“Mr. Holloway,” the security guard greets me as I enter the six-story office building on Albany Street. “Nice walk today?”
“A quiet one, Chester,” I say as he calls the elevator for me. “Anyone else in yet?”
“Mr. Lawton, Mr. Moana, and Ms. Benew. You have a good day now, Mr. Holloway.”
As the elevator snicks shut, I search out the three dots that mark the button for the sixth floor. As the car rises, my phone’s mechanical voice announces a call as the device in my pocket starts to vibrate.
“Call from: Trevor.”
I tap the earbud with a sigh as the elevator dings. “I’m literally ten steps from the office, Trevor. I’ll talk to you in a minute.” He starts to say something as I disconnect the call, but I’m already at the outer door and push through.
Right into a plastic, sticky wall that wraps itself halfway around me.
“What the actual fuck?” I snap as I try to extricate myself from what feels like tape. My glasses, my hair, my Bluetooth…shit. Even my cane is stuck to the damn stuff.
“Oh, God. Boss. I’m sorry,” Trevor says from the other side of the tape.
“You do realize I’m fucking blind, right?” I let my briefcase slip from my hand as Trevor curses under his breath and starts pulling pieces of tape off of me, taking at least a couple dozen hairs with them. “Watch it, asshole.”
“That’s…uh…what I was calling to tell you,” he says.
“Oh, shit.” Ford’s at my side in another two seconds and gently peels the tape from my glasses. “Trev, what the hell were you thinking?”
“That Clive needed payback for putting lube on my desk chair last week. I called Dax to warn him…”
“Thirty seconds before I walked into…what is this? Packing tape? It’s not like I can see the damn stuff. No more pranks at the office. Period.”
It takes another few minutes for Trevor and Ford to remove the last of the tape, then Ford presses my cane and briefcase back into my hands. I stalk into my office and slam the door.
My eyebrows are still sticky. Fucking pranks. I pinch the bridge of my nose as a headache threatens. Some days, the damage to my eyes, combined with the repeated concussions and side effects from long term exposure to parasites leave me with migraines and cluster headaches. Today’s going to be one of those days.
Ford raps three times on my door. “Can I come in?”
“Do I have a choice?” I pull open my desk drawer and flip the lid on a plastic container of wet wipes. The damn things smell like baby powder, but that’s better than feeling my eyebrow hair stuck together all fucking day. “Tell Trevor to clean that shit up and send out a company-wide memo. Anyone else tries a prank in the office again, they’re fired.”
As Ford shuts the door, he sighs. “I thought you and Ryker used to be your unit’s pranksters.”
“We were. But there’s a big difference between lubing up a toilet seat so a new recruit sinks ass-deep in blue water and putting up a barrier into the office when your boss is blind. This is one of the only two places I ever feel completely safe, Ford. You know that. I will not let anyone take that away from me.”
“Trev and Clive wouldn’t do anything really dangerous. They’re just having fun.” The guest chair across from me creaks as he sits down. “You haven’t called him yet, have you?”
“This again? Don’t you have a job to do? The aquarium’s executive director isn’t going to pay her bill if you can’t give her some assurances her ex-husband is going to jail for a very long time.” Crushing the wet wipe in my fist, I toss it into the trash next to me and boot up my computer. “I don’t want to talk about Ryker, Trevor, Clive, or what a shitty boss I am. I’d rather pay the bills and keep the damn lights on for all the rest of you.”
“I’ll send out the memo,” Ford mutters as he heads for my door. “Try not to be a total dick to Trevor when he briefs you on the embezzlement case he closed last night.”
The walls shake as the door slams again, and I drop my head into my hands. The scent of baby powder clogs my nose, and I suck in a breath through my teeth. Fuck. How did I become the boss who has to be warned not to be an asshole?
“Just wait till Hab tries to put on his boots,” Ryker whispers as he pulls me into a dark corner of the barracks. “Dude’s gonna lose his shit.”
I chuckle at the memory. Two quarts of lube—one in each boot—and it was half an hour before Hab could stand up without doing the splits. I used to be that guy. The joker. Now…
Shit. I don’t know who I am anymore.
My phone rings a little after noon. “Do you have time to speak to a potential new client, Dax? Ford isn’t back from lunch yet.” Marjorie, our receptionist, screens all incoming calls, and Ford normally handles the initial contact.
“Put it through.” Time I started acting like a boss again. “This is Dax Holloway. How can I help you?” I ask.
“Mr. Holloway? I was told to ask for Mr. Lawton.” The light, female voice on the other end of the line is hesitant, with an undercurrent of distrust.
