13 Reasons for Murder: Politeness Kills: A Britney Cage Novel

One

THE DAY WAS breezy but warm as I sat in my office fielding phone calls from clients and sending potential new hires emails to set up interviews. I was stuck at my desk, dumbfounded why, when I could've been working at home on my patio, enjoying the weather when the chimes of the door rang. I sighed and immediately realized why my assistant took the day off. Standing from my chair, I straightened my skirt and went out to the waiting room to greet my visitor. I, Britney Cage, stood five foot seven before the heels, with medium-length blonde hair, and blue eyes. I have tattoos, though they're hidden during the workday and professional events.

"H-hi," the twenty-something male stuttered, sticking his hand out to shake. I took his, smiled, and shook firm to his flimsy and clammy.

"I'm Alex, Alex Charles and I was hoping you could help me." He rummaged through his messenger bag for a folder, took it out, and handed it to me. I eyed him while he went through his bag, noting his bow tie down to the fun socks under his black dress pants, freshly buffed, black leather Oxfords, and short-sleeved button down. He had black hair, blue eyes, and stood about six feet tall. I nodded as I accepted the resume. Alex fidgeted, shifting on his feet nervously as I read the paper over. I looked up and smiled.

"I can help you," I grinned, "welcome to Passing Through Temp Agency, Alex. If you'll come to the cubicle over here," I walked toward the three cubicles on the opposite side of the door to my office as the reception desk on the left and pulled out a chair for him. I motioned for him to sit, and he did, taking his bag off and setting it on the ground next to the chair.

"Here is where you fill out all your information. If you don't have your bank information, that's okay, we can put it in later. I'll need you to enter your resume information too," I handed it back to him, "simply for matching purposes. Once you're finished, let me know, and we can continue getting you set up."

Alex nodded, handing the resume back to me. "I have other copies if you need this one back."

That was bold of him, yet polite and thoughtful. I'm not sure, but I already get the feeling this kid is going to annoy the shit out of me just with how polite he is.

"That won't be necessary but thank you. I'll take it back when you're done here."

I turned and walked—that walk I had—into my office. Alex watched me, drooling, as I went. I had that cheerleader walk where my hips moved back and forth in a more or less seductive way, and if my skirt was a cheerleader skirt, it would've bounced like a tennis player getting ready to serve.

Alex wiped his mouth and chin the best he could and turned back to the computer to fill out all the forms required, watch an on-boarding video, and accept the terms of employment—this was a temp agency, and he could possibly be without a job for weeks at a time or, at the end of an assignment, the client could choose to keep him on as their employee. It was a risk he was willing to take. He was desperate. He hadn't had a decent job in over a year, and he enjoyed it, but they were downsizing, and his name showed up on the pink slip list. Sure, he was collecting state unemployment, but that barely paid the rent, and he was tired of asking his parents for money all the time. He wanted his independence back. Besides, he figured he was an exemplary employee, very valuable to the right company, and could easily be kept on by any of my clients. He'd done his homework and asked around to find out more about who my clients were; big-name doctors and lawyers were the majority of who came up, so Alex knew he'd be a perfect fit somewhere soon.

Forty minutes later, he was finished everything the computer screen told him he needed to fill out or watch. He stood, picking up his bag as he did, and turned to face my half-closed door. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the door frame.

"Come in," came my muffled reply.

He pushed the door open, and I looked up at him. For a moment, he just stood there like a fool, but it gave me time to take the rest of him in. He stood around my height, dirty-blond hair, glasses that enlarged his blue eyes, and he was fit. Not quite attractive, but not ugly, he was an okay-looking guy. I wondered if he had a girlfriend, maybe ever, given how polite and kind he came off. Women don't really appreciate those things about men until it's too late. This was partially why I was happy to be single, even if I was in my late twenties. I have a lot of friends and a cat and a lot of professional gatherings to attend anyway. I didn't need a man to know my worth in the world.

"Please sit." I stood and motioned to the chair across the oak desk from me.

Alex did as he was asked, again setting his bag on the floor, then crossing his legs, setting clasped hands on his knee. He cleared his throat, appearing to want to speak, or maybe it was to break the uncomfortable silence. I put my hand out for his resume, which he handed me excitedly, and I got a paper cut from it.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Cage! Ohmygod, I'm so, so sorry!" He furiously looked around for a tissue or paper towel as I pulled a drawer open and pulled out a box of tissues, setting them on the desk as I plucked one from the box for my cut. I smiled. "It's okay. It's a simple paper cut."

Alex relaxed a little, though now he was more nervous than when he walked in.

"Would you like some water?"

He shook his head, "No, thank you."

"Okay, then. Let's get started so we can get you working ASAP."

Thirty minutes later, I had set a start date of next Monday for Alex to go work at one of the top surgeon's offices in the city. I may have been torturing the man with it being a plastic surgery facility, but his skills fit, and I wasn't about to pass up getting someone in there now. They wouldn't stop hounding me for a temp, yet they said they were "so busy we can barely answer the phones." My ass they were, but I'd get a full report from Alex at the end of the week. We shook hands, and he left, sweating profusely and excited. I guess he still felt really bad because he'd started sweating as soon as he saw the blood. I hoped he wasn't the blood-shy type. That wouldn't go over well in a surgeon's office, paper pusher or not.

He tried apologizing again on his way out, and I shooed him off. The phone started to ring just as the door chime sounded. I shook my head and let it go to voicemail. I was packing up and finishing the day from home.