Page 8 of Lying Lainey

Further instructions will follow shortly. Remember, we are always watching…

U.O.S.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck?” I said in disbelief, staring at the phone.

Thankfully, I was already sitting down, or I’d have ended up on my ass over the shock of reading this psycho-babble bullshit. Now the picture in the bedroom made sense—they wanted to prove, without a doubt, they knew who I was. This syndicate has dug up all the dirt on me and, for fun, left a surprise for me to wake up to. I’ll hand it to them, they had my attention, and I wasn’t one to scare easily. Trent might have a choke hold on me from my childhood, but adult Lainey didn’t give two shits how big or bad you were. If you find the right piece of information, you can bring anyone down. A point this syndicate was trying to make as I sat here.

The phone vibrated in my hand, making me yelp in surprise. I have no idea how they were uploading things to this phone because it wasn’t an email, text, or any other messaging system. It’s like they added it to the phone’s operating system, and by typing in the code and reading the message, I activated the protocol. Document after document flashed on the screen, followed by pictures of men, women, city buildings, and a home. Once the phone stopped freaking out, there was a pause then another full-screen message appeared.

You are the newest executive assistant to Halstead Norlund, the CEO and owner/founder of Enigma Technologies. Monday is your first day on the job. They expect you to be at the location provided by 8:00 a.m. sharp. Complete onboarding, obtain your employee badge, and familiarize yourself with the facility.

Further instructions will be provided when these steps are completed.

four

Lainey

Picking myself up from the floor, I swiped the message out of the way and was prompted to complete the biometrics setup. I scanned both pointer fingers and thumbs to ensure I could open whichever way necessary. The information they’d provided had been organized into neat little digital folders I needed to unlock each time I entered. These folks were serious about their security, but I suppose it’s also a way to track if I’m doing what they wanted.

Back out of the information, I pulled up the contacts, and there were two names listed—Home and Pharmacy. Why the hell anyone would have a pharmacy listed in their phone, I have no fucking clue but whatever. I guessed that home would be the number to call if I had any trouble, but I was curious about the pharmacy. Pulling up the contact information, I found a note in the memo section—For Mom’s emergency prescription. Apparently, this wacky syndicate was providing healthcare while I was on the job. How kind.

There wasn’t much else on the phone, at surface level, that is, for which I was grateful. I’m not sure I could take much more between being drugged, kidnapped, blackmailed, and forced to be back in a city I never wanted to come to again. Padding over to the window, I looked out at Corzina, expecting to recognize where I was. In a way, I did—this was the ritzy northern part of the city I never had a reason to spend time in. This apartment was several floors up, fourth if I were to guess, in an older building with a view of the Lovisa Arboretum.

Corzina was a beautiful city, the oldest and largest in Breona near the ocean. This apartment was facing the wrong way to see the ocean. However, it was a breathtaking sight if you’re fortunate enough to live on a high-enough floor to see past the trees and buildings. Lots of history has happened in this place—it was what I loved most about it. That and the government worked hard to keep that front and center while still advancing the city into modern infrastructure. They held a delicate balance in their hands, and I was pleased to see at first glance not much had changed since I left.

Setting the phone on the kitchen counter, I decided to take them at their word and make myself at home. If this was where they were putting me up for this mission, then I was damn well going to use it. Yanking off the hoodie I’d taken from Zarin, I wrinkled my nose at the smell of it.

Just how long had I been passed out?

This had me glancing at the clock in the bedroom as I made my way to the bathroom. It was early evening, meaning I’d been passed out for well over twelve hours. Chucking the clothes into a hamper that was placed in the bathroom, I opened the shower door to see if there were any supplies inside. Sure enough, my favorite brands of everything I used in my daily life were sitting there waiting for me to use. An oversized fluffy towel also hung on a hook inside, making it so I didn’t need to search for a thing.

It took me a minute to figure out the faucet, but it was well worth it as the dual showerheads kept me nice and toasty warm as I washed. I scrubbed my body from head to toe, getting a good exfoliation before shaving from my big toe to my pits. If tomorrow was my first day at a new job, then first impressions were of the utmost importance. After all the shocks I’d experienced in the past hour, falling into my routine with my normal products was comforting. I kept running that first message through my head, trying to ascertain if this syndicate was legit. It’s not like I could get on the internet and ask Cyclone if there was such a thing as the Underground Omega Syndicate.

Furthermore, I have no idea how they could find out about me and who I really was if they weren’t some criminal organization or law enforcement. The latter didn’t make any sense. Why would the government go so far as to pull a stunt like this? If they knew this much about me already, then they’d have more than enough to arrest me. No, this syndicate had to be treated as a real threat. I couldn’t risk Trent ever finding out what I’d done. Even from prison, that man could destroy my life with his connections. While I’d gotten really fucking good at my job, there was a reason Trent hadn’t gone down before I handed him over on a silver platter.

