Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
You’d be surprised at how effective a disguise, NDAs, discreet employees, and a few amazing internet wizards are. Otherwise, I’d never be able to do what I love, which is working in the field.
I ram my fingers through my hair, readying a speech for Warren, but I cut myself off before even starting. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I wanted this merger more than I’ve wanted anything. I worked my tush off for it.
I should have a sinking feeling in my stomach at Warren’s reluctance, some anger over his resistance, and some kind of something over him pointing out my flaws. I know I have them, but before all this happened, I liked to pretend I didn’t, along with feelings. It made working this job so much easier. In security, you’re there to put yourself between the threats in the world and your client. It’s far easier to do that if you look like a slab of meat and a pillar of stone had a baby. They trust you more if you don’t get emotional about anything. Ever.
For some reason that I cannot fathom, my mind wanders. I can hear Warren backing out of this, and I just can’t give a proper fuck.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I walk away from the windows in my office. Over the years, I’ve become immune to the downtown scenery, but this afternoon, I look at it with fresh eyes. I may or may not have been contemplating what Ephemeral would think if she was standing here looking out. And how she’d see it.
Warren goes on, expounding on more than my recent failures. He’s pulling reasons out of his ass to suit his own purposes now, but I can’t get my attention wrapped around that enough to care the way I normally would. Usually, if anyone tried that, they’d get a piece of my mind in a not-so-nice manner.
I sit down at my desk, put Warren on speaker while I pretend to listen, interjecting grunts here and there, and then flick through my security feeds.
What the hell?
Half of the marketing department is empty. I can see the desks where there should be bodies. I glance at my phone, thinking I’ve screwed up and it’s earlier than I thought or lunchtime, but no. It’s two in the afternoon. I pull up the company calendar, but there’s no meeting scheduled for the marketing department or any other department right now.
I keep going through all the channels until I hit the lobby.
I stop dead.
Warren is still going off, even though, by this point, I’ve tuned him out entirely.
I’m fixated on the camera feed.
The world’s most serious man—I’m talking this guy probably hasn’t cracked a smile in his whole life, and his name is Buttzinksy, I kid you not—is dancing around the expansive place like a four-year-old playing dress up, pretending to be a fairy princess. He’s seventy-two this year and has told us in no uncertain terms that he never plans to retire. The guy is basically in charge of the worst cases we take on—the uber-serious ones where a slip-up means so much more than a merger not happening. Ones that we do not, under any circumstances, fuck-up.
Our head of marketing, Mary Selene, a badass in her late forties with a shaved head and one of the most creative people you’ll ever meet, has led half her department down into the lobby. They’re all clustered around a single figure with galaxy hair and a dress to match. I recognize that dress because I saw it on the feed from the house this morning. It has rocket ships, cats, planets, moons, and stars all over it, and she’s paired it with the brightest neon pink leggings and thick, chunky black boots with white stars.
Ephemeral is here. She has Peach Lips in that bubble backpack, or at least she did, because I can see it on the ground next to her feet.
I scan the crowd, and the receptionist, forty-nine-year-old Wham Bam (her real name is Amy Wilder)—nicknamed such because she used to do MMA fighting and could kick any amount of ass—is holding Peach Lips and dancing with her in her arms.
Dancing.
Everyone is happy. Smiling. The joy in the room is infectious, even on the camera.
I spot Jade on the edges, standing by June. They’re both in marketing. Jade is the best graphic artist I’ve ever seen, and June technically does more of the communications side of things, but she’s a wizard. They’re both generally quite stoic if I had to pick a word to describe them. More on the reserved and shy side. Not everyone who works here used to be a badass out there in the field. We’re not all ex-soldiers. A large majority of the men and women I have out there in the field and on the ground were trained by our team with zero prior security experience. It’s a misconception that security and bodyguards are like machines.