Nate texted me at 11:30. Nobody was around so I took a break to check it.
Nate: How’s your first day so far?
Molly: Fine.
Nate: Yeah?
Molly: I now know how to use a paper shredder. My life is complete.
By noon I’d barely made a dent in the pile. Nate offered to meet me for a quick lunch in the crowded cafeteria on the main floor of the building.
“I wish you had longer for lunch,” I said, picking at a chocolate chip muffin.
“Usually I don’t get a lunch break until around two. ‘Cause, you know, lunch is when people go to restaurants, to have lunch. Bastards.”
He was trying to make me smile. I wasn’t in the mood.
“You look sad.”
I shrugged. “I just have a headache. I think it’s the fluorescent lighting.”
It certainly has nothing to do with this awful, boring, stupid, pointless, mundane and depressing job. I doubt my paycheck will even cover my phone bill.
“Did you hear about your co-worker yet?”
I shook my head. Paul was still in a coma. His doctors had expected him to be awake hours after surgery. Hours had turned into days.
“Since you’re not telling me about the friend,” Nate lowered his voice, “I assume something really bad happened.”
I reluctantly made eye contact with him. “He was shot.”
Nate’s eyes grew large. “Wow. That’s serious!”
“They don’t even know who shot him,” I said. I immediately regretted the words.
“He’s probably associated with some rough characters, I would expect.” Nate took a bite of his pita and glanced around the cafeteria.
“You know nothing about him.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “He’s a good person and didn’t deserve this. His family didn’t deserve this.”
“I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean anything by it. Sorry.”
I could tell he was just itching to say something like, “Then he should have avoided that career path,” or something equally obnoxious. I know I would have in his position.
Nate hugged me and I returned to my office. I thought he might ask me out to dinner or on a real date of some kind, but no. He just left and said, “See you later.”
I was giving up a huge piece of my life and I didn’t even get an offer for a date. It was a real kick in the metaphorical balls, to be quite honest.
I stood in front of the paper shredder, hating everything and everyone around me. Even Nate was starting to aggravate me.
Maybe he doesn’t want to date me, just have sex with me.
I stared at the wall as I fed more documents into the machine. My eye twitched as I thought about the whole situation. It was fucked up.
Two days later, Derek finally returned from vacation and gave me a username and password. I was basically a paper shredding ninja by this time. When I logged in for the first time, Derek got me set up with the support chat application and then left before the weirdness started.
Molly: Hello, my name is Molly. Thank you for using chat support. How may I help you today?
Bob: Hi.
Molly: Good morning Bob.
Bob: I like your name. I once dated a girl named Molly in high school. She was beautiful.
What the fuck, Bob?
I showed the chat box to Allie.
“Yeah,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “That happens a lot. It’s going to get a lot creepier than that, I promise.”
Molly: Thank you. How may I help you today Bob?
Bob: What are you wearing?
I glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching me. I turned my Wi-Fi off and on, disconnecting me from the customer and connecting me with the next person in the queue.
Molly: Hello, my name is Molly. Thank you for using chat support. How may I help you today?
Stella: I stapled the cat.
Molly: Sorry, I do not understand what you mean.
Stella: I stapled the cat with the stapler. What do I do?
Molly: Are they … our brand of staples?
Stella: YES. WHAT DO I DO? THE CAT KEEPS MEOWING!!!!!!!!
Molly: Take it to a vet?
Stella: Are you going to pay for it cause I’m not!!!!
Molly: I’m sorry. We cannot be held responsible for you stapling your cat. How did that even happen??
Stella: I was scrapbooking and Mrs. Jiffy Pop jumped up on the table and I went right down on her tail. She is still meowing. What should I do????
I had four “normal” customers with actual questions for the rest of the day. I had three more idiots, two more perverts and a partridge in a pear tree. I browsed Facebook when the queue was clear.
Around three o’clock, Brenda noticed I wasn’t doing much so she put me back on shredder duty.
I was almost done shredding documents by quarter after four.
Maybe if I finish this pile, I can go home. Do people just go home when they have finished their work or do they have to wait until five?
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Nobody heard it outside the stock room so I checked the caller ID. It was Audrey.
“Paul woke up,” Audrey said. “The doctors expect him to make a full recovery.”
I smiled and my eyes filled with tears. “That’s good,” I squeaked. “Do they know who shot him?”
“No. The shooter was wearing a ski mask and didn’t speak before pulling the trigger.”
I felt sick, picturing the scene. Poor Paul.
“I also got a call from our friend Rhys today,” Audrey added.
“‘Friend’ might be a strong word.”
“I no longer have to employ his friend. He even apologized for that bit.” She paused. “He suggested I rehire you instead.”
I raised my eyebrows. “He said that?”
“Seems like you’ve made quite an impression on him.”
