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The entrance vestibule was huge. Polished steel and mirrors, reflective surfaces everywhere. The uniformed security guard at the doorway frowned at him. Nathan saluted as he walked by, scanning for the elevators behind the cover of his sunglasses as he did so. A surge of people from a corridor to the left clued him in. They wore weary expressions and walked with a pace that showed him they were heading home at the end of a workday. He grinned to himself, popping a stick of chewing gum into his mouth as he strode round the corner and into the elevator.
During the ride up to the Robertson Corporation offices, a guy in a suit looked across at him with a wary expression. He was used to that. It was his build, mostly. The face didn't help. He had the sort of looks that invited trouble. If you look like a thug people will sure as hell treat you as one. He had the scars to prove it.
That's how he and Zac had hitched up. He'd been minding his business in a nightclub when four men looking for trouble decided he would be a good test. They invited him outside for a kicking. He declined. Things had gone downhill from there. At least three of them had gone home with broken bones, but they had the advantage in numbers.
Zac had picked him up off the street where he'd been left for dead at the back of the nightclub. He'd looked after him, phoned for an ambulance and stayed in the hospital while they stitched up his face and pumped him full of someone else's blood. When Zac had called by the next day to see how he was, Nathan had the chance to say thanks. Zac had saved his life, but he shrugged it off as if it was nothing. They'd chatted. They'd got on. Zac had offered him a job.
The elevator doors pinged open and he stepped out onto the landing. Opposite him thick glass doors were emblazoned with the Robertson Corporation logo and several official looking affiliation insignias. He walked towards the door, scanning inside as he did so, quickly homing in on a moving figure. As he got closer, he found himself looking at a shapely woman's rear end, tightly encased in shiny black pants.
He stopped at the door and observed the view through it. The figure moved, and the fabric of the pants glinted over her heart-shaped bottom. She was picking something up off the floor. He murmured approvingly under his breath, a drumming sensation at the base of his spine fast kicking in.
The figure straightened up, clutching a stack of envelopes to her chest. Dumping them on the counter top, she flipped her curly blonde hair and turned toward him. This had to be the receptionist. He gathered himself and pushed the door open.
She was tiny, barely over five feet, and Zac was right—she was cute. Nice and curvy, her breasts tightly packaged in a skinny fit top that showed them off to perfection. The shiny pants made him want to grab her hips and guide them against his own.
"Oh my God," she declared when he walked in, eyes lighting up. "Give me a twirl."
He stared at her, baffled by her remark. "I'm sorry?"
"Your T-shirt, I want to see which tour it's from."
"You're a Motorhead fan?"
She nodded then waved her hand, indicating he turn round. "Wow, you've been into them for years."
Nathan completed his turn, a bemused smile on his face. "That's right. You?"
"The first time I saw them play was the No Speak with Forked Tongue tour."
"Heh. I was there."
"Well, imagine that." She stared at him, smiling invitingly. "I was only fourteen." She gave a naughty laugh. It was a great sound.
He took off his sunglasses and offered her the document dispatch package. "I've got some papers here for a Ms. Abigail Douglas."
She stared at him then chuckled again, her eyes twinkling as she took it from him. "Damnit, another sexy courier. What are they doing, making you guys pass a sex rating before they give you the job?"
He wasn't quite sure what she meant, but it sure as hell sounded like she was giving him a come on. "You like what you see, little lady?"
She put one hand on her hip, adopted a serious expression and looked him up and down. She waved her free hand at his head. "Lose the hat."
Dutifully, he swiped the hat off, rubbing his spiky hair upright. It was bizarre, standing there, being examined by this tiny little firecracker, but what the hell?
She nodded. "I like. Are you on the market for a night on the town?"
For such a small lady she sure as hell knew what she was about. "For a Motorhead fan as cute as you? Absolutely."
She smiled up at him. "Great. I'm Suzanne."
"Nathan." That drumming sensation at the base of his spine had started up again.
"Okay, Nathan, give me two minutes to finish up here and we'll hit the pub. Oh and I'm buying the drinks, for as long as you can keep me in good Motorhead gig stories."
He laughed. He couldn't help it. She surely was a firecracker. "You don't know what you're letting yourself in for, Suzanne."
Not missing a beat she flickered her eyebrows at him. "Neither do you."
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