Pale Stranger (PALE Series) by Mac Flynn Page B

surprised to see one of them, the woman of the two, was Constance Sievers; she sure got around in this company. The pair stopped a few feet from my hiding position, and Sievers handed the man his briefcase. "Good luck, sir," she spoke up with a smile. I'd never seen her smile before; it was like looking at a grinning crocodile.
    The man smiled back. "All I need is you, Miss Sievers," he sappily replied. I resisted my gagging reflex. The two parted, with the man stepping into the boardroom and Miss Sievers leaving the way they'd come.
    Then came the long wait. The boredom was punctuated by loud voices from the boardroom, most notably from Truman. I strained to hear Benson, just to give me a sign he was still alive in there and not eaten alive, but there was nothing until the doors opened after two hours. The men and women filed out like robots, reminding me why I chose not to get an office job. I noticed the strange man from before, the one with Sievers, and his grin was even wider than when he'd entered. He was flanked on all sides by admirers, both men and women, and all their tones were jolly.
    Behind them came Benson, sans hat, Truman, and the other two. Their faces were somber and Truman spoke to Benson in a hushed voice. "I'm sure we can figure something out, or perhaps this arrangement won't be as inconvenient-"
    Benson whirled around to face the man. "This will be very inconvenient to me. You know I prize my privacy above all else," Benson snapped back.
    Truman sighed. "And that may be how this came to pass. You weren't at the helm as you used to be."
    Benson narrowed his eyes. "What are you implying?"
    I felt sorry for Truman; he looked like a man trying to tap dance on the edge of a pool of piranhas. "I'm trying to suggest you spend more time attending to your work here, rather than at your home."
    "You know that's not possible for me," Benson countered.
    Truman gestured to his person. "But you are here, and very well-looking, might I add. Maybe we have that young lady to thank for this small improvement." Truman's friendly eyes settled on me in my hiding spot.
    Benson sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and put on his hat. "Whether I am here or there, we are stuck with that man as a new partner. Our only hope is his ambition is quenched."
    Truman mournfully shook his head. "I very much doubt such a man's ambitions can ever be quenched."
    "Call me if you hear any news about him," Benson requested.
    Truman nodded. "Certainly. It was a pleasure seeing you again, rather than speaking over the phone." They cordially shook hands, and Benson repeated the formality with the other two. The three passed by, each with a kind nod toward me, and I was left alone with my boss. He looked exhausted; his gaunt face had traces of sweat and his hands shook.
    I jumped up and smiled at him. "Ready to go home?"
    He shakily smiled. "You read my thoughts, Angel."

CHAPTER 10
     
    I helped him back to the car and it was another quiet drive back to the house. When Benson got out he didn't look any more relieved, or rested, than when he got in. Inside the safety of the house he shed his dark clothing, and I saw how warm he'd been. His shirt and pants were soaked with sweat, and I swear I heard him squeak every time he took a step in his sweat-filled shoes. He removed the rest of his clothes down to his pants; even the socks flew off. I tried not to look, but it was hard when he tossed the wet clothing at me. "Put those in the laundry room," he gently ordered me.
    I went to the rear of the house and deposited the laundry in a basket as though it were radioactive dirty laundry. Apparently his secretary needed to be tasked with doing his laundry, too, or it would never get done. I shoved a load into the washer and set it going, then went in search of Benson. I expected to find him in the study, but that room was empty. I heard a deep sigh from the living room and found him leaning back on the couch with one hand holding a damp cloth over his