THE ESCORT

EIGHTEEN | BARGAINS

It took Brooks three days later to reach out to her.

But before then, Elodie had followed the new routine she'd made up this week: get up early for her run, head over to Mace's, go to the diner, pick up her dinner for the evening, then fall into bed; eat, rinse, repeat.

It'd been mind-numbing, and also had her panicking.

What if Boss decided not to take her back again?

Because, let's face it, while it was good to quit when she was upset and feeling as though her whole world was crumbling, it was a bad idea to leave her job when she and Mace were this close to turning their lives around.

In retrospect, she'd been bruised, battered and assaulted, so maybe her momentary lapse in judgment could be overlooked.

Anyway, Elodie had just gotten back from her morning run that early in the morning, when she found Luke leaning against the wall of her building, toying with his phone.

He'd only told her how it was important that she came with him in that moment or Brooks was going to lose his shit.

She hadn't bothered to shower or change out of her running leggings and tank top, and got into the car Luke brought with him.

If Brooks had a problem with how she chose to appear, then he could blame himself for his impatience.

Elodie didn't encounter any important diginatary this time on her way to Brooks' office, and when she knocked on his door, his assistant, a woman with a severe blonde bun, spared a minute from her call to wave her right in.

Brooks gestured for her to sit, while he recieved a call, nodding tersely as he was yelled at.

Elodie sat tersely looking around the office, pretending not to hear the murmur of angry voice bleeding from the earpiece.

Not that there was a lot to see.

It was bland and minimalist, no personal touches whatsoever, just rows and rows of cabinets with files spilling from it, and a small sofa with a dark glass coffee table.

"Sorry to call you on short notice, Ms. Evans," Brooks said, slamming down the phone.

"Well, I guess I thought I might be of assistance once again."

He folded his arms on the table and considered her. "As it turns out, you could be. This morning, Arcangelo Casieri, bold as brass, approached a CCTV camera in Offshore, and said something into it."

When he didn't elaborate, Elodie had to ask, "What did he say?"

"He saidd your name. He said, Elodie Evans, which is a big turn up for the books, wouldn't you say?"

Elodie blinked in shock.

"Just to give you some background on this, Casieri is a cross-agency priority. Down Under was our cock-up, so BIA is taking the lead, but both arms of the British and American intelligence—MI6 And CIA—are working closely to find and eliminate him with utmost urgency. Casieri represents not only a very serious domestic threat, but also an international one."

Brooks stood up from his place behind the desk, and walked over to one of his overflowing cabinet to bring out a file.

He ploped it down on the desk in front of Elodie with a ball-tipped pen. "Please, sign on the first page before I go any further."

Intrigued, Elodie took the pen, opened the file and slowly perused the content of the single white A4 paper.

It was a form of NDA agreement, which also contained a mild threat (or not) to deal with her and sue her for all she had—no matter how meager— if she disclosed anything discussed to a third party.