Stolen Lust (Beauty in the Stolen 1)

All the more reason to get to work quickly.

Not having a choice, I knock on Mrs. Steyn’s door and ask to use her phone. She hands it to me through the crack with a scowl on her face, listening to every word as I call the bank and tell the receptionist why I’ll be late.

“Thank you,” I say, handing her back the phone, but she only scoffs and shuts the door.

Once inside my apartment, I take care of the most urgent business first. I bundle Ian’s jacket in a trash bag. Then I shower with a speed that doesn’t allow for unwinding under the warm water, dress in my uniform, and dry my hair. My hand shakes as I apply just enough make-up to cover the evidence of the traumatic and almost sleepness night.

Taking a settling breath, I smooth down the white blouse and navy pencil skirt before grabbing my handbag and the trash bag with Ian’s jacket on the way out.

It’s only a five-block walk to the bank in the center of town where I work. My ballet flats are comfortable, but my feet ache from walking too fast. I’m eager to get to work and anxious to reach my destination.

At the back of the building, I look around. Satisfied that the coast is clear, I dump the trash bag in one of the big bins and ring the staff entrance bell.

Alan gets the door. He offers me a smile. “You’re late.”

“Problems,” I say, wiping my windblown hair from my face.

He searches my bag and drags a metal detector over my body before ushering me inside.

I rush down the hallway with its depressing burgundy carpet tiles past the staff kitchen and swipe my card at the bulletproof glass door that gives access to the teller area.

My station is empty. My colleague looks up from counting out a stash of cash as I drop my bag by the chair and swing the sign around to read open.

I quickly boot up my computer. The electronic ticket system beeps and a number pops up on my screen. Just as the client steps forward, my boss knocks on the glass and tilts his head toward his office.

“In a minute,” I mouth, turning back to smile at the client, but a moment later, Nick is next to me, gripping my shoulder and squeezing with a silent order.

“Excuse me,” I say to the client who rolls her eyes and curses as I leave my station.

I follow Nick to his office in the corner. The red light above the door sign comes on when he shuts the door, indicating he’s busy and mustn’t be disturbed.

“Sit.” He motions at the visitor’s chair and skirts around his desk to take his own.

Balancing on the edge, I say, “I’m sorry I’m late. I was going to come and see you later, but as there’s a queue, I thought I’d first help out where I was needed most.”

He flattens the hair he grows on the one side of his head over the bald patch at the top. “I got your message.”

“Then you know it was out of my control.” I brave a smile. “I’ll work back the hours.”

“Cas.” His tone stills me. “It’s not your fault you got hijacked.”

Giving a nervous laugh, I settle a little deeper in the chair. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course.” He clears his throat. “Who wouldn’t?”

I wring my hands together. “I had to give a statement at the police station. That’s why I’m so late.”

“I know.”

The way he leans forward and interlocks his fingers makes me nervous, but it’s the hesitation, as if he’s weighing his words, that makes me panic.

“Cas.” He clears his throat again. “I’m afraid I don’t have a choice but to let you go.”

The words ring in my ears. I couldn’t have heard right. It must be a joke. My lips part, but my mind won’t form words.

He waits.

I blink.

“It’s the criminal activities clause.”

“I…” I swallow away the dryness of my mouth. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“It doesn’t require breaking the law as such.” He gives me a level stare. “It includes the possibility of having been compromised.”

“Compromised?” I exclaim.

“The police called this morning. I’m well aware that you’ve been held hostage last night, and as much as it pains me to say, I can’t rule out the fact that you may be a security risk.”

“You must be joking,” I say with a disbelieving laugh.

“Sadly, no.” He pushes a stack of stapled papers over the desk. “This is your contract. The terms of your dismissal are stated within.”

This can’t be happening. The unfairness stiffens my spine. “Explain to me how I’m a security risk.”

“Your capacity as a bank employee has been compromised. It’s not uncommon for criminals to extract information from bank employees.”

Information? A suspicion unfurls in a corner of my mind, something that warns me there’s something much larger than a hijacking at play. For now, I push it away. I can only fight one battle at a time. “I’m only a teller.”