Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
I pulled it out of the microwave drawer and walked it over to Winston’s desk.
He didn’t look like he ate here, and he didn’t strike me as the type to drop crumbs on his important documents, but I wasn’t that kind of person.
I worked and ate. It was how I functioned.
I took a quick bite and immediately regretted it.
Doing the ‘hoo hee hoo haa’ of a girl who had hot food in her mouth and didn’t want to spit it out, I picked up my phone and saved his number into my contacts.
The computer in front of me came alive and I grinned.
Me: Thank you!
Folsom: Don’t get arrested and call me. Kobe’s super mad at me right now. Apparently, I was supposed to take the day off of sleuthing.
Laughing to myself, I pulled up the photo I’d snapped of the skyline and sent it over to Winston with a message.
Me:
Me:
Wiping my fingers on my shirt, I started clicking around on his computer.
I’d never understood the point of personal space.
Having grown up the way I had, I’d come to realize that privacy was a thing that I didn’t have the liberty to have. And if I couldn’t have it, then why should anyone else have it?
I took another bite of my food and moaned.
Wow, I’d have to get back with him about who makes his food.
The computer dinged, and I grinned.
He had his computer and his phone synced.
Rookie mistake.
So that was what I did for the next five minutes while I waited for him to see the message. Snoop through his messages.
I sent another one and watched it across my screen.
Me: Wow, your texts are extremely boring.
I could almost feel him getting annoyed with me.
I couldn’t wait for him to respond.
Except, it didn’t come in the form of a text message like I’d expected it to.
It came in the form of a phone call.
I grinned when my phone started to vibrate and I saw ‘Winston Calling’ scroll across the screen.
“Hello?” I answered, mouth full of another spoonful of macaroni.
“You better not be eating my fucking macaroni,” he snarled.
I looked down at it, then back up at the screen. “Is it special?”
Because God, it tasted special.
“It’s really fuckin’ special. I only get three of those a week, and I ration them. My chef hates making macaroni, says it’s beneath him, so if you ate that, and I don’t get my last hit of the week, I’m going to tie you up by your hair in the middle of my office and torture you.”
I had a feeling he would, too.
He was so serious sounding, in fact, that I considered wrapping it back up and putting it away. But I’d eaten too much. There was no way this little of an amount would satisfy him. It’d probably only piss him off.
“Huh,” I said. “Well, it turns out that I didn’t know you liked macaroni so much.”
He snarled something low and under his breath. “Get out of my fuckin’ office.”
“Will you send security up here to make me?” I questioned.
“No,” he growled. “I wouldn’t force Jareth to come back even if I wanted to. You’re going to leave, or you’ll regret it.”
I might very well regret it. But I’d enjoy the absolute hell out of myself until he came back to make me leave.
“Okay,” I said. “Well, then I guess we’ll talk later.”
I hung up on him about to say something more. Probably like ‘you better freakin’ leave or else.’ But more likely, he’d have replaced freakin’ with fuckin’.
He immediately called back, but I didn’t answer.
Instead, I went back to finishing my food up, then continued to go through his computer.
The minimized tab at the bottom was some excel spreadsheet with a note to the side every few rows that said ‘inconsistency’ and ‘doesn’t add up.’
So for the next twenty minutes, I marked more inconsistencies for him, added up numbers, set up formulas, and eventually stopped at the end of the spreadsheet and highlighted a few important things. Then I wrote him a note about where he should double check a few things, and a recommendation on firing employee ‘3555534B.’
Mr. 355534B was definitely stealing from him and didn’t seem to care if he was caught.
After deciding that everything on the computer was extremely boring, even the ones that were marked as ‘confidential,’ I moved to his desk drawers.
They were all locked.
I pulled the lock picking kit out of my pants—I’d thought about breaking into a few of the areas on the floors below me, but hadn’t been so inclined—but his desk drawers? Yes, I was definitely inclined.