I froze. While I might not play office politics, I grasped his threat. “I’d have to think about it.” My cell phone chirped, my fifteen-minute warning for the briefing. “I have to go.” He nodded. “I’ll wait to deliver my report until after you answer. Take your time, but you won’t be choosing any new assignments until after we’re done.”
Four
BRYNNER
By that point, I didn’t care about the translation. I was pissed at the director over my psychiatric mugging. So when I slammed open the briefing room door and she wasn’t there, I admit to being slightly confused.
Grace Roberts sat at the head of the table. A laptop’s glow lit her face, making her complexion bluish white. Again, I drank in her features, the petite nose and thin lips, her angular chin that lead to a tantalizing neckline, and from there, the shadow of her cleavage.
She cleared her throat.
Grace had used the remote to turn the lights on while I was otherwise occupied.
I turned away, focusing on the cold, gray day outside rather than the woman who radiated such warmth. “Where is everyone else?” After a moment, I glanced back, now that I could keep myself in line.
Grace crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re early. According to Dr. Thomas, everyone in this office shows up fourteen minutes late.”
“I’m sorry.” What exactly I apologized for, I couldn’t quite say. My stare. My late colleagues. My total inability to conduct a normal conversation with her.
She gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t be. I get paid by the hour, and I need all the hours I can get. Driving a desk does not pay well.”
I nodded. “That’s because a desk won’t try to tear your arm off, and all you have to do is save the spreadsheet, not save someone from it.”
Grace narrowed her eyes; her bottom lip curled under. “No one gets paid enough to go hand to hand against co-orgs.” She paused and then frowned, her fierce expression softening a degree or two. “Standard operating procedure is to drop them with incendiary rounds. You could get killed.”
As far as I was concerned, using a gun was cheating. “Guns aren’t my style, and rules don’t account for when there’s a meatskin loose in an oil refinery, like last Christmas. Or a school. Like a week ago. If the meat-skin’s on a ship, the fuel will burn. Stick to your desk job; you’d do more harm than good in the real world.”
She sat back in her chair, her eyes narrowed, lips pressed together, looking like steam would come out her ears any minute now.
The quiet hiss of Dale’s oxygen tank broke the silence as he rolled in to take a seat. A moment later, Dr. Thomas joined him, and after that, Director Bismuth.
I waited until Director Bismuth sat down, and took the seat across from her. “Ma’am, we need to talk about that doctor—”
“If you don’t mind,” Grace cut in, her eyes tired, her voice strained, “this is my meeting. Let me deliver my report, get out of here, and you can talk all you want when I’m not around to hear it. I’ve got plenty of drama without borrowing yours.”
Director Bismuth’s eyes narrowed at me. “If you don’t mind, Ms. Roberts, a quick question. Did my favorite field operative ask you to dinner?”
Oh, please. I wasn’t that stupid, most days. I did have a couple of tattoos I’d love to let Grace interpret, but the director would kill me. Or even worse, fire me.
The look of horror on Grace’s face hurt worse than any tongue lashing the director could hand out. “He most definitely did not. And if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t.”
Director Bismuth gave her a weak smile. “My sentiments exactly. Proceed.”
GRACE
Ask me out to dinner? Not hardly. The things his eyes said he wanted to do with me didn’t include dinner or conversation. Not that he wasn’t attractive. If I was into the sort of man who spread himself thinner than butter, Brynner Carson would be quite the catch. Given his easy smile, the way he relaxed in front of the triad of BSI leaders, and spoke with confidence, no wonder women smiled back.
I derailed that train of thought, focusing on the ideographs before me. “My translation is complete. Everything I can still make sense of doesn’t support it being any sort of spell.” I waited, shoulders hunched, for someone to challenge my statement, and breathed a sigh of relief when they let me continue.