Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I go to the kitchen and find one of Francisco’s soldiers nosing through the refrigerator. He looks up, a little bit startled. I give him a nod, and he backs off. My bodyguard takes a seat at the island, content to stay as long as I want him to.
I decide that coffee is in order. There’s a pot already brewed, so I pour myself a cup. I could get used to this. I might even want a muffin or some pancakes. I wonder if there are ingredients to make such things, or if the assembled delicacies are just going to appear like the coffee did.
“Can I help you find anything, ma’am?” Francisco’s soldier asks.
“No, I’m fine,” I say. I don’t want to interfere with their duties. I’m sure Francisco keeps them on a tight leash.
“We’ve got orange juice and muffins in here,” the man says, pulling the items out of the fridge to demonstrate.
I shake my head in disbelief. I was just thinking about a muffin and there they are, materialized as if I willed them into being. I take one and sit down opposite my bodyguard. This is one of the most decadent breakfasts I’ve had in a while.
“Where is Francisco?” I ask the man who was digging in the fridge.
“In his office,” the man answers.
I sip my coffee and nibble on the muffin, content to let things stay that way. I can always thank Francisco for coming to my rescue later. I don’t have a job to go to or any responsibilities ahead of me. I think maybe I’ll explore the house a little further. I could play a game of pool in the billiard room, or take a look at the books in the library. It feels like a magical place full of interesting activities, and I’m excited to browse them all.
But then my phone rings. I look down at the caller ID and I see that it’s Brandon. Swallowing the bite of muffin I was working on, I hold the phone to my ear.
“Brandon,” I say cheerfully. I can’t wait to fill him in on everything that’s been going on. With all the excitement, I haven’t told him what Francisco agreed to. I hope Brandon will be okay with his own bodyguard. I’m getting used to mine fairly quickly, but I’m not a college student. It’s likely that some of Brandon’s friends might wonder why he needs a bodyguard, but I tell myself we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. What matters is that Brandon is safe.
Yet as soon as my brother speaks, I know that isn’t the case.
“Marlena!” he screams.
I drop my coffee mug, sending a rush of brown liquid across the counter. “Brandon?”
“Marlena! Help!” my brother shouts.
In the background, I can hear feet pounding the pavement. Brandon is out of breath, and I think that means he’s running. I hear a car horn blast and a passerby shouting. And then the call cuts off, and I’m left with a dead phone in my hand.
Frantically, I try to call him back, but the call goes straight to voicemail. I glance up at my bodyguard. He’s looking at the coffee, probably wondering if we should clean it up. But then he sees my face and realizes that’s not important.
I don’t even tell him what’s going on. Instead, I turn and dash through the house until I come to Francisco’s office door.
CHAPTER 22
FRANCISCO
I’m trying to iron this thing out with the mayor before I lose my patience. I managed to get him to reconsider my bid, and to get the process moving on the wind turbine project. We are deep into a videoconference that is entirely aboveboard. Some of the city planners are on the call, and there’s no talk about reciprocal actions or anything that smells of crime. I’m just a business owner going after a project that the city needs done.
“The unions have demanded better pay,” I explain. “That’s why the employee budget is so high. But I promise you these are good men, and they’ll get the job done.”
The mayor seems pleased. He’s just as anxious as I am to see me get the contract. It’s up to both of us to make sure that everyone else gets on board, and that’s most of what this meeting is about.
There’s a knock on my door, and before I can even pause the video call, Marlena bursts in.
“Hold on,” I tell the group, pressing mute and turning my camera off.
I barely have time to stand before Marlena rushes into my arms, weeping and carrying on. Her bodyguard follows just a few seconds behind. When he sees us together, he stands back, a little ashamed.
“Sorry, boss,” he says. “I don’t know what the protocol is for her.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. I’m not angry that he let Marlena barge in on me. She seems to be distraught, and that’s what worries me.