When she was little, Eliza used to play all kinds of games in her father’s office at home. House. Dolls. Puzzles. Crosswords. All manner of distraction was brought in there. When she was young and dolls and pretty princess were the name of the game, she’d sprawl out on the floor and dominate more than half of her father’s workspace, and he would let her, of course, because she didn’t understand personal space or the need for quiet to get any serious work done.
As she got older, Eliza migrated to the couch. She did her crosswords and worked on school assignments, sometimes with headphones plugged into a Walkman or laptop in the later years. She and her father worked in harmony at home, and the only time he locked his office door there was when he had a conference call and absolutely needed to privacy. Otherwise, the door was always open. Now that she was an adult, Eliza realized he probably welcomed her in there because it was a good way to keep an eye on her. For a man who watched her like a hawk, why would he banish her from the room he spent almost all his time at home in? Eliza was always welcome there, and often encouraged to do her studying there.
His office at the college was another story entirely. From a very young age, Eliza knew her father’s work office was off limits. If she was there, on very rare occasions, do not touch anything had been ingrained in her brain. Don’t touch anything. Don’t move anything. Don’t visit. Her father was strict at home, but he was stricter at work. It took her a long time to understand he had a reputation to uphold. To be seen as the guy who lets his daughter play with dolls on the hard, all but untouched, leather couches was a man who was soft—feminine. He’d always tried to be hard as soon as he stepped within campus limits, and while Eliza didn’t approve, she had enough respect for him not to say anything.
Today, after almost two decades of following his rules to a T, Eliza was about break one of the most important ones—if only to save her father’s life.
She’d never been a rule breaker, but over the course of a single weekend, somehow Eliza had managed to break them all. Lying. Stealing. Apparently Nash was starting to rub off on her, even if it was only his supposed reputation that she knew of.
On Friday, she’d contacted her father about having dinner together Saturday night. He had a work event, but he had agreed to do a glass of wine with her in his study after. Using that as an excuse to come home without raising suspicion, Eliza had gone over and stolen his office key off his ring, then made a copy of it Sunday. By Sunday evening, she had it back where it belonged, citing that she’d left her phone at his place the night before as the reason for her repeat visit. After all, she’d been living in the same dorm for years, and while weekly dinners were still a thing, Saturday night was a social night—for her father, anyway. He’d been surprised that she wanted to spend time together, particularly after the drunk bar night incident a few weeks back.
Guilt formed a tight knot in her stomach at the idea of deceiving him like that, but it was a necessary evil, unfortunately.
So, there she was, Monday night and standing in the hall outside of the dean’s office. Well, outside of the reception area of the dean’s office. Her father usually worked late, but Monday nights he had a standing racquetball game with one of the psychology tenured professors that he never missed. Eliza knew his receptionist, after years of casual observation, usually popped down the hall to watch TV with the other admin workers at seven o’clock Monday nights and would return by eight to finish up for the night.
It was the only time Eliza had to get in and get out unseen. The cameras in the corners of the both office areas were just for show. Swiping her tongue over her bottom lip, Eliza gripped the replicated key hard before pressing forward. It would be odd to outsiders if they saw her just standing there. She lingered by the doorway to the reception area first, then peeked around the doorframe. True to form, the reception desk was empty. The main lights were off, the room illuminated by the soft lighting of two lamps at the main desk and one on a small table next to the waiting area.
Her feet pressed into plush mauve carpet, a recent addition to the office. The old carpet was beige and notoriously difficult to keep clean, but Eliza wasn’t a fan of the smell of the newer carpet. Like New Car Smell, it gave her a bit of a headache.
She could practically feel her heart hammering in her throat as she approached her father’s office door. With no light on beneath it, she drew in a shaky breath and pressed her ear to the wood, listening to any signs of movement inside. Nothing. Silence. Aside from the hum of the reception computer, it was all silence.
That and her pounding heart, which could probably be heard outside.
Clearing her throat, she shoved the key into the doorknob lock and turned, a strange thrill coursing through her at the sound of the lock mechanism sliding open. Seconds later she was inside, gently closing the door behind her and using the light on her phone to guide her over to her father’s desk. Once she was seated in his high-backed chair, she did a quick scan of the dark room—his most private sanctuary. With a trembling hand she reached for the lamp on his desk and tugged at the hanging chain, her whole body going stiff when the light clicked on. For a long moment, Eliza waited, half-expecting campus security to bust down the door, stun guns and Tasers at the ready.
Of course, nothing of the sort happened. Instead, she was faced with long shadows scattered around her father’s meticulously organized office—that and twenty-five short minutes to find what she needed to convince Nash of her father’s innocence. Setting her phone aside, Eliza pushed through her nerves and turned on the computer, then went for the stack of journals in the corner of the desk. One for daily issues. One for weekly appointments. One for each month in summary. If she was going to prove that her father wasn’t responsible for all those awful deaths in the Steel Phoenix Motorcycle Club, his journals were the first place to look.
After a quick glance to the clock, Eliza dove into the first book, adrenaline pumping and feet tapping with jittery, nervous energy.
It all went away in a second, however, at the sound of voices. Multiple voices. Women, in fact, entering the reception area. Eliza’s anxious energy quickly morphed into fear, and she hastily went for the lamp on the desk, then shuffled off the high-backed chair and scooted under the desk. It wasn’t until she was completely under, all her limbs tucked to her body, that she realized she had left her father’s computer on and his desk a mess. He would never leave it like that.
Exhaling a shaky breath, Eliza tried to inch out and tidy what she could, but seconds later the door was being unlocked and the voices grew much louder.
“It’ll just be a second,” Jackie, her father’s secretary, announced. Even though Eliza knew she was standing in the doorway, it felt as though the woman was standing directly on top of the desk. Every part of her stood at attention, her mouth too dry to swallow, her breath wanting to rush out in panicked gasps. Sure, Eliza was the dean’s daughter. Technically, she should have a reasonable excuse as to why she was in his office so late at night, but Jackie knew better. The woman had been her father’s receptionist for years. She knew Eliza wasn’t allowed to loiter at her father’s workplace, no matter how urgent the reason. She’d go straight to Eliza’s father with the news—because he was where her loyalty was—and Eliza would be forced to explain everything.
She had never quite perfected the art of lying to her father. Not yet, anyway. He even seemed suspicious of her coming over on Saturday night for drinks, but must have decided to just let it go.
“Oh, Jackie, isn’t this it?” Heeled footfalls stopped moments later, and Eliza pressed a hand over her mouth. The lights were still off, so hopefully the mess was missed. But the computer screen was on. Its reflective image pinged off the window behind her father’s desk.
“Yes, there it is! Your offices are so cold down there. I couldn’t sit still for the next hour without my sweater,” Jackie said with what sounded like a relieved sigh. Speedy footsteps hurried away, and just before the door shut, Eliza heard the woman add, “I hate going into his office when he isn’t here. Feels like such an invasion of privacy…”
Eyes closed, Eliza counted down the seconds until the door shut and locked again. Even then she didn’t resurface until the voices faded away. Once the silence became too much to stand, Eliza was up again and in her father’s chair, lamp on, journals open, more determined than ever to get in and get out with whatever pertinent info she could find to prove once and for all that her father wasn’t the terrible man Nash made him out to be.