Crossing Hathaway Read Online Free Page A

around in the soggy fabric, and held it up to my face in an iron grip: Be at my office first thing tomorrow, Cameron. We have work to do.
    “It couldn’t have been that important, asshole, I was right fucking there, in your office!”
    Employing every scrap of willpower in me, I set the phone on the desk instead of throwing it across the room and stomping on its remains. I picked up my office phone and dialed reception.
    “Reception, this is Carol.”
    “Hey, girl, have you heard from Cameron?”
    “Yeah, he called in a little while ago. Looks as if they’re in for a long night. Rachel’s stuck at one centimeter. He booked some time off so he doesn’t think he’ll be back until Tuesday, maybe Wednesday next week.”
    I palmed my forehead, letting my hand make a slow descent down my face. “Balls, balls, and more balls.”
    Carol cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
    “Nothing. If he calls in again, can you let him know I want to talk to him? I don’t want to bother him on his cell.”
    “Absolutely.”
    I waited until Carol hung up and slammed the receiver down a few times before I dropped it into its cradle.
    “You all right, dude?” Jeremy asked from behind me in a scared little boy voice.
    I didn’t bother to turn around. “Just ducky, thanks.”
    “Why are you all wet?”
    “Leave it alone, Jer.” A sick sensation swept over me, invaded my stomach, and churned up my peanut butter sandwich. The only man who’d ever done that to me before had been my dad. No amount of willing my body and mind to get over it made the feeling go away.
    “Sure … okay,” Jeremy said. “Payroll’s printer died again, and the new wiring we put in the VP’s office isn’t working. If you’ve got time, I could use the help.”
    I nodded and sighed, ecstatic to have something useful to do. “Yeah, boy howdy, do I have the time.” I stood and pulled my coat over sopping clothes to quiet my shaking, though if I was honest with myself, it had more to do with fury than cold. “Nice to know someone in this company doesn’t think I’m a useless dolt.”
    Without waiting for a response from the geek squad, I headed out the door toward the Payroll department.

    Chapter 3

    The alarm went off way too freakin’ early Friday morning. The incessant honking of cars and the screeching brakes of busses filled my room with the usual cacophony of noise. My eyelids peeled up one at a time as I stretched the sleep from my bones, grunting with each extension of my arms and legs. The sunrise cast a warm, peach haze through the window of my apartment and painted the bedroom walls in the surreal shades of a dream. For a brief moment of bliss, it was just another day. One filled with regular stupid people and their self-imposed misery in the form of computer issues from forgotten passwords to complete meltdowns.
    My respite ended when Mr. Hathaway’s damn iPhone buzzed on the nightstand.
    Fuckballs.
    I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and checked the clock. 5:15 a.m. Oh, seriously? A.m. and I didn’t get along so well on the best of days. Add an asshole to the mix and it made for a grumpy start to my day. Groaning, I picked up the black devil and flipped it over to the message on the screen: I’m waiting, Cameron. Stop at Grindhouse on your way and bring my usual.
    “Was I talking to myself yesterday?” I shouted at the device, squeezing it and imagining Hathaway’s neck in its place. Moderately satisfying. “Cameron’s not coming in today, you twit.”
    After a brief shower—a cold one at that since it took three years for the hot water to make it to my third-floor apartment—I donned a pair of black dress pants and a white dress shirt with a gold HP embroidered on the left breast. I had a whole closet full of Hathaway Pharmaceuticals shirts, part of a dress code I had no idea why IT had to follow.
    Yeah, let’s put the people who crawl around under desks all day in expensive clothes. Genius at work.
    A half hour later