Read Online A Billion Little Clues by Samantha Westlake - Free Book Online
Authors: Samantha Westlake
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if he was trying to work out a tough math problem in his head, something that involved more letters than numbers. He didn't make eye contact with any of the executives in the audience as he passed them.
But he did look up as he passed me. I was shocked when I felt his dark-eyed gaze settle on me. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. He looked... intent. I felt a bit as though my face was being memorized, sealed into his mind forever.
And then the moment was over and he was gone, being placed into a cop car outside. I wonder if the cops noticed how outclassed their vehicles were. Probably not. Cops usually didn't pay attention to those sorts of things.
Why had he been staring at me? Was he angry at me? Had I foiled his plan? Or was that a look of longing, as if he was lamenting the opportunity that we had missed to share together? Maybe he was still lusting at me. I almost smiled at that. Not likely. Even without having to deal with being accused of murder, there was no way that Roman Wayland would stay hung up on someone like me. He probably already had another supermodel in mind to seduce as soon as he got out of jail.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of flashing lights, gently inquiring police officers, and rampant gossip everywhere. No matter how much the officers discouraged it, the executives were determined to speculate about what might have happened. And the level of gossip jumped tenfold when we saw the paramedics come back down the stairs about ten minutes later, no gurney, looking defeated. It seemed that Geoffrey Silvers, CFO, was officially dead.
Eventually, it was my turn to give a statement. I had been going over my words in my head for the last hour, trying to figure out what to say. Weren't police statements a matter of public record? If I shared what had actually happened, would all my coworkers be able to look it up online and see what I had said? But on the other hand, I was pretty sure that it was illegal to lie to a police officer. I was really torn.
So when the officer looked up, saw that I was next in line, and beckoned me forward, I was very nervous. I could feel my knees knocking together beneath my dress, which now suddenly felt way too short. I was too exposed! Why did I have to wear such a slutty getup, anyway?
The man looked up from his notebook at me, his eyes showing no change. I could have been holding a knife between my teeth and waving a sign that said "I did it" and I don't think he would have reacted. After a second's glance, his eyes dropped back down to the little book of paper in his hands.
"Name?" he called out in a very tired sounding tone.
"Melinda," I answered, praying that my voice didn't crack. "Melinda Gaines."
"Position?"
I wasn't sure quite what to say to this. After a minute, the man looked up at me, his pencil poised to write. "Position?" he repeated again, his eyebrows raised.
"You mean like at Panther Worldwide?" I asked.
He blinked at me, a slow and deliberate gesture. "Yes," he said, drawing the word out.
"Um. I'm a receptionist. Well, not really - I sort of help out with all sorts of tasks around the office, and they're supposed to hire a receptionist soon to replace my job since I'm not really doing that any longer, but it's still kind of my official job title-"
The officer winced as he held up a hand to cut me off. "Receptionist. Got it." He scrawled something down on his notepad.
If I wasn't so scared, I would have glared at this jerk. I wasn't a receptionist! I mean, not really. Hadn't I just made that clear? He obviously wasn't listening to me at all.
I don't think the man noticed my anger. Some policeman he was. "Number?" he said.
I had no idea what this meant. "Number? Like how much do I make? How long have I been at Panther?"
Once again, I felt him blink at me. I decided that it must be his version of rolling his eyes. "Mobile number," he said. "So that we can get in touch with you."
Ohh. "Oh. Here it is." I read off my number
But he did look up as he passed me. I was shocked when I felt his dark-eyed gaze settle on me. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. He looked... intent. I felt a bit as though my face was being memorized, sealed into his mind forever.
And then the moment was over and he was gone, being placed into a cop car outside. I wonder if the cops noticed how outclassed their vehicles were. Probably not. Cops usually didn't pay attention to those sorts of things.
Why had he been staring at me? Was he angry at me? Had I foiled his plan? Or was that a look of longing, as if he was lamenting the opportunity that we had missed to share together? Maybe he was still lusting at me. I almost smiled at that. Not likely. Even without having to deal with being accused of murder, there was no way that Roman Wayland would stay hung up on someone like me. He probably already had another supermodel in mind to seduce as soon as he got out of jail.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of flashing lights, gently inquiring police officers, and rampant gossip everywhere. No matter how much the officers discouraged it, the executives were determined to speculate about what might have happened. And the level of gossip jumped tenfold when we saw the paramedics come back down the stairs about ten minutes later, no gurney, looking defeated. It seemed that Geoffrey Silvers, CFO, was officially dead.
Eventually, it was my turn to give a statement. I had been going over my words in my head for the last hour, trying to figure out what to say. Weren't police statements a matter of public record? If I shared what had actually happened, would all my coworkers be able to look it up online and see what I had said? But on the other hand, I was pretty sure that it was illegal to lie to a police officer. I was really torn.
So when the officer looked up, saw that I was next in line, and beckoned me forward, I was very nervous. I could feel my knees knocking together beneath my dress, which now suddenly felt way too short. I was too exposed! Why did I have to wear such a slutty getup, anyway?
The man looked up from his notebook at me, his eyes showing no change. I could have been holding a knife between my teeth and waving a sign that said "I did it" and I don't think he would have reacted. After a second's glance, his eyes dropped back down to the little book of paper in his hands.
"Name?" he called out in a very tired sounding tone.
"Melinda," I answered, praying that my voice didn't crack. "Melinda Gaines."
"Position?"
I wasn't sure quite what to say to this. After a minute, the man looked up at me, his pencil poised to write. "Position?" he repeated again, his eyebrows raised.
"You mean like at Panther Worldwide?" I asked.
He blinked at me, a slow and deliberate gesture. "Yes," he said, drawing the word out.
"Um. I'm a receptionist. Well, not really - I sort of help out with all sorts of tasks around the office, and they're supposed to hire a receptionist soon to replace my job since I'm not really doing that any longer, but it's still kind of my official job title-"
The officer winced as he held up a hand to cut me off. "Receptionist. Got it." He scrawled something down on his notepad.
If I wasn't so scared, I would have glared at this jerk. I wasn't a receptionist! I mean, not really. Hadn't I just made that clear? He obviously wasn't listening to me at all.
I don't think the man noticed my anger. Some policeman he was. "Number?" he said.
I had no idea what this meant. "Number? Like how much do I make? How long have I been at Panther?"
Once again, I felt him blink at me. I decided that it must be his version of rolling his eyes. "Mobile number," he said. "So that we can get in touch with you."
Ohh. "Oh. Here it is." I read off my number
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