I started the next day with a good swim.

The generous indoor pool that TCorp operated for its employees was one of the many things I loved about the company. I went there every other weekday morning before work, swimming twenty lengths. Breaststroke, front crawl, breaststroke again.

The pool had obviously been built by Thomas Thorne, acting CEO of TCorp. In contrast to his son Thierry, he had earned his money with hard work and wise guidance, or so they all said.

My regular routine of swimming days, and the swimming itself, with its repetitive motions pushing through the water, were like a clockwork driving me through the week. Their predictability and normalcy were reassuring.

I felt warm and comfortable from the exercise when I stepped into our office half an hour later. The fragrance of pool chlorine still clung to me. My skin felt dry.

Camille stood at Sandra's desk, whispering. When they saw me, they waved me over.

"Morning, what the—" I began

Sandra held a finger to her lips.

Something was going on.

Camille's grin almost split her face in two. "You won't believe who walked in here just minutes ago, and who's in there right now." She pointed her thumb at the door to Bob's office, her eyes emoji-wide open.

I shrugged. I still was all relaxed from the swimming, my brain idling.

"Thierry Thorne!" Camille said, grinning and shaking her fists in excitement.

My brain jumped to attention. Our CEO's son was hardly ever seen outside Top Floor. If he came down here, it had to be for some special reason. And I hedged a suspicion as to what it was.

"What's he doing here?" I asked, trying to keep my face neutral. I hadn't told my colleagues about the list of expenses.

Sandra scratched her short, black-gray hair. "We don't know."

"He just walked in," Camille added. "He smiled at me, that was the first thing he did... and only then he asked for Bob... He has such a charming smile."

I shrugged, not caring for the man's smile and irritated by Camille's mooning. Then I looked at Sandra. "So... with his Royal Thorness being in there, we skip work this morning?"

My remark made her smile. "No, we don't... Even if God were in there, we would work."

Camille groaned.

I sat down and logged into my computer. My chair was facing away from Bob's office, giving me a view of Camille's workplace. The morning sun entered the windows at my left side, setting my colleague's copper hair on fire. Her eyes kept darting to Bob's office behind me. She clearly wasn't focused on her accounting either.

Thierry Thorne was in Bob's office. They had to be discussing the list of expenses. The list I had drawn up. Why else should Thierry Thorne move his divine ass from the heavens of Top Floor down to the dark realm of accounting?

And I had no doubts—Bob would put any blame on me.

But it was too late to change things now. I shrugged and tried to concentrate on the numbers on my screen while gnawing the end of a wooden pencil. But my best efforts to gain a hold in the calm routine of work failed.

The heavy silence was broken by the sound of a door's handle being operated. 

I froze. Camille's gaze went up, and her lips parted.

I felt tempted to turn my head and face the doom approaching me. But every muscle in my body had turned to hardened concrete.

"Sure, quality's crucial." That was Bob's birdy voice.

"Absolutely." The other man's voice was a strong baritone. Firm, decisive.

Footfalls were approaching.

"That's her," Bob said.

I kept my eyes glued to my screen when someone stepped up to my table. A pair of hands, a massive metal wristwatch, a dark suit. I looked up. Straight at a tanned face. Thierry Thorne's face.

I realized I was still biting my pencil, teeth embedded deep in its wood.

"Anne Anderson?" His lips were a thin line, the features adamant and unreadable.

I took the mauled pencil out of my fangs. "Er..." This guy was nothing but a spoilt, pampered brat, so why was I chewing wood and hunting for words? Where was my voice? "Yes?"

His gaze left mine, steely eyes looking down at his hand—a hand proffered for shaking mine.

Damn!

I shook it, getting up in the process, which was an awkward and unbalancing thing to do. His palm was dry and warm, his grip firm. It helped me to steady myself.

As soon as I regained my balance, I let go of him.

"As I said, I'm sorry to have bothered you with this." Bob's voice broke the silence. "And so is she..." He gestured at me.

His words hovered in the air.

Was I sorry? Sorry for preparing the list, for doing my job? Anger ascended my spine and flushed my brain. I took a breath while frantically searching for a retort to throw at Bob.

"Why?" Thierry's voice stopped me in my tracks. "Miss Anderson was just doing her job. And she was doing it well. We have to thank her for that. Accounting is worthless if it doesn't pay attention to details."

The air trapped in my lungs escaped, making a sound way too close to a sigh. "I..."

