But holy hell! Those men. The vibe I got from them put the fear of God in me. Jesus, I don’t know which one was scarier, the mammoth or the handsome one who looked at me like he was about to end my life as I ran across the road.
I swallow hard on the nerves still spinning wildly in my stomach.
All of that for nothing. The room is nothing more than a closet, and the owner looked like a serial killer. The place was filthy, and the air smelled sour.
While I open the spreadsheet I’m working on, my thoughts mull over the crazy incident.
I think the attractive man was the same one I saw a couple of nights ago. I have to admit, he’s even more good-looking up close.
I shake my head, trying to get the image of him out of my mind, but it only works for a few seconds.
It’s weird. As handsome as he was, one look from him had every survival instinct in my body screaming at me to run.
Which is insane because he was, without question, the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. A face like his shouldn’t come with such cold eyes that turned my blood to ice.
Forget about the guy and focus on your work!
It takes a couple of minutes, but I finally manage to keep my attention on the spreadsheet until Heather walks into the office.
My gaze locks on her hands, and I force a smile to my face. “Your nails look pretty.”
Heather glares at my hands that are resting over the keyboard. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to put in some effort with your appearance. Your man-hands are an embarrassment whenever a client comes in.”
The fake smile vanishes from my face as I stare after her while she walks to her office.
I would love to get my nails done, but I don’t have the money or time.
I’d call her a bitch, but that would be an insult to all other bitches.
Doing my best to ignore the blow to my self-esteem, I stare at my computer screen. Once again, Heather’s mean words get to me, and my gaze lowers to my hands.
I always keep my nails short and neat, but I notice how dry my skin is.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I shake my head and read over the numbers I’ve put into the spreadsheet.
An hour or so later, the doorbell buzzes. I lean to the left so I can see through the glass panel by the door.
“It’s my lunch,” Heather yells from her office.
I buzz the deliver guy in before opening the petty cash box in my middle drawer.
“Delivery for Heather,” the young guy says.
The delicious aroma of pizza fills the air as I ask, “How much do we owe you?”
When he gives me the amount, I count the notes from the box and hand the cash to him. Noticing there’s a lot less money than the last time I opened the box, I frown.
I check that the delivery guy shuts the door behind himself before I carry the pizza to Heather’s office. “Did you take money from petty cash?”
A wicked smile curves her lips as I set her lunch down on her desk, then she says, “Of course not. There better not be any money missing, or it will come out of your pay.”
I stare at her while the urge to tell her to go to hell surges through me.
Wiggling her index finger in the door’s direction, she drawls, “Shut the door on your way out.”
Biting my tongue, I do as I’m told, and when I sit down at my desk, I check the balance left in the box.
Shit. Two hundred dollars is missing.
