Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“I agree with Mr. Reese, sir,” Clark casually interjects, pulling both of our gazes over to where he’s standing in the closet doorway.
“And in all the comics you know Alfred is always right.”
“Not always,” is murmured under my breath.
“Enough to count it.”
A reluctant nod of agreement precedes me inquiring about the presence of the other male he’s with. “Do we have a problem, Park?”
“Problem? No.”
His response prompts hope to hop onto my expression. “Answers?”
“Not ones you’re going to like.”
“Why do you sound like The Riddler?” J.T. playfully pokes.
“He wasn’t Chinese,” argues the head of my personal security division.
“But he could be,” he continues to goad, clearly for his own amusement.
“And this conversation could end with less zeroes on both of your paychecks if you continue to test my patience.” Brief glares are delivered to both of them before insisting. “Speak, Park.”
“The dive came up with nothing.” His arms are casually folded across his black fitted t-shirt covered chest. “The classmates were digitally clean – minus the large amount of partial nudes they’ve all sent to the same male who is masquerading as the son of a wealthy financier when in reality he’s an ex-con who served time in Austlandia for fraud – and they were also physically clean in the sense I checked with security along with both concierges – Silas Bhett from yours and Rafael O’Toole from J.T.’s – regarding their possible presence in the vicinity. Neither property had any knowledge regarding their existence.”
And Silas would have mentioned something if there were something to mention.
He’s an extension of our family the same way Lucky and Marguerite are except he has an almost alarmingly fantastic memory.
I think there are better uses for it than recalling when laundry pickup in the building is late or stalling a resident so that they do not walk in on their husband having an affair with his young, Venezuelan assistant named Haniel, but alas.
He seems content in what he does.
At least according to the gossip my wife spills while I go into battle with our espresso machine in the mornings.
Perhaps I should invest in a new brand?
Maybe a physical barista we keep on call?
“You have nothing,” I coldly chomp.
“I have resolve.”
“You have a ticking clock, Park.” My eyes hold his hostage. “I cannot let my wife go back to work on Tuesday without some sort of indication we have this situation contained, so find me answers or find me your replacement.”
“Weston,” Clark swiftly hisses in disapproval.
I take in and release a long, hard breath prior to correcting, “Find me answers or deliver to me a plan that guarantees her safety when she is out of my sight. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Who’s scheduled on deck for her return?”
“Hill and Holmes will rotate running point while Platt and Cashell will alternate interior plain clothes perimeter security. She’s less familiar with them; therefore, they should have an easier time blending in the day-to-day crowd.”
“Cleared through the Institute?”
“Yes. Their badges arrived this morning.”
She said she was going back to work.
She didn’t say I couldn’t add safety measures to the situation.
Nodding is accompanied by me reaching for my cufflink’s drawer. “And who’s with us this evening?”
J.T.’s hand unexpectedly blocks my path prompting me to shift my attention over to where he’s shaking his head.
“Holmes.”
I prepare to insist my best friend move his hand when I see Clark also shake his head.
Fine.
No cufflinks.
They’re not casual.
And this date is supposed to be casual.
Should we not do steak?
Is steak too formal?
“He’s already waiting for you by the SUV,” Park announces.
My nod of gratitude becomes his point of dismissal as well as an invitation for my son’s grandfather to speak. “Suggestion, Weston?”
“I don’t have a colored casual shirt.”
“I think that’s what we’ll buy you for Christmas,” J.T. impishly pokes.
“Perhaps we’ll go away for Christmas.”
“Gift will still be here when you return.”
“Why not do something different this evening?” He politely folds his hands in front of him. “Something that proves to Bryn you both know her and have taken her previous grievances – which she is intuitively aware of – to actual heart.”
The overpowering weight of frustration plops itself back onto my shoulders. “Like what?”
“Think on it.” His all-knowing smile barely precedes him offering me keys to one of the golfcarts. “I’m sure an idea will come to mind.”
J.T. joins in on the smirking along with the object giving, although he hands me mints. “Enjoy your evening with Uhura. I have a wife and nephew to beat at Candyland.”
“Do not play that with real candy again.”
“There’s no other way to play it,” he dramatically scoffs while exiting beside Clark. “What are we supposed to use? Fruit?”
“That is nature’s candy…” are the last words I hear spoken.
Completely alone, I turn back towards the full-length mirror to study myself.
The situation.
How is it I’m more uncomfortable in my own skin than I was when I was first revealing myself to her?