"Yes, Miss Anderson?" Thierry was smiling now. There were fine wrinkles in the corners of his eyes—you didn't see them in the photographs.

I was still searching for something to say, hating myself for it. "I... assume you're talking about the list of expenses?"

Stupid question, what else could they talk about? And was I still smelling of swimming pool chlorine? What the hell was I wearing, and should I address the man with Sir?

Shit.

He lifted his hands, palms facing me. "Sorry, we're barging in on you like a horde of barbarians attacking Rome. But yes..." He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket, exposing an immaculately ironed, white shirt, and retrieved a piece of paper. It was the very list I had printed out the day before. "We're talking about the list you made. It was most attentive of you to notice the issue and reporting it. These transfers were incorrectly registered as personal expenses. My assistant will have to correct them."

"I see." I didn't see, but these were the words that escaped my lips.

"So, thanks again, Miss Anderson. I do wish all our employees would take their job so seriously." He cast a glance at Bob, then consulted his tank of a watch. "But now I have to get going." He looked back at me. "It has been a great pleasure."

"Me too..." Damn! "Same for me."

He nodded at Camille, Sandra, Bob, and then at me. "Ladies. Bob. Have a fine day." He turned to go, stopped, and locked eyes with me once more. "Miss Anderson, will you be at TCorp party next Friday?"

"Er... sure." Shit, I was a verbose adult, not some flabbergasted, overawed teen. "If I can make it."

Of course I could make it. The question was if I wanted to.

"I trust I'll see you there." He gave me a slight bow, turned, and headed for the door.

"Bye Thierry," Bob said at the man's back. He was the only one to find words before the man left the room—that's probably why Bob was the one heading this department.

Thierry Thorne trusted to see me at the party.

What the hell did he mean by that?

~~~

"What was that about?" Camille's nose was a few inches from mine. Bob had retired to his den.

I took a step back, trying to reclaim my personal space, and held up my hands. "Nothing, just some... accounting stuff." I realized that a grin had taken possession of my face.

What was there to grin about? The man was just some rich, spoilt son. And I had no clue why he had asked me about that party.

Camille crossed her arms. "Don't take us for fools. The most handsome super-rich, soon-to-be-CEO just shook hands with you and practically ordered you to come to his party. And you..." She poked her finger at my chest. "You just mumble something about not being sure if you can make it. What are you not telling us?"

"Give her some slack, Camille." Sandra laid a hand on the redhead's shoulder. Then she pointed a finger at me, too. "And you, lady, will tell us what this was about."

Should I tell them? Why not, Thierry Thorn had just declared that they were legitimate, just booked into the wrong accounts.

"Okay," I said and told them. How I had found the suspicious transactions, and how I had taken the list to Bob. And he had obviously reported it to frigging Thierry Thorne.

When I finished, Sandra shook her head. "Girl, you've got a lot of nerve. You can't seriously question the legitimacy of any expenses authorized by Thierry Thorne. One of these days, your stickling for details will get you fired, or worse."

Camille scoffed. "Why, it got her noticed by Thierry fucking Thorne! I'd do much more than stickle for details to get that kind of attention." Her face turned serious, and she placed her hands on both Sandra and me, pulling us close. "Listen, we can't let an opportunity like this one pass. We have to grab it by its horns... or by its balls."

At least she had the decency to blush.

"Er... what do you mean?" I feared the worst.

"The party!" She squeezed my arm. "We'll all have to dress up and shine for that event, like never before. And when he comes over to say hello to us, we won't let him go. We'll grab hold of him." She released me and made a fist.

"Er... grab hold of him by his horns or by his balls?" I asked.

Camille snorted. "He doesn't have horns. And we may see about his balls."

Sandra laughed. "You can have his balls all for yourself. I'm married."

"I'll skip the balls, too, they're all yours," I added. "Anyway, get real. There will be literally thousands of people at the party. And he won't... come over to say hello. He won't even notice us."

"She's right," Sandra added. "He'll be busy fending off half of the female workforce."

"Still, you never know." Camille would not let go of this without a fight, I knew her. She placed her sights on me. "And we'll have to dress you up, Anne. We'll take you shopping."

"Good idea," Sandra chimed in. "We'll help you to choose something nice."

"They are having a sale at Silk & Satin." Camille waved at the brooding cityscape outside our window.

I had no idea where or what that place was, and I didn't care. I stopped listening as Sandra suggested another overpriced outlet, and I returned my attention to the computer, mentally digging my heels into the floor.

I wouldn't spend money on such nonsense. No way.