What the hell does she mean by that?
“Anyway, I’ll likely be calling you in a few weeks,” she said. “Is that alright?”
Brenda came into the room, a stack of papers in her arms. She flopped them onto the pile I was working through. She glared at me and placed a hand on her hip. I held my index finger up at her—the universal signal for “Wait a moment. I’m on the phone.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” I said to Audrey and hung up.
“You’re not supposed to be on the phone during work,” Brenda snapped.
“No, it’s okay,” I said, smiling wide. “I quit.”
It’s good to be back.
* * *
I’d rather die doing what I love than live doing something I hate.
I repeated this mantra to myself as I walked home from the office building. I hadn’t even lasted three full days at my temp job.
I texted Nate, saying I left work early because of a migraine.
Not even three full days? He’s going to think/know you’re pathetic. Tomorrow. I’ll tell him the truth tomorrow.
Yes, he would be disappointed. I would just have to deal with that, and he would just have to deal with me.
I smiled to myself as I unlocked my apartment door. I hummed and moved my shoes to the closet. That’s when I saw the back of a head resting on a throw pillow on the couch. Someone was sleeping on my sofa.
Stranger danger!
“Oh my god!” I screamed.
The man turned his head, blinking tired eyes at me. I threw my purse at his head. It landed on the floor beside the couch. My aim was never great.
“You’re home early,” Rhys said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“This is so posh!” Rhys put his hands on his hips and walked around my apartment, peeking into each room and surveying the contents. “You own this place?”
“I cannot even believe you broke into my apartment.”
“I’m a thief. It’s what I do. And just in case you forgot, it’s what you did too until quite recently. Also, I didn’t ‘break in.’ Your neighbor buzzed me in and the
n let me use her spare key. Charming lady.”
Note to self: get spare key back from Mrs. Blumenkrantz. She is useless.
Rhys flopped down on the sofa again, stretching out the full length. He grinned up at me. “Do you have lemonade? Because I’d kill for some lemonade.”
“Sorry, I’m fresh out. Also, I’m surprised you didn’t just look in the fridge yourself after you broke in.” I crossed my arms crossed over my chest. “Why are you here?” I spoke louder this time.
He sat up, looking as giddy as a teenager with a secret to share. “I’ve got an assignment coming up in the next few days and I’d like you to join me on it.”
“No thanks.”
“You just got fired from a pathetic office job,” he laughed. “You are in no position to turn this down.”
Why must he always know so much about me? Ugh!
“Actually, I wasn’t fired. I quit.”
“Why?” Rhys said. “Wasn’t it completely inspiring to feel what a normal person feels in their nine-to-five every day?”
“It didn’t agree with me.”
“But you’re back to your old tricks again, I assume.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Well, it sort of is, actually. I just want to make sure Audrey called you.”
My whole body tensed.
“If you already knew Audrey was rehiring me, then why the fuck did you play dumb?” I wanted to strangle him. “Why do you always have to be so—”
“Charming?”
“Annoying!”
He shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
“Good for you. Can you leave now?”
He didn’t leave the sofa. “Did Audrey offer you any assignments?”
“No,” I said, jaw clenched.
“Wonderful. You’re free to travel to London with me in a few days then.”
“I’m not doing another assignment with you.” Or anyone, for that matter. “I can’t trust you.”
My cell buzzed. Rhys eyed my hip where my phone was pocketed.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
“Maybe later.”
“You should answer it now. Might be important.”
I sighed and took out my phone. It was an email notification concerning a bank transfer of five hundred thousand dollars, sent to me by an anonymous user.
I giggled with glee in my head. Half a million dollars for meeeeeee! How nice of Rhys to give me back my money.
I tilted my chin up to look at him. “Alright, Rhys. You have my attention.”
“I’m sorry … for what I did … with your money. It was wrong,” he said. “Even if you didn’t agree to do this assignment with me, you should still have your money. Like everyone in this line of work, I’m unapologetically greedy. I promise never to steal from you again. It was a mistake I completely regret.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know if I should believe a single word coming from his mouth. But he had returned my money to me. My opinion of him was slowly improving.
“Have you ever heard of Kiss Me Once, Kill Me Twice?”
“No…?”
“It’s a James Bond movie they started filming in the mid-sixties. They decided to scrap the footage and started filming Thunderball instead. You can see some bits and pieces of what survived on YouTube. It looked promising.” He glanced at me. “Please tell me you’ve seen the James Bond movies.”
“I think I saw Skyfall.” I shrugged.
“No, I mean the originals. Dr. No? Goldfinger? From Russia with Love?” He stared at me. “Sean Connery?”
“I know who he is. I just…” I shrugged again.
“He is a national treasure!” He frowned at me and continued. “Anyway. There was a classic Aston Martin designed for the movie before they shut down production. You and I are going to steal that car.” He paused. “And probably some jewelry while we’re at it.”
