Chapter 3 As Emma Marks walked

As Emma Marks walked, she spoke in a brisk, informative voice. "Coffee delivery is no small matter," she said, as they left through the office door and click-clacked down the long corridor to God only knew where.

Emma continued talking. "Mister Sharpe is very particular about how, when and where his coffee is brought to him-as well as who is given permission of handling his food. Of course, he's particular about everything-but his food and drink are given the utmost attention. Those who are trusted to handle his meals have access to him that people would kill for-even those in higher management positions don't get very much face time with Mister Sharpe."

"I don't understand why he wanted me to do it," Ivy squeaked as she tried to keep up with her long-legged superior.

Emma shrugged almost imperceptibly. "He works in mysterious ways," she said.

Ivy frowned. "I thought that's what people say about God."

"As far as you're concerned, there's no difference between the two."

They took a left turn, and then came to a locked door. Emma took the laminated badge that hung from an extendable cord on her waist and held the badge to a sensor next to the door.

The red light on the sensor turned green and there was an audible click. "We'll need to up your security clearance if Mister Sharpe decides you're to be on a permanent coffee detail. But that remains to be seen," she added mysteriously.

And then they were walking into what could only be a tiny pantry. It was a far cry from the secret room that Ivy had been expecting.

What's with this place? She wondered. Everything that they seemed to worry about was so petty.

A high security pantry was just about the dumbest thing she'd ever seen in her life.

"Watch me very closely, Ivy," the blond woman told her, as she began brewing the coffee in a large stainless steal machine that looked particularly intimidating.

"I've never used a coffee maker like that one," Ivy said.

"That's why I'm instructing you to watch what I do closely," Emma replied, rolling her eyes. She'd pulled a container of coffee grounds from an overhead cabinet and was scooping the grounds into a compartment at the top of the intimidating machine. "I don't intend to explain this process to you again, so please do pay attention."

Ivy stepped closer, wishing she'd brought a notepad and pen.

But it was useless. Emma's hands flew at light speed from one task to the next, like she'd done everything thousands of times before.

Ivy was too scared to tell her supervisor that she was completely lost.

Soon, brewing noises were bubbling and percolating from the machine, and Emma was now bending down and opening other drawers and cabinets. Out came a small, silver serving tray, and then two spoons of slightly differing sizes. Then a cloth napkin. Next, Emma moved to the small refrigerator, and pulled out milk and poured the white liquid into a small metal container.

"Mister Sharpe likes his coffee black at times, but other days he prefers a splash of milk or cream. For a short while, we would try to add the milk or cream ourselves if he indicated that he wanted some. But we were never able to gauge the proportions correctly. He grew annoyed and removed that task from our duties."

Just from her ominous tone, Ivy could tell that even this small failure was still a point of angst for Emma Marks.

"It seems like a lot of trouble over coffee," Ivy said, and immediately regretted the comment.

Emma spun on her, and the taller woman's eyes flashed with rage. "With an attitude like that, I've no doubt that your time at Biometrix will be mercifully short. So you won't need to be troubled over coffee ever again." She turned back to her work.

"I'm-I'm sorry-"

"Please, I don't want to hear it."

Soon, the coffee was ready, and Emma placed an ornate white mug beneath the machine, pressed a button and it filled the cup automatically. Then, Emma placed the cup back on the tray.

She gestured to the tray. Everything had been set perfectly, including one packet of sugar, one packet of Stevia, one packet of Splenda.

"Does he take sweetener with his coffee sometimes?" Ivy asked.

"Not yet. But he's indicated that he'd like the possibility to remain open, so we bring him these sweeteners just in case. I'm sure that seems ridiculous to one so worldly as yourself."

"No, of course I don't think that-"

Emma pointed at her. "I can tell exactly what you think. It's written all over your smug face. But let me explain something to you," she continued, her cheeks aflame. "We're a multi-billion dollar company. Our new drug is saving lives, and we've other drugs in the pipeline that will save even more lives. The kind of unique brilliance that went into creating these scientific breakthroughs and innovations requires absolute attention to the smallest detail. That's the kind of mind that Cullen has," she said.

