Page 3 of In the Nick of Time
“Are you not certain you are, in fact, Nicholas R. Sedgewick? We haven’t had that happen in quite a while.”
“No. I mean, yes! I am Nick Sedgewick. With the R. But just Nick.”
“Please step forward, Just Nick, and place your forehead against the refractor. Focus on the green dot. Don’t blink.”
He wasn’t fired?
Nick pressed his slightly sweaty forehead against the machine on the counter while wondering if they’d offer an antiseptic wipe to clean it off. He forced himself to focus on the green light in the distance. Now that The Voice had told him notto blink, he needed to blink more than anything else in the whole world, even pee—which he also needed to do.
“You may lift your head up now. Step to the elevators and take number four to the fifth floor. Someone will meet you there.”
“I have so many questions,” Nick murmured as he moved away from the seemingly empty reception counter to the bay of elevators. “How am I not fired?”
The noncorporeal voice either didn’t hear him or it didn’t have an answer. Was this comforting or not? He wasn’t sure. He still had to pee.
Elevator four was at the far end of the bay and the only button available on the console was marked with a glowing number five. Nick pressed it and automatically looked up to watch the numbers descend, but there wasn’t an indicator.
What did a five-story building need with four elevators anyway?
This was one question he did not ask out loud as he stepped inside the Danger Box. When the doors slid open again, he was greeted by the low hum of employees talking quietly. Nick heard French, German, maybe Farsi, English—“No, not the red lever, the orange one. Never touch the red one.”—and possibly Pig Latin but more likely Canadian.
“Research is doing practice drills again for the new cleanup crew,” said a voice to his right.
“Dude,” replied a different voice, “it took weeks to clean that foam off my hood the last time.”
A long line of stark white cubicles stretched out in front of him and headed back to a far wall that had several floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over… somewhere. Nick had a terrible sense of direction. Visually, the cubicles reminded Nick of headstones. Another thought he was going to keep to himself.
He’d possibly just set a personal record.
He waited by the elevator for what felt like an hour, trying his hardest not to fidget. Was he supposed to find his desk on his own or give a shout? Someone hidden in one of the cubicles was arguing now; Nick could tell from the tone of their voice. He’d just about decided to—quietly—announce his presence when there was movement to his left.
Nick turned to see a man approaching him.
Amanman.
The kind that Nick was always attracted to but who most often had aNicoleat home instead of aNick. He was tall, at least six foot four, with broad shoulders and a chest made for snuggling on. A delectable Burt Reynolds-style tuft of chest hair peeked over the top button of the polo shirt he’d managed to cram his upper body into. That poor shirt could hardly keep the man’s arms inside its sleeves.
Nick was jealous of a shirt. What else was new?
“Nicholas Sedgewick.”
The stranger said his name as a statement and as if he wanted to say any other name but Nick’s. He also had a five o’clock shadow at not-five-o’clock, and his black hair was stick straight and just a tad long.
Holy moly.
“Yes,” Nick admitted with a rasp. “Just Nick, though.”
Again, how was he not fired?
“Agent Douglas Swanson. This way, Just Nick.”
It wasn’t an invitation. The man turned back around and strode away the direction he’d come from. He walked with a slight limp, which Nick found intriguing.Do not ask, he warned himself, do not ask aboutanythingpersonal.
“Hurry it up, Sedgewick. We’re already behind schedule,” Swanson said over his shoulder.
Nick started, then uprooted himself from where he’d been stuck on the carpet and followed after the agent. He’d totallybeen ogling Agent Swanson’s ass. Who cared about floor-to-ceiling windows if he had this view? If Agent Swanson was any indication, the day was starting to look up. He hadn’t been fired and his trainer was hotter than a five-alarm fire.
He still had to pee though.
