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She’s probably suffering through PTSD, or something like it, and she’s doing it on her own.
We can’t let her go on like this. It’s too fucking awful.
“You know, we do need another assistant at the office,” I start cautiously.
She draws me an unimpressed glance. “I’m not interested in working for an Alpha who thinks he can threaten me into doing whatever he wants.”
I don’t really have an answer for that complaint. E.A. is overbearing at the best of times.
She hasn’t seen his other side yet, and I’m not sure exactly how to explain that side.
“Well, then, you might want to hear about Anchor West, because he did that to make you take that job. Sorry, but you needed to know.”
She lets out a weary sigh. “Fine, I’ll bite. Why did he want me to take that job?”
“It’s kind of a long, convoluted story, but the nuts and bolts come down to the guy who runs the company. He’s …”
“Another rich Alpha asshole in a city that’s full of them?”
“We wish. He’s the biggest human trafficker in the country, and the only evidence of his crimes is apparently in a jar in his office, where he keeps his trophies.”
She picks up the filled mugs and turns to me, passing me one of them.
“A jar? Please don’t tell me he collects eyeballs, or something like that?”
I shake my head as I take the mug from her. “It’s not quite as gruesome as that.”
“Not quite?” She sounds intrigued, even if she feels a little wary.
“According to E.A., he keeps a lock of hair from every person he sells. He also keeps a small personal item, like a wedding band, or a locket or something. He binds them together with a piece of ribbon with a date written on it.”
“Jesus,” she murmurs, before she picks up her coffee with both hands clasped around the mug. “Maybe I don’t want to work for that guy.”
“You definitely don’t.”
She sips at her coffee and shudders as she sets the mug back down.
“How does your boss know all of this?”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“Didn’t you bring an envelope, or something?”
“I’ll grab it,” I tell her, setting my mug down on the counter before leaning down and blinking in disbelief as the envelope disappears from under the door. I let out a gasp as I straighten and look out the peephole.
Of course! Spencer must have been texting me while my phone was off.
He’s standing out there with the envelope, looking confused.
“What is it?” Leanne asks.
“It’s Spencer. He must have gotten bored of waiting. I’ll tell him to leave.”
“It’s okay,” she says, after a beat. “He can come in, as long as you’re here.”
I nod slowly, checking her emotional state before I open the door.
She’s calm, not nervous or afraid.
