Page 7 of Gluttony
“Details are on the folder on the desk. They’re waiting for you, so you need to hurry.” Then he gave a two-finger salute and went out the door, at the last moment saying, “It’s the least you can do after losing us a client today.”
When Max was well and truly gone, she twisted to eye Damien as he sat heavily at his desk and pulled his Aviators off. He rubbed his eyes and then trailed his big hand over his beard for a scratch. It was a little on the ginger side, despite his short crew cut being dark brown.
“You told him?” she accused.
“Nope.”
“Is he pissed?”
Damien shrugged. “Doubt it. That sleazeball you mouthed off at was a worm.”
Bailey exhaled relief. “So. Any idea what the job is?”
“Nope. Just that you better hurry. Max said they’re waiting.”
Right. Bailey quickly made her way to Max’s desk and picked up the folder, glancing at a nearby picture frame showing the smiling faces of Max and his girl somewhere in the wilderness near a waterfall. Bailey frowned. That carefree vibe, whilst welcomed for her friend, went against her theory that the Lazaruses were keeping secrets.
She shook it off and opened the Manila folder. Inside were the job details.
Shit.
“Um,” she said to Damien. “I forgot I had plans. Can you take it?”
He leaned back in his chair, a roguish glint to his eyes.
He knew.The bastard.
“Can’t,” he stated. “Got a hot date. Tom-Tom won’t be back until late either.”
“But... my plans.”
“Can’t be too important if you forgot them.”
She darted a look back to the papers.
No.
“You’ve already lost one client today,” Damien pointed out. “You’d better hurry.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Easy for him to say, he was a man. He didn’t get leered at or propositioned by the clientele. But he was right. You don’t put your personal feelings into a job. You do the job. You get out. You get paid. She knew that. Sheknewthat.
A frustrated growl ripped from her throat and she collected her handbag. “Why am I always the one to do overtime?”
Damien smirked. “Well, if you had a life, you’d have a real excuse not to do it.”
Stupidly, she had no reply until she was mid-way to the Cardinal Film Studios, fifteen minutes away.
Three
The very ideathat Tony needed a bodyguard was laughable, yet he remained in his fake bloodstained T-shirt while he waited for one to arrive. He didn’t like waiting and almost wished he had an entourage to help him pass the time. With nothing else to do, he stayed in his trailer and reclined on the brown and cream checked table settee. He launched the scrunched stalker’s note across the Winnebago’s expanse and watched it hit a hanging doll near the door and bounce down to the small sofa.
Huh.
That was fun.
Again.
Rubbing his palms together, he turned to the table next to him and pulled the top leaf off the unread manuscript and balled it up. It was only a courtroom drama. He threw again. And again. And again. It might be a stretch to say this kept his battle skills sharp, but he was saying it. The alternative was to work out, or have a nap, and he had the inclination for neither.
