At twelve o'clock on Monday, I enter the Midtown offices of Sanford Security. I swipe my badge, and slip through the double doors, passing conference rooms in the hall. When I enter the pit, a few employees look up from their computers. Some of them are munching on paninis from the bodega outside, while others are sipping meal replacement drinks.
I weave through the desks, offering a perfunctory smile. A young data analyst glances at his coworker, probably seeking confirmation that I've used a facial expression. My lips form a line as I approach the chestnut door at the back of the office. I rap on the wood, wait three seconds before entering my boss's inner sanctum, then come to a stop in front of his desk—boots planted on the floor, hands clasped behind my back, chin lifted.
"Paris Saint-Germain won something called a Super Cup yesterday," Elijah Sanford begins, flipping through a newspaper. "Arthur King is back on top. According to the media, the death threats have ceased, and Josephine hasn't had a scandal in over a week."
I listen and wait, knowing he'll ask for a status report when he's finished.
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"Although, I can't attribute that to a change in her behavior," Eli continues, closing the paper with a flourish. He glances up, unsurprised to find me wearing my usual fatigues with a pistol strapped to my thigh. "Holding the girl hostage on your ranch is one way to keep her from public scrutiny."
Hostage.
An image of Josephine—bound, gagged, and sopping wet—comes to mind. My cock twitches at the memory, but my expression remains impassive.
"Do you have any updates on the bridge incident?" Eli asks, leaning back in his chair.
"A few high-powered executives were upset that Josephine used their brand names in her speech on Capitol Hill," I relay, my tone informative. "They ordered those hit men to chase her as a warning. I don't believe it wasn't their intention to steer our vehicle into the water, but they've capitalized on the fear. Josephine has been threatened with legal action if she continues to deface their brands."
Eli nods, brushing his finger across his jaw in thought. "What was her response to the cease-and-desist letters?"
"Josephine has kept a level head," I explain. Eli raises a brow, and I don't blame him for being skeptical. I was surprised by Jo's pragmatism as well. "She has agreed to refrain from using direct brand names when advocating for sustainability."
"Hmm," he muses, tapping the space bar to waken his computer screen. "Well, that's certainly an improvement. She's showing signs of personal growth. Good work, Haas."
I inhale slowly, preparing myself.
"I'll send an update to her father," Eli continues. "There have been a few hiccups, but he'll be glad to hear his money isn't being wasted."
