Chapter Four
Monday morning came in like a bear at the first light of spring. Nash had spent the weekend driving, eating gas station food, and sleeping in hotels he would tell his mother to avoid—if his mother was speaking to him.
The elevator moved slowly, drawing out the anticipation of what he’d find at the BMB offices. He’d done some online research and found zilch. The company was locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Whatever they did, it was waaaay behind the scenes. Which was fine with him. Anonymity was his friend. Except that he needed a reputable reference when he left this place.
First things first: get a job. After that, he could worry about people taking note of what he’d done, the ladders he’d climbed. He shook out his shoulders. Success was a habit he’d cultivated for too long to let it go easily.
The office was high-end, though nothing in the waiting room spoke of the type of business conducted within the hushed walls. There was a strange vibe in the building, a combination of hard-nosed professionalism and a fantasy world where dreams come true. He could certainly use a large helping of both. The exotic floral scent in the air only added to the sense of anticipation.
He was greeted by an energetic, redheaded receptionist and told to have a seat. The couch was comfortable and the magazines lined up like soldiers on the coffee table. He resisted the urge to bump one out of alignment and see what the receptionist would do.
“Mr. Westport?” A man who carried himself like an ex-football player crossed the room, his hand outstretched. “Call me Harrison. If you’ll follow me, we can get started.”
Nash shook his hand, fighting the urge to wipe it on his pants when they were done. This guy had lawyer written all over him, from his Boy Scout haircut to his fitted dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and his tie was perfectly centered and pushed up to his chin.
“I’m sorry, I thought I was meeting with Pamela Jones.” Nash pulled his shoulders forward, straining the back seam in his jacket. After not wearing a suit for three years, the collar and jacket felt new despite the fact that he’d pulled them out of storage less than a week ago. There was a time when he’d worn suits from the moment he got up to the second he dropped exhausted into bed. There was also a time when he worked with lawyers on a daily basis. The lawyers he knew inspired him to learn every lawyer joke he could get his hands on, because they lived up to every punch line.
Harrison walked a half step ahead of him to show the way. “We need to go over a few things before your meeting with Pamela.” He motioned for Nash to enter the office first and take a seat at the round table. He did, keeping Harrison in his peripheral vision. It would be a cold day in Bermuda before he’d allow a lawyer to sneak behind his back again.
Nash sat down and leaned back, doing his best to look at ease despite the weight in his stomach. His gaze skimmed across the table, and he saw a folder with his name on the tab. At least they were expecting him and prepared for this interview. He’d worried that Amber Hoagland had started him on a wild goose chase. Names on folders were a good sign and lightened his anxieties over the strange introduction to BMB and the fact that he was in a closed room with one of his worst nightmares.
Harrison sat opposite him and removed a stack of papers from the folder. “This is our standard nondisclosure agreement. What we do here is of a sensitive nature, and it’s imperative that our clients’ interests and privacy are protected. If you’ll sign here …”
Nash pulled the papers to the edge of the desk and started reading. The quarter-inch-thick stack would take time to get through, but he was determined to read every word before putting his name on the line.
Harrison placed the tip of his pen at the start of the first paragraph. “This section outlines the names used in the document. BMB is titled COMPANY, and you will be referred to as EMPLOYEE. Initial here.” He moved his pen to the small line below.
Nash read the paragraph before signing his initials.
Harrison’s pen moved to the second paragraph. “This section—”
“It’ll probably be easier if I just read them myself.”
Harrison’s jaw tightened a fraction. “There’s over thirty pages here.”
Nash dipped his chin. “I don’t sign anything I don’t read.”
“It’s a standard document.”
“I don’t sign anything I don’t read. If you have a problem with that, then I should go.” He set the pen next to the papers.
Harrison’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.
Nash waited out his initial surprise. He couldn’t afford to bend on this one. He’d already done his time as a stooge; he wasn’t going to sign up for a second round.
Finally, Harrison waved his hand. “By all means, then, read on.” He stood and pushed up his sleeves. “I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.”
Nash chose to ignore his superior tone. There was no point in starting an argument with a possible coworker over this. Truly, he’d leave if this was going to be a problem. He opened his mouth to say so, but Harrison was already halfway out the door. He was probably going to tattle to the boss about Nash’s stubbornness and stupidity in needing to read astandarddocument before signing.
Turning back to the task at hand, Nash hunkered down and got to work. At least his new boss would know he was thorough, and if asked, that’s how he’d explain his desperate need to protect himself from legal entanglements.
* * *
“You’ve flustered Harrison,” were the first words out of Pamela’s Jones’s mouth just under an hour later.
“That wasn’t my intent,” Nash answered honestly.
The stately woman wore a dark purple fitted jacket with a large flower in the same shade on the left lapel. Her blonde hair was cut just below her chin and had enough volume to give her a playful edge, though every strand was in place. Her office, too, was tidy, borderline OCD. The folder with his name on the tab was the only item that stood out against the dark wood desk.
