Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
“Why are you even here?” I ask. Was this a setup by the old bat and for what? Did I do someone’s hair really badly and she’s trying to get revenge? She could’ve just had me fired.
“Because people like you are hired to steal the tests,” tough guy drawls.
Fair answer.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have tests worth stealing. That’s pretty dumb. Kids are stressed out these days. You should be making the tests easier not harder to the point that parents feel the need to steal them.” I know I should shut up, but I feel cornered. I need to get out of here. Mrs. Ware is only getting exactly what she asked for. If she wanted a professional job, she should’ve hired a professional, not blackmailed a hair stylist who waits tables on occasion.
“Who should we be mad at?” still the security man. His arms are bigger than my thighs. It’s sickeningly attractive.
“Lots of people. I can make a list.”
“You should stick to cutting hair.”
“Oh, what great advice. Next time I have someone forcing me to do things, I’ll be sure to tell them I’m only good at cutting hair. I’m sure that will go over swell.”
“It was Roberta Franklin-Ware, wasn’t it?” the rich guy guesses.
My eyes fly to his, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. He smirks. “She wants her son to go to Harvard, but his grades aren’t good enough even for her to buy his way in. A diploma from the Academy would solve that problem. I’ll leave the girl to you, Griff. Do with her what you want.” He taps the envelope against his forehead and walks out of the office, leaving me alone with Mr. Sex on a Stick. I want to cry and I want to throw myself at him, maybe both at the same time.
“Tell me what Ware has on you,” he orders, pinning me to the sofa with a dark look.
“Griff” might look like sin incarnate, but he could be on his knees begging to take me to the stars and beyond and I wouldn’t give him any information. I can’t even if I wanted to. My brother’s freedom depends on my silence. I fold my arms across my chest and stare back, which is a mistake because his gaze is so intense and his face is so close that I’m afraid I’ll blurt everything out. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Something wrong?” he says. His voice is closer. I can almost feel his breath on my cheek.
“Yes. I don’t feel well.” It’s not really a lie because I know my internal temperature is way higher than it should be.
“Sit still,” he commands.
I sense him moving away. Sounds of water splashing into a cup fill the empty room. He’s making coffee. Or tea. I’m so confused. Who makes a drink for a burglar? I open my eyes and inspect the big man while he’s occupied. He’s obviously a bodyguard or security specialist who came over in the middle of the night. He looks like he rolled out of bed, grabbed the first pieces of clothing he could find, and hustled over here. Jeans hang on his lean hips, and the exposed seams of his T-shirt are straining. My gaze drops farther to his boots, which are firmly secured around his ankles with double laces.
A tiny laugh escapes.
“You have a problem with my boots?”
Of course he hears me. I raise my eyes to meet his. “No. It’s just that they’re tied. I mean, your shirt is inside out. The top button of your jeans isn’t secured, but your boots are perfectly laced and tied tight.”
“In case I have to run,” he says by way of explanation.
“That does make sense.”
He frowns as if my focus on his boots is weird. Suddenly, I’m tired. Real tired. In real life, you don’t have tea with someone who breaks into your house and tries to steal your property. In real life, if that happened, you’d beat the shit out of the person and call the cops. This man and the rich one that left are jerking me around because, as Franklin said, rich people make the rules. Well, I’m tired of playing.
I’m done here. I get to my feet. “If you were going to call the cops, you would have done so by now. I’m tired. If there’s nothing more, I’m going to get gone.”
Griff whistles. “You got some balls accusing us of wrongdoing when you’re guilty of breaking and entering.”
“I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked.” That should’ve been my first clue. It’s obvious this was all a game and no one will be calling the police.
“We have you fiddling with the door. You’re dressed in all black, and you stole something.”
I roll my eyes. As if anyone could scare these folks. They’re treating my burglary like it’s a party. I start walking toward the exit, and to no one’s surprise, I’m not stopped. So I keep going down the steps to the street level and out the door.