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KLEIN
If looks could kill, Boss would have long been dead by now.
“It’s not personal, Klein,” he says, trying to soothe me.
He might as well bail on that mission. Pretty sure I’munsoothableat this point, and no, I don’t give a flippity fark if that’s a real word.
I thought I had it in the bag. Hell, I was so damn sure I had the position locked down. I never saw this shit coming.
He’s hiring someone else to join Tomer on the intel team, and at best, I’ll continue being a mere filler when needed.
Talk about the ultimate blind side.
How was Ithiswrong?
“I’m not taking it personally, Boss. I’m a professional.” The words sound sharp and severe, cutting past my lips like shards of glass.
Because his decision— while strictly business from his perspective— affects mepersonally.
In a big freaking way, and I have no clue what I’m going to do without this promotion. It was my fail-safe. My only plan.
It’s not about the money; this change would have meant more than I can quantify with my bank account.
When Big Al called me into his office this morning, I was sure it was good news— the decision I’d been waiting for and working toward. I’d even prepared my acceptance speech like I was going to the damn Oscars.
What an idiot.
If I woke up tomorrow with the ability to shapeshift into kitchen appliances, I wouldn’t be as surprised as I am right now.
After the fantastic weekend I had— some of which was spent in bed with a passionate redhead who hasn’t left my mind since— I figured my luck had finally turned around, and the fruits of my labor were ripe for the picking.
Wrong.
You know what? That word isn’t severe enough to adequately describe this situation.
Being wrong implies a simple oversight with minimal consequence. This is more than that.
I was erroneously awry due to misguided, false, inaccurate assumptions because I’m a fucking dumbass.
“Listen, I know this is upsetting for you,” Boss starts, using that same placating tone. It’s a tone he never uses because he doesn’t need to. He’s in charge, and what he says goes. Period.
The mollifying way he talks to me betrays his awareness of how bad this stings me.
But he’s made the decision anyhow.
What does that say about how he sees me or my worth to him?
He sighs and purses his lips. “Redleg is growing, and we’re entering new territory. Our cases are getting more complicated. We’re not simply guarding spoiled rich princesses anymore. Our clients are in real danger, and this new partnership with the Clearwater Police Department is intensifying things. The intel team is key to ensuring the safety of not only our clients but our entire team. Some of the shit that went wrong with the Franco case and the Russians is proof of that. I don’t take this responsibility lightly. We need someone with highly specialized computer skills. Although you’ve been—”
I cut him off, attempting to bring this conversation to a swift end and save a little face. “I’m aware, Boss. And you don’t need to justify your decisions to me. It’s fine.”
It’s not fine.
The bitter reality is that without this position, I might need to leave Redleg.
I’ve risked my life for this company, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. The men and women here are more than my coworkers— they’re my family.
