Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
The big guy stops to face me just as the hallway opens up into a larger area.
"I have no doubt you'll make more money," he says, and I hear a sinister edge to his tone.
I dart my eyes all around but the shelves full of cleaning supplies don't make me feel any better.
"Who is this?" a man asks, making me focus on him.
"I haven't caught her name, but she says Alena told her about the janitorial job."
"I think this is a mistake," I mutter, turning back in the direction we came after hearing the inflection in the big guy's tone.
"It's not a mistake, beauty," the smaller guy says as he steps around to block my path. "Let's have a chat, okay?"
He waves his arm toward what appears to be an office, and to his credit, he doesn't touch me either.
He gestures toward an empty seat on the other side of a small desk, and although I hesitate, I do eventually sit down.
"You're American," he says as he takes a seat across from me behind the desk.
"Correct."
"We don't have many Americans applying for this job."
I blink in his direction rather than speaking because I don't have a clue as to what he expects me to say.
"Alena told you about the job?"
"Yes."
"She spoke to you of what it entails?"
"Yes."
"And this is something you want to do?"
I drop my eyes to the paperwork on his desk, but the man is astute and quickly covers the information on the forms with his hands as he leans forward.
"Beauty?"
"Kaylee," I correct. "Does Alena no longer work here?"
He leans back, scraping the paperwork into the top drawer of his desk as he does so. "Alena was promoted to another position within the company."
"I like the idea of upward movement in the company," I say, as I begin to wonder if this is really a bad thing.
Promotions aren't something I'll ever get at the grocery store.
"It's the goal for all our employees," he says as he pulls a clipboard with paperwork on it from a shelf behind his desk. "How about you complete this questionnaire and we can see if you'll be a good fit?"
I take the clipboard and the pen he offers, grateful to have something else to focus on other than his smiling face.
I fill in the requisite information, realizing a little too late to scratch through them and change the information that I probably should've lied about, like my name and home address.
The next set of questions makes me snap my eyes up to him. "Why in the world would you need to know my body measurements?"
"For your uniform, Beauty," he answers without hesitation.
"Kaylee," I correct. "My name is Kaylee."
"Kaylee," he says with an easy smile. "Of course."
I finish the paperwork, skipping over the lengthy paragraphs of fine print because, honestly, who reads that stuff?
I hand the clipboard back to him, and he immediately goes right to the last page, grinning down at my signature.
"You read this?" he challenges.
"I did," I lie.
"And you're in agreement with the terms?"
"I am," I tell him, but my hands start to shake again.
"Do you think you can fake an accent?"
I tilt my head in confusion. "Why would I need to do that?"
"The men looking for wives can easily find an American, Beauty."
"Looking for a wife?" I ask in confusion. "You've got to be kidding me."
"No jokes here," Dima says. "You said you read the paperwork."
"This is a bad idea," I mutter as I stand. "Thank you for your time."
"Where are you going?" the big burly guy from earlier asks as he blocks the doorway of the office. "You belong to A-1 Janitorial now."
Chapter 7
Heathen
"I need to apologize to you," Rooster says the second I step into the kitchen.
I rub the backs of my hands over tired eyes, a yawn escaping before I can ask him why.
"Really?" I ask. "Do you make apologies often?"
I say it as a joke as I walk toward the coffee pot, wondering when I got old enough to need caffeine before functioning correctly in the mornings.
It wasn't a handful of years ago that I could party all damn day and all night, and pop up out of bed, ready to go again after a brief two-hour nap. These days it seems like I need a day to recover from a tiring day. I didn't do anything yesterday other than the flight here and grocery shopping. I think maybe Cerberus made a mistake in hiring me. I'm probably better suited for an office job, something with a nine-to-five schedule and holidays off than covert ops and dangerous missions.
"It doesn't happen often at all," he says, a seriousness to his tone that makes me turn to face him, instantly awake. "That woman you asked me about last night? You may be on to something."
I freeze. "What do you mean?"