Page 23 of Gangsters and Guns


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Chapter Eight

Why did I agree to this shit?I wonder as the officer’s cold, clammy hands caress my breasts, ensuring the wire lies flat and doesn’t show through my clothing. Sitting in the back of the florist van, I honestly start to think about my life choices. The air is stale and smells like sweaty male, thanks to Erman, the sopping man wiring me up. Detective Bronson looks on and makes comments, instructing me on what to say and how to act.

It’s a whirlwind. I didn’t even get time to sleep before they rushed me into the shower, telling me to scrub every inch of my body. Then they threw some cheap, drugstore makeup at me and told me to make myself presentable. I did the best I could with a simple face and red lips. My hair was wild, but I managed to tame it into sleek curls. Since I had no pins, I styled it down. I couldn’t exactly wear the red dress I came in with, so one of the cops went and got me a cheap outfit.

Now here I am, dressed in a white silk blouse—one that’s almost too tight so my breasts look obscene—tucked into a tight gray pencil skirt. I have on cheap black heels which are too small for my feet, causing me to wince with each step I take. Overall, I look like a fucking receptionist, even wearing a pair of fake glasses—maybe a porn version, but a receptionist for sure.

“Okay, enough.” I smack his pawing hands away, fasten the buttons quickly, and smooth the shirt back down before tucking it into my skirt and looking at Bronson. “You told me we didn’t have a lot of time, what am I actually doing?”

Sitting on a swivel chair with his back facing a bank of screens, he gestures to the building outside the van. “Inside are the headquarters for Dixen Enterprises, which is owned and ran by three brothers. They are who we’re investigating for murder. They recently lost their shared personal assistant and are looking for another, and today, they are holding interviews. We managed to get you in for one by faking your résumé.” He passes it over, and my eyebrows raise at the five years’ experience they have added working for Boston Muggle as a PA. Apparently, I went to college and have multiple business degrees. The only correct information is my name and date of birth. Brilliant. “You will learn that all by heart so when they ask, you’ll know the information. Spin a life story around it. Lie, as you’re so accustomed to doing. Impress them, get the job, and then your real role starts. You will be wired at all times and will stay in the job until we have the information we need.”

“Wait, how long could that be?” I question with a frown.

“Undercover operations can take years.” He shrugs. Years he says? Like I don’t have a life or goals—Oh, wait.

“Okay, so what do I need to know about them?” I ask nervously.

“We don’t have time for that.” He sighs, scrubbing his face. “If you agreed earlier, maybe, but you blew it. Now this is our one and only shot to get in, so don’t fuck it up or you’ll be back in jail before you can say ‘Mitchel.’ Understood?”

I nod, fidgeting as he leans closer. “Impress them, get the job, then keep your head down. It’s easy, and before you know it, you’ll be back in your shitty trailer with your dog.”

Throwing him a glare, I grab the tailored blazer, the only nice bit of clothing they gave me, and my purse, then slip from the back of the van. Bronson leans out and grins at me. “Good luck.” The doors slam shut, making me jump.

The van pulls around the block, taking the position Bronson said they would so as not to be compromised.

Yeah, not compromised my ass.

Turning, I swallow hard before tipping my head back to look at the building I’m standing in front of. The structure is impressive—okay, it’s fucking scary as hell, looming over me is a skyscraper so tall, I can’t see the top. The entire front is made of glistening glass, and it may as well have a giant sign saying, “We are rich as hell and like showing it off.” Crossing the road, I wander up the steps and around the fountain and sculpture in front of the building, and then I suck in a deep breath before reaching the rotating doors passing a stream of people in and out of the building.

Here we go.

Slipping through the revolving door, I look around at the lobby and try not to let my mouth hang open with shock. The floor is white and cleaner than a hospital room. To my right is a bank of couches with an LED fridge filled with fancy bottled waters. There are two giant screens behind the couches that flip through advertisements. The walls are a spotless white as well, and the sun illuminating the lobby makes it all sparkle. To the right of the entrance is a coffee shop. I shit you not, an actual coffee shop, which is filled with employees.

On the back wall is a reception desk staffed by two women and a man. Behind that is a room labelled “Security.” My eyes flicker around nervously as I walk farther into the lobby, feeling like I’m marking up the floor for even stepping foot in here. My eyes are drawn to the sign behind the busy receptionist.

On the wall, it proudly states “Dixen Enterprises,” and to the right of the desk are turnstiles leading to a bank of elevators.

A woman finishes talking to the receptionist, grabs what looks like a clip-on lanyard, and heads through the turnstiles. Okay, so I guess that’s where I need to go. Faking confidence I don’t feel, I stroll toward the desk. My heel catches on the edge of a tile and I nearly go down. My cheeks heat in embarrassment, but I flick my hair and play it off, plastering a fake smile across my face, even as my heart hammers and my hands turn clammy with nerves.

I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t—

“Hello, I’m here for an interview, Rory O’Brien,” I offer politely.

“Please hold,” the man responds in a monotone voice into his headset before turning to type on the computer without even looking at me. “Okay, just take a seat over there, and we will collect you all to take you for the interview.”

“All?” I repeat in confusion.

He peers up at me, ignoring his ringing phone. “All,” he reiterates. Blinking, I grab the badge he slides over and turn to look at the sofa he pointed out as he answers the phone behind me. Okay. I carefully walk over and perch on one of the couches, watching a blonde across from me apply her lip gloss with a mirror before she starts taking a selfie.

When I catch her eye, she glares, her clearly fake boobs almost spilling from her dress as she moves. Grabbing my résumé, I decide to look it over again and memorize it instead of staring at the flawless woman opposite me. Is she here for the interview as well? If so, then I have no chance, she looks like a runway model. She’s wearing what is clearly a designer white dress with a gold belt across the middle, and it’s so tight, you can see everything…I mean everything, and six-inch heels. She’s so skinny and tall, she reminds me of a blonde giraffe.

Okay, college, work. I repeat the names and dates in my head, and when I look up, there are at least twelve more girls sitting and standing around the sofas. They’re all tall, skinny, and unbelievably pretty, but I didn’t say smart. I hear one ask another if the man at the reception desk meantweatherlike the sun and sky outside when he inquiredwhethershe wanted to sit down or not.

Rolling my eyes, I hold my résumé close and wait, looking around impatiently. The longer I sit here, the more nervous I get. My leg bounces as more and more girls arrive. About ten minutes later, I count at least thirty of us. Fuck, it must be a group interview. How the hell am I going to get this job in the midst of the Barbie army surrounding me?

Just then, an older woman storms toward us, her eyes narrowed and face determined. Her gray hair is coiled on her head—not the stylish gray color, but actual gray, and she rocks it—and her suit is so snug, it shows all her curves. She must be around fifty, but she looks badass, and honestly, she exudes confidence that makes her seem like a goddamn queen.

When she stops before us, she looks us all over. Seeming displeased, her perfectly painted pink lips tip down. “Ladies,” she calls, and when some are still chattering, she sighs and puts her hands on her hips.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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