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Primarily because the person he’s teasing with that sign is the one who seems to be ignoring me on my first day joining his team. And this pimp holds a grudge.
After Sawyer ensures the sign is placedjustright, he turns to me and extends his hand. “I’m Sawyer.”
I know.
“Hi, Sawyer. Nice to meet you.”
“New guy in the chair, right? Miriam?”
I nod as we shake, secretly pleased he didn’t adjust the phrase togirl in the chair. “Call me Mia. And wow. For a tough guy, you’ve got soft hands.”
He glances at his hands and shrugs. His face contorts slightly before he throws his voice into some type of hoity-toity-sounding impression. “Pish posh. Only peasants have rough hands.”
We laugh together for a beat, then his smile lessens. “Nice to meet you, finally. Welcome aboard. I’d give you a tour, but I’m due at a detail across town in twenty. I just popped in because I heard he took the sign down again.”
“No worries. Peggy already gave me a tour.”
“She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she?”
I nod, then tip my head at theNofunfucksign. “Is that something you do a lot?”
“Tomer loves it,” he lies through his pearly white teeth.
Rolling my eyes, I quip, “Oh, I’m sure. Who doesn’t love being called a no-fun fuck?”
His brows pinch. “It’s good-natured fun. And there’s a whole story behind it.”
“Love to hear it someday.”
Once he’s gone, I’m left alone again. Scanning the work area, I see the few employees in the vicinity of my office are all hard at work. Three of them are viewing security feeds. It seems they’re doing remote surveillance, likely of clients who don’t want in-person guards around all the time. One woman is doing data entry. Another is flipping through a spreadsheet.
My fingers click against my coffee mug while I wait, hoping someone will approach me.
But they don’t. They’re all contently working away.
At least they don’t look miserable. The vibe is good despite my paranoia that I’m being ostracized before having a chance to prove myself.
I peek at my watch. There’s still fifteen minutes until my meeting with Big Al.
After entering my office, I grab my box of belongings from the corner to finish unpacking. Opening the top drawer, I toss in various stress balls, fidget spinners, and other colorful items. They may look juvenile, but they help me focus when attempting a challenging hack.
Once they’re put away, the only hardcover book I own stares at me from the bottom of the box.
A Blind Eye No More—by Luciana Francisco.
Like always, my fingertips trace the embossed gold foil lettering on the cover. I turn it over, gazing fondly at the author’s picture on the back. A sad smile tugs at my lips as pride reinvigorates me, reminding me that I’m not the monster I often think I am. She’s living a life of purpose, having healed from one of the most horrific nightmares imaginable.
She’s free because of me.
I quickly flip to the dedication page, and my heart rate accelerates as I read the inscription for the thousandth time.
To those whorefuse to turn a blind eye to the atrocities of the world. And to the woman who found me when everyone else had given up. Although I don’t know your name, not a day goes by that I don’t think of you with the utmost respect and gratefulness. On behalf of all the others you’ve found, this book is for you.
Saywhat you will about my creeperific obsession, but my quest for intel has made a difference in the lives of many women like her.
I slide the book into place on my bookshelf, and something slips from between the pages. My heart leaps into my throat as I retrieve it from the floor.
A Polaroid of my two sisters and me. We’re gathered around Portia’s fifth birthday cake, arms draped over each other’s shoulders.