Twisting my hair up in a towel, I pulled on the silk kimono-style robe I’d found on the back of the door. It was a beautiful soft gold color that set off my bronzed skin, tanned from the job I’d finished up before Zarin. The mysterious syndicate implied that I would have everything I needed, so I investigated the dresser and closet to see if they were right. I pulled open the door to the moderately large walk-in closet full of clothes for all occasions from casual jeans to a ball gown tucked away in a dress bag. Behind the door was a rack of shoes in basic colors and styles that would meet almost every need.

Satisfied with what I’d found so far, I moved to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Jewelry and other accessories were revealed, organized expertly to show me what all I had to use. How they’d managed to pin down my style was just creepy. I loved combining the old with the new, pulling inspiration from the famous femme fatales of the silver screen along with a dash of vintage glamour. Even the lingerie provided had that classic silk-and-lace vibe going for it that would thrill any man who might happen to get a glimpse.

In no way was I a slut who slept with all my targets, but to be good at this job, you had to use all your tools. Men were simple—they were all drawn to the same things, and I just happened to use it against them. After slipping on some underwear and a silk nighty, I returned to the bathroom and blew out my hair. I wouldn’t bother doing much with it before the morning, so up in a messy bun it went.

Wrapping back up in the robe, I headed to the kitchen, desperate for some food. The space was simple with no official dining area, instead using the kitchen counter as the table. It seems whoever designed this apartment wanted to have more space in the living room, but the open concept made it feel so airy I couldn’t help but agree with the choice. I tugged open the refrigerator door and found it stocked full of food. Snooping around the cabinets, it was just as it was in the bedroom. Everything I could ever fathom needing was here at my fingertips. If I weren’t so worried about what they were blackmailing me to do, I’d consider staying on just to live in this adorable place.

Too bad this was all as fake as the rest of my life. They’d made me my perfect home. Moving on from that thought, I returned to the refrigerator and grabbed what I needed to make a simple dinner for myself. I loved to cook, and I missed being unable to do it as much these days with my busy schedule. It started out as a necessity. If I wanted to eat, I needed to do it my fucking self. The group home was run by a decent couple, Charles and Imogen, but neither knew how to cook. There are only so many nights you can eat mac and cheese, hot dogs, and frozen pizza before you’re begging for something else.

Being young and lacking the skills to know how to cook, I sat and watched cooking shows with Imogen’s mother, Penelopy. We kids all called her Poppy, and many of us considered her our surrogate grandmother. She’d once been a skilled chef and was always muttering about how Imogen was such a disappointment and couldn’t even boil water. When we watched the shows, I would pepper her with questions, but she never minded, always happy to talk about her first love—good food. I’d just started to help in the kitchen when Trent showed up to take me away.

Thank God for Poppy and all that she’d taught me because Trent didn’t have time to worry about feeding me or the other kids who cycled through his home. Some of the kids knew how to cook and would help me, but the majority of the time, it was left to me. Once I was on my own, I discovered the true joy of cooking. Experimenting with flavors, new ingredients, and the best part was I didn’t have to lie about a fucking thing. The food told the story—you were good or you weren’t—no way around it.

I whipped up a simple salad, chopping the ingredients and tossing it with a balsamic dressing I made. This was a go-to meal since there really wasn’t much ‘cooking’ involved in the process and could be made with whatever was in the refrigerator at the time. Even now when I never had to look twice at my bank account to make sure I can afford to pay for this or that, some habits are hard to break, such as making sure to only buy what I need for food and never letting something go to waste. If anything, I’d rather make food and give it to the doorman, the homeless on the street, or even the neighbor next door I’ve never met before. That way, I know someone is making use of the food.

On my way to the living room, I snatched up the phone, planning to look over the information I’d been given. Plopping into the midst of the pillow pile, I noticed a television was mounted on the wall, but it had a picture frame around it, making it part of the décor. I searched for the remote and discovered it was in the side table drawer. Flipping on the television, I turned my attention to the phone and grinned as I found what I was looking for. Seconds later, my phone was displayed on the much bigger screen allowing me to read everything easier.

My new job was with Enigma Technologies, a company specializing in cyber security. I was to be the executive assistant to Alpha Halstead Norlund, the man who created the company and put it on the map with a military defense contract. From there, it grew to the giant in the market it was today—the number one company to turn to when you wanted to know the latest and greatest in cyber security. Scrolling through his information, he seemed like the typical shrewd businessman who knew what he wanted out of life and took it. Then his picture popped up, and I sat up so quickly and almost dumped what was left of my salad on the floor.

“Holy silver fox,” I blurted.

Halstead sat casually in a leather armchair with a glass of what I would guess to be whiskey in one hand and a cigar raised to his lips in the other. His hair was that dark steel gray with lighter strands highlighting it. His beard matched for the most part, maybe a half shade lighter with more white mixed in. The attention to detail this man took with his appearance was noticeable. Not even an eyebrow hair was out of place, yet it didn’t seem too perfect. He had ‘classic gentleman’ written all over him. This was only made more apparent with the three-piece suit, leather strap watch, cufflinks, and thick ring on his middle finger with a monogram on it.