I must've hit a nerve.

"I understand," Ivy replied, dropping her gaze. "I was wrong to make that comment."

Emma relented upon seeing her acquiescence. "You don't understand yet. But if you're very, very lucky, maybe you'll last long enough to understand a little more than you currently do. Now pick up the tray, carefully. Very carefully. Do not spill a drop or allow anything to shift even the slightest. Walk slowly, and follow me."

They left the pantry and retraced their steps back towards the offices from which they'd come.

Ivy walked slowly and carefully, watching the tray to make sure it was steady, and keeping her eyes glued to just the area surrounding her as she moved.

More than anything, she just didn't want to screw this up.

Her brow was sweating and she felt perspiration breaking out all over her body as she heated up from the stress.

Even walking seemed difficult, and she felt like her shoes were suddenly on the wrong feet.

"Okay, we're here," Emma whispered reverently.

She pointed to a large, opaque glass door. And then, wordlessly, she held her badge to the sensor and it lit green. There was a click and Emma opened the door, allowing Ivy to enter.

Staring into the large conference room, a sudden blast of terror nearly overwhelmed her.

The room was large, with white and gray walls, a few large modern art paintings on the walls, and a huge gleaming black table, surrounded by black leather chairs.

Sitting in the chairs was a mixed group of men and women dressed in crisp suits. They looked like her judges, jury and executioners as they turned to stare.

At the head of the table, facing her, was Cullen Sharpe.

Him.

He sat there, his eyes locked on her as if he'd been waiting for her and her alone. "Come in," he said, raising his hand and waving her over with one quick, efficient gesture.

The conference room was even colder than the orientation room had been, if such a thing was possible. She could feel the arctic air blasting her shoulders and head from the vents above.

All eyes were still upon her as she walked across the carpeted floor, her feet feeling as though they were walking through a morass of glue. Or mud.

Yes, I'm walking through mud.

She tried to focus on just getting to him and putting the tray down, but his magnetic eyes created such a sensation of panic that she couldn't even look in his direction.

Her senses were on high alert. She could smell wood, oil, polish, the scent of leather.

Her ears picked up the sound of the air humming through the vents, and the slight rustling of paper as one of the meeting attendees riffled through a binder.

And then there was Cullen Sharpe, sitting there as she finally approached the end of the table and leaned forward to put the tray down in front of him.

He gave her a tiny smile, the corners of his beautiful, pink lips turning up just a slight fraction as he watched her. And this small smile was so befuddling to her that she forgot momentarily what she was doing.

She focused in on those lips.

What would it be like to have those lips touch your lips? Your neck?

Your breasts?

"Careful," he said, trying to warn her, but it was already too late.

She tilted the tray too far forward and the coffee cup fell on its side. Although it took but a second for it to happen, time slowed down. She watched, horrified, as the black liquid emptied, some onto the tray, more onto the polished table-and even more hot coffee splashed directly onto Cullen Sharpe's thigh.

It stained his dark trousers a darker color.

Dropping the tray onto the table with a clatter, she cried out. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry!"

She watched his expression and it didn't change, not even a flinch of pain, as the burning hot coffee splashed his leg.

"It's fine," Cullen told her, his voice calm and totally at ease.

"Let me get something...napkins..." she was nearly hyperventilating from mortification.

Cullen smiled again, this time even wider. "Most of it got on the table and the floor," he lied. "It barely touched me."

She'd seen that a great deal of it went on his leg, but for some reason he was trying to make the spill seem not as bad as it was.

"I'll get you another coffee," she said, her voice desperate.

I'm as good as fired. I just burned the CEO's leg. He might need a skin graft.

Ivy's mind was racing as she tried to rewind time and take back what she'd clumsily done.