Return Of The Exiled

4- Signing Myself Away

Benita

"You already know what you are signing," the very English-speaking man without any trace of a foreign accent comes back at me and I swallow. The one in blue.

The other one remains unmoving from his seated position. Elbows on the table, hands still clasped together, his chin thrusting back and forth on the thumbs. His slanted eyes watching me, steel-like under his well-shaped eyebrows.

The blue suit says something, but I do not hear what he is saying. The gray has somewhat captivated me with his- aura? Eyes? I don't know, but I feel as if I am pinned, and I am calm, and it scares me.

This unknown feeling.

Usually, I have this knack to remain calm in situations that spiral folks. Except with Sloan, some days back but I did recover my tranquility almost instantly after he backed off. It still boggles my mind as to why he did it and the foolishness he uttered as if he was the scared one. "Tell him, I'm sorry."

As if my father is Satan and he saw his firey pits of hell- which is where I hope guys like Sloan go. Anyway, I gave my report to the police so he's not my problem anymore.

"Mr. Smart can give someone else his hard-earned money."

"Sorry- what?" I tear my eyes away from the one in gray, to stare confusingly at the one in blue, who had spoken in a rather stern tone.

"Don't play games, Miss Meadows. Nobody likes a tease," the blue suit threatens jaw clenching and standing up, causing me to suck in a sharp breath. The man is tall- huge. Even in his suit, I could make out the toned muscles of his body. Contoured and cut.

Fucking tall.

His slender fingers resting on the table now as he bends to give the unmoving man to his right, a side glance. He released a deep breath. Then he stretches forward to pull back the manila folder, in the same fashion he had pushed it. With one single finger. Index.

But my brain is still whirling at his comment. Nobody likes a tease? What in actual fuck is that supposed to mean? What could he possibly be trying to imply? That I walk around swinging my fucking hips at men? That I flirted with them casually like...breakfast or something along those lines? That he was thinking like my ex-manager?

His accusation causes a distaste to come onto my tongue. I hate this guy. But didn't they know it was my virginity I was selling? Wouldn't this detail that I am innocent of their wild world?

The world of perverted men like him who bought others? I don't have to put up with these insults.

Ignoring my rational thinking, I instead chose the more realistic one. I'm broke and I need this.

Grabbing the document, I had previously dropped, I met the gray suit, eyes again, but I still could not tell the color- light brown, black? Could be red for all I know from under these blinding bright lights. Strangely, my brain seemed to not be able to focus on him when I could see the other man's eye color clearly. Dark brown, like mine.

Echos of voices are inside my head. It hurts and I wince, turning my head away from his gaze.

The blue-suit man is at my side in a flash, his hand on my forearm as he towers over me. "Okay, let me show you the door, Miss Meadows," he says in a tone that shows he is on edge.

Why get so angry? Because the old fart was impatient? Because they think I would want to document this tragedy and publish it?

Next came a growl. One that could be interpreted as- the fuck? An actual growl? And it came from the direction the man was sitting in. A fucking growl. "Don't touch her." The hand instantly pulled away from me and then the man in gray, still seated by the way, finally moved his hands away from his face.