“What kind of jewelry?”
“Some very large and sparkly rocks, kid. And lots of them.”
Inside, I was salivating. That feeling of combined lust and adrenaline was making my thoughts fuzzy.
“Who is the client?”
“Simon Brooks. He’s an American. I think he’s in oil or something. Loves all things James Bond.”
I nodded, urging him to continue.
“We pick up the car at night while the owner is hosting some event thing. Lots of people around and the owners will be occupied. We drive it into a delivery truck located at a farm and then take it to a warehouse, where we exchange cash for a car.” Rhys paused. “Or I keep the car.”
“Why would you keep the car?”
He strolled to the fridge. “You did hear me say ‘James Bond car,’ right?”
He took out a plastic jug of orange juice and twisted off the cap. He gulped right from the mouth of the container.
“Sure, you can have some orange juice. Make yourself at home. Please take your backwash with you.”
“Backwash is just Mother Nature’s way of saying, ‘You’ve got too much of your drink in your mouth and you must be rid of it.’ It’s natural, Molly.” He put the lid on and slid the juice back into the fridge.
Guess I gotta go to the grocery store and get more juice later.
“Why do you want me to join you?”
Rhys grinned. “Because you love money almost as much as I do. Two million dollars. One million each, right down the middle.”
A million dollars? He should have led with that.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “So, why share it with me?”
“Because I need you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
Rhys sat back down on the sofa and looked directly into my eyes. “It’s a pretty big job. I know I’ll need backup, and I trust your skills. You have no reason to trust me … but I need your help. I’ll beg if I have to.” His expression was completely serious.
He’s right. I really have no reason to trust him.
“How do we get into this building?”
Rhys’s expression quickly melted away into his usual arrogant smirk. “I found the event planner’s files and added a Mr. and Mrs. Duncan to the guest list. Simon has assured me the best way into the building is as guests at the event. We’re going to have to pose as American since I assume you can’t fake a British accent—”
“Wait, we’re actually going to the event? Are you serious? We’ll be seen, probably photographed. Rhys, I am not going to jail for you—”
“We’re obviously going to wear costumes.” He rolled his eyes.
“Disguises? I’m a thief, not a spy from … from—”
“A James Bond movie?”
“Exactly. No. No way!”
“Remember what I looked like when we met?”
The long hair, the Italian accent and the disgusting rodent beard thing on his chin. How could I forget?
“I remember you looking like a tool.”
“Exactly. I know my way around costumes. I mean, look at me now.”
“Still a tool.”
He narrowed his eyes and surveyed my face. “Gotta get you some colored contact lenses and get rid of those freckles, to start.”
“But I like my freckles,” I mumbled.
“They’re lovely. And distinct. Can’t have that. I promise, you will not look like Molly Miranda. Or Betty Bruce, for that matter.”
I sat back on the couch and stared at the ceiling.
This whole thing sounds ridiculous and risky. But a million dollars! That’s a lot of money.
“And when exactly is this event happening?”
“Six days from now. I’d love to offer you time to think about it but I unfortunately don’t have that luxury.”
I stood up and stared out the window at the vast and glorious view of the city, thinking about the life I live and risk so often. If it were with any other person, I would have said yes in a second. If it had been a job assigned by Audrey, I’d be hopping on a plane by now and enthusiastic to
get going.
If I do this, it’ll be the biggest payout I’ve ever received. It’s the big leagues.
My head said, “No. No, no, no.” But my heart said, “Let’s make some mad cheddar, yo.”
“I’ll do it.”
There was a knock at the front door.
The doorman just let someone up here? Perfect.
I whispered at Rhys. “Don’t say a word.”
I checked the peephole. It was Nate, holding a bouquet.
Fuck.
I opened the door a few inches and squeezed into the doorway. “Hi, Nate.”
He smiled. “Hi. How’s your head?”
I raised an eyebrow.
Right. The migraine.
“It’s pretty bad. Yeah … it’s pretty bad.”
My head started doing this weird, exaggerated nodding thing. I was suddenly a human bobble head.
Way to sound like a liar, idiot.
“That sucks.”
I was still nodding. Stupid head momentum.
“Yeah. I think it was the … fluorescent lights … and the … um … photocopier.”
“The photocopier?”
“Yeah. I was working near it. It’s really loud.”
“That’s too bad. You should see if they can move you to another desk.”
“Sure.”
Nate smiled shyly. “Molly, I want you to know that I appreciate the effort that you’re making. I know it’s not really your thing but you’re trying and that’s what matters. If you’re feeling better tonight or tomorrow, I’d love to grab dinner and go on an actual date—”
Molly Miranda: Thief for Hire (Book 1) Action Adventure Comedy Page 13
