guy wasn’t bullshitting you
about this company?”

“It wouldn’t matter if this guy was
a plumber. He was so cute. He had this dark, wavy hair and piercing eyes. And a
body like he spent half his life in the gym. Seriously drool-worthy. The only
problem was …”

“What?”

“Well, you’re right. The whole
throwing money around. And the rooftop thing. It was kind of creepy. Stalkery,
like you said. He reminded me of that movie about the Wall Street guy who goes
around chopping up women.”

“Oh my God, was he Christian Bale
hot?”

“He was Christian Bale and every
other hot movie star combined hot. Like you could not even imagine. You would
have pushed me into traffic to get at this guy.”

“Yum,” she says, staring off,
dreamily. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? You could meet him
somewhere public. And bring mace.”

Or maybe a wooden stake. But
meeting him somewhere public is not such a bad idea. At least there would be
people around. I can’t believe I’m actually considering it. But I also can’t
get the subtle curve of Adam’s lips out of my mind.

“It doesn’t really matter. I can’t.
I didn’t take down his number.”

“Oh, shoot. Well, maybe you’ll see
him again on the roof now that you’re going to be up there every night. Or
maybe you can contact the company that owns the building and try to track him
down?”

“Maybe. But I think for now I would
be better off calling the maintenance guy again, just to make sure he hurries. That
way Val won’t get me fired. And I won’t have to throw myself at rich men who
want to buy me islands, just so I have a place to live. I’ll call you later.”

I drop my
crappy cup of coffee into the trash bin, and head back downstairs.

I get off on the 16th floor, and as
I approach the receptionist station, I immediately spot some flowers sitting on
the back counter. They’re giant long-stemmed red roses with huge bulbs, and one
white rose in the center of the arrangement, and they look good at the station
where the receptionist sits. The desk is basically a big slab of beige marble,
with another slab of marble on the wall behind it, where the company logo is
embedded, a set of giant gold letters that spell out, “CQ.” And the colors
contrast nicely with the bland surface.

As I get closer, I see that the
flowers are even more stunning than I had thought, with two big, green leaves
sticking out behind the roses that form a kind of backdrop. For a moment, I
wonder who the lucky girl is. Probably Lilliana in Accounting, a hot Filipina
who married a rich lawyer, who always brags about making her husband pamper
her.

I never get flowers, not even from
Trevor after I put out. But then a wave of panic hits me, as I suddenly realize
who they are for. And if there was any doubt in my mind, it disappears when the
girl manning the desk, Kara, looks up at me with excitement.

She’s a plain girl with frizzy
blonde hair, fresh out of college. But with a straight perm and a few smart
outfits, she’ll be working on the 18th floor in no time.

“Oh my gosh! Meri, guess what? You
have a flower delivery,” the girl says.

Even though I know what’s going on,
I’m still hit by a subtle wave of shock. Of course, they’re for me. And it’s
shallow, but looking at the expensive arrangement, I can’t help but to smile.

I pick up the vase, which is heavy.
But luckily, my office is only a few feet down the hall.

“Aren’t you even going to read the
card?” Kara asks.

“Oh, I already know who they’re
from. Some guy I can’t get rid of,” I say.

“Wow. It sucks to have such
problems.”

“Sucks is exactly what you would
say.”

But despite my casual front, I’m
dying to read what Adam wrote, and I hurry toward my office. I pass the Mail
Department, and, of course, I have to listen to their taunts.

“Woo hoo, look who has a new
boyfriend.”

“Ay, que caliente, Loca!”

I can hear Edison’s voice calling
out to me, but I choose to ignore him, as he follows me a half-step out into
the hall.

“Say, if I give you some flowers,
will you go out with me, sweetheart?”

“Not if you bought me the whole
shop,” I say.

“Aw, why you gotta be so cruel?”

“I don’t have to be cruel at all. I’ll
leave that for the guy who sent me the flowers. And trust me, you don’t want to
mess with him.”

Edison squawks unhappily, but I say
it with just enough seriousness to put a bit of fear in him. And as I walk
away, I can hear the sound of the other mail runners laughing at him.

I set the flowers on the dull brown
wood of my desk, the one that makes me feel like a schoolteacher. And they look
out of place in my office. These flowers belong on the 18th floor, at least at
one of the cubicles, and look ridiculous among the pile of invoices I have
messily stacked up. Ridiculous, yet beautiful, and I’m glad they’re mine.

I stare at the card a long time,
afraid of the Pandora’s box I might be opening by touching it. The thought of
reading it makes my stomach do somersaults. Yet, it also excites me to think of
the dark, dangerous lover who sent them. But the smart thing would be to just
throw it all away.

Curiosity finally gets the best of
me, and I snatch the small, square envelope from the flowers, including the
plastic fork that held it in place. I throw that little pitchfork away, so that
it won’t ruin the splendor of the gorgeous buds, and I open the card.

Maybe the note will say that Adam
is coming for me. Maybe he’ll state that I belong to him, and that he’ll drain
me of each drop of my blood for refusing him. But instead, it simply reads,
“You’re spectacular. Always remember it.”