Page 71 of Coerced Kiss
My gaze is drawn to the gun in the body holster where his jacket has slipped aside. “I’m going to work.”
“Wait here,” he says, taking a phone from his pocket. “I’ll signal the driver.”
“What about Saverio? Didn’t he just leave with his driver? I can take the subway.”
“Mr. De Luca drove himself,” the man says in an emotionless tone before addressing the person on the other end of the line. “Ms. Brennan needs to go in to the office.”
Not a second later, the black car rolls down the circular driveway from the side of the garage and pulls up in front of the house. Another car with two men in suits stops behind him. My bodyguards, I assume.
The driver gets out and opens the door for me. He’s an elderly gentleman with a tuft of white hair and a stern expression. The collar of his shirt is starched, and his black suit doesn’t sport a single crease.
“Thank you, Kevin,” I say as I get inside.
He closes the door without replying.
When he gets behind the wheel, I smile at him in the rearview mirror. “Thank you for driving me.”
He gives a tight nod. It seems Kevin isn’t big on making conversation. Respecting his boundaries, I stay quiet.
It’s already three o-clock when he drops me off in front of the accounting firm. Ms. Price doesn’t hide her disgruntlement when I knock on her door to tell her I just got in. I’ve barely settled behind my desk before she barges into the office with a pile of folders in her arms.
Dumping them in my in-tray, she says, “Make sure everything is filed before the end of the day.”
I stare at her with bafflement as she marches with a stiff back through the door. I catch the gaze of my colleague, Jasmine, who sits on my left. She gives me a pitying smile.
The balance sheets I’m working on are on a deadline, but I don’t dare to argue with Ms. Price. Normally, the senior accountants hand out the work, but Ms. Price steps in from time to time when tasks are allocated.
Taking the heavy pile of papers in my arms, I trudge down to the vault. The two women who do the filing look up from the table in the far corner where they’re working. They spare me a fleeting glance before lowering their heads over the papers spread out in front of them again.
Sighing, I go to the empty desk that stands on the other end and start the tedious task of organizing the invoices and receipts by date and in alphabetical order.
The windowless room is brightly lit, but it smells of dust and appears gloomy. I let my gaze wander over the rows of metal shelves and the cardboard filing boxes stacked to the ceiling.
Why did Mr. Lewis come here on the night of his murder? What did he do in the vault a few minutes before he left the building with a panic button in his hand?
“Get to work,” one of the filing clerks suddenly says in front of me, tapping her nails on my desk. “These papers aren’t going to file themselves.”
I lift my head.
Her face is pulled into a scowl. “We’re going for a tea break.”
The two women leave, slamming the fireproof door behind them.
When the door opens again a short while later, I don’t glance up from my work, expecting it to be them, but someone puts a paper cup on the corner of the desk.
I look from the cup to the person who put it there.
Jasmine stands in front of me with a cocked hip and a similar cup in her hand. “I brought you ginger tea from the coffee shop.” She smiles. “I noticed it’s all that you drink.”
“Thanks,” I say, frowning. “That’s kind of you.”
“You must’ve really pissed Price off. Dishing out filing is her way of punishment.” She wags her eyebrows. “What did you do?”
“Took time off?” I say, not sure if Ms. Price is annoyed about that or about the advance she gave me. Probably both.
Jasmine laughs. “That’ll definitely rub her up the wrong way. She’s all work and no fun.”
“I hope she doesn’t think I’m not serious about my job.”