Her fingers grazed the shiny pewter letter opener. It reminded her of a dagger. She lifted it, testing the heavy weight in her hand and smiled when she discovered a pearl set in the hilt and something engraved beneath the gem. She wasn’t sure what the one loopy letter was, but she thought the other was a P.
She turned the substantial tool, handling it this way and that and admiring the effect the subdued sunlight had on the pearl. As she turned to better see the scrolled detail of the handle, her apron brushed across a sheaf of papers and to her horror, the pages went fluttering to the floor. They coasted and furled in their descent, losing any sense of order and mixing with the papers already matting the floor.
“Shit!”
She quickly tossed the heavy dagger to the desk, wincing when it landed with an obnoxious clank on the soft wood surface, and dropped to her knees. She wasn’t sure what the papers were or if they went in any sort of order. Scout tried to pinpoint similarities in the typed words to tell the difference between the pages intended for the floor and the ones she’d accidentally knocked over, but they all looked the same to her.
She tried to sound out some of the words, hoping to see some clue that told her where they belonged, but the words were all very long and unfamiliar other than the occasional the or and she recognized. Her fingers trembled as she panicked, and then she heard the beep of the front door.
“I don’t care what he thinks he’s entitled to. His lease locks him in for one year and reoccurs indefinitely until either he or I give written notice of change. And even then he’s responsible for a minimum of six months’ notice,” a deep, booming voice shouted.
Scout froze on the floor, shaking, pages clutched in her moist palms as she trembled with dread. Staying low, kneeling slightly hidden by the clawed foot of the mahogany desk, she jumped as the voice bellowed, “I don’t fucking care what his reasons are! He can pack up or ride it out, but he’s responsible for the next six months and that’s after he gives me written notice. Until I have that, he’s pegged.”
The voice got closer and she held her breath. The bang of a cabinet made her flinch. There was a clank of something glass followed by the soft chink of what sounded like ice filling a tumbler.
Scout froze. Don’t even breathe.
“Well then he better have a good lawyer, Slade, because I’m not fucking around here. I gave up a two-point-six million-dollar tenant to get him in there on time. He dicks me now and I promise he’ll be the one getting fucked in the end.”
The sound of ice moving over liquid and trickling over glass, then, “I don’t fucking—”
The room was suddenly submerged in silence. Too quiet. Terror gripped Scout’s heart and she slowly looked up into the most intense set of black eyes she had ever seen.
“I’ll call you back,” he said and slipped his phone into the pocket of his suit.
He was stunning. Dark hair clipped close at the sides and slightly longer at the top with the tiniest beginnings of silver peppered by his temples. Deep olive skin, a straight nose, and two menacing, black slashed brows scowled down at her. His jaw was strong and shadowed with coarse black hair.
He was tall, much taller than her and likely taller than most men. Her heart raced as she took in his cuffed shirt adorned with sharp snaps at the wrists; long, expensively dressed legs, and her hunched, terrified reflection shining back at her from the toes of his dress shoes.
“Mind telling me what you think you’re doing?”
There was nothing friendly about the way he spoke to her. Scout frantically tried to say something, but her brain had short-circuited and all of her words seemed to have fallen from her head.
“Answer me.”
She jumped at the sharp lash of his voice and lost her balance. She’d been crouching so long her foot had fallen asleep and her knees had gone stiff. As Scout caught her balance, she inadvertently landed on her knuckles. Her fist closed over his paperwork and crinkled it slightly. She might’ve whimpered, but she couldn’t hear over the heartbeat suddenly roaring in her ears.
In two swift steps his legs ate up the distance between them and he was standing over her, still scowling.
“What’s your name, girl?”
“S-Scout.”
He frowned as if her name were unacceptable to him. “What kind of name is Scout?”
She opened her mouth to throw out some sharp retort, but luckily, her better judgment crept in and she merely gaped at him. He gave an exasperated sigh and set his glass on the corner of the desk. He moved so quickly she flinched as he grabbed her forearm and abruptly hoisted her to her feet.