Chapter 1 #2
I growled in frustration, plucking my travel cup off the floor and stepping out of the puddle. It was already eight twenty-six. I didn’t have time for this. In fact, I had negative time for this.
“Forget it,” I grumbled, right as the elevator stopped at my floor.
When I moved to exit, they flinched away. If only I was in a headspace to appreciate it.
Coffee squished between my toes and steamed my feet in their socks as I left a trail of wet footprints in my wake. Like Hansel and Gretel, except Gretel is one minor inconvenience away from committing a felony.
The travel cup dripped its remnants down my arm, soaking into my coat and leaving yet another body part sticky. Because why not? After this disaster of a morning, what was one more straw on the already-loaded camel’s back?
My shoes announced my arrival before I’d even cleared the first desk in my new squad’s area.
Heads swung in my direction and popped up from desks like gophers.
My insides crawled with mortification, and I itched to shrink away.
Maybe jump out the window and never return.
I could live off the land for a good two hours, at least. Possibly seven if the “land” in question happened to be close to a McDonald’s.
Anything would be better than facing my new colleagues like this.
The man closest to me cleared his throat, drawing my attention in that direction. And holy wowza , was it a good direction to pick.
He stood almost a foot taller than me, lean and broad-shouldered and gorgeous, even with his buttoned-up appearance.
Freckles dotted his fair skin, creating a roadmap to his rich brown eyes with the longest, most luscious eyelashes I’d ever seen.
His dark brown hair was neatly combed, and even the few strands that were tastefully ruffled seemed completely intentional.
Everything about him was intentional. Controlled. From his pressed shirt to his ironed slacks to his polished shoes to his arched brow. The room itself seemed under his control.
Our surroundings blurred until he was the only thing in crystal clear focus.
His presence was so magnetic it felt there was a physical weight squeezing the air from my lungs.
In that moment, it even felt like the birds outside didn’t sing without this man’s permission.
He was cool, collected, and everything I wasn’t.
Especially today.
His brow rose even higher as his eyes deliberately swept me up and down, pausing at my unruly hair, the wrinkles in my shirt, the coffee stains up my pants, and my soaked shoes.
His lips pressed into a thin line. Disgusted .
And then, he very obviously looked at his watch, back at my soaked shoes, and back at his watch.
“Twelve minutes late on your first day, huh?”
He didn’t say it particularly rudely, but it was enough.
In fact, it was too much —his perfect appearance, his holier-than-thou look, his obvious acknowledgment of my predicament without so much as an offer to help.
It all compounded on top of the hurricane swirling around inside me, tipping the scales the last little bit. Breaking the camel’s back.
I snapped.
“Take a picture, Peewee. It’ll last longer.”
Another agent, a decidedly less stunning brunette, barked a laugh. “Peewee! That’s a good one!”
Mr. Starched Shirt spared him a glance before turning his narrowed eyes back on me. “Don’t encourage her, Alec.”
“You can’t deny there’s a bit of a resemblance, Colt,” another agent teased.
This one was a brawny man with a ready grin and sympathetic eyes as he extended a box of tissues toward me.
“You look like you’ve had quite the morning.
The bathroom is down the hall and on the right if you want to clean yourself up. ”
I accepted the box with stiff movements as I sent another scathing glare toward this Colt guy. “Thank you.”
“I promise we’re not all boneheads,” the nice guy said, his grin almost enough to lift the crushing weight off my shoulders.
Almost .
I held Colt’s stare, making my intended subject clear. “Just some of you, right? When the stick up your butt lets you bend enough to address the peasantry?”
The muscle in Colt’s jaw flickered. “It’s royalty that you bow to. There’s no need to bend for peasants.”
“Oh, my mistake, I thought you’d have to if you wanted to be heard from that high horse you’re sitting on.”
Alec whistled and clapped the shoulder of an agent with the most intense stare I’d ever seen. “Looks like we’re going to have our hands full with these two!”
Colt spared me a contemptuous glance. “Assuming she lasts long enough to cause any more trouble.” He turned back to his paperwork, effectively dismissing me. “I imagine trouble tends to follow her wherever she goes.”
“Well, she does leave a trail, so it should be pretty easy to find her,” Alec added, snickering to himself.
I pinned my glare on him now, and he wisely shrank away.
The brawny agent shook his head wearily, leaning back in his chair and tapping his pen against his desk. “Well, that was probably the worst welcome ever.”
I laughed humorlessly. “You’d be surprised.”
My last unit in Philadelphia wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but everyone was a little mean to the rookies. It was part of the initiation.
But I wasn’t a rookie anymore.
Another man entered the cluster, effectively taking everyone’s attention away from me.
The dread in my gut hardened into a rock that overpowered any relief I felt.
Only a handful of people had the sort of influence that would make others voluntarily forget the newbie, especially when said newbie was soaked in her own coffee.
As if confirming my suspicions, the man cut through the unit like butter—straight toward me.
He flashed a smile, his silver hair catching the light overhead and providing a stark contrast against his dark suit coat.
While I’d seen some certified “silver foxes” in Hollywood as celebrities aged, this guy made the cut without any of the expensive skincare products or cosmetic surgeries.
“You must be Lex Piper. I’m your supervisory agent, Jonas McBride.” He offered his hand for me to shake, and I accepted it on autopilot. “We’ve been looking forward to you joining the team.”
At the mention of “supervisor,” my professional mask had slipped into place. It wasn’t foolproof, and it certainly wasn’t as unbreakable as it normally was, but it would be enough to convince him I was worth keeping here.
I hoped.
“Thank you, sir,” I said woodenly. “I apologize for my tardiness. It won’t happen again.”
He let my hand drop, pausing a second as he inspected the smear of now-cold coffee I’d apparently transferred to it.
Kill. Me. Now.
Being late on your first day? Not ideal, but surely it was forgivable. Butting heads with your new colleagues? Those were inevitable growing pains. But slathering your boss’s hand with coffee after doing both of those things? I was so screwed.
To my surprise, he simply pinched a tissue from the box I still held and wiped the coffee off as if that sort of thing happened all the time.
He stepped closer, dropping his voice to a murmur and meeting my eyes with his piercing blue ones.
“I read your file, Piper. I know what today means for you.”
I gulped, the sting returning to the back of my eyes. My professional mask was dangerously close to slipping. I could already feel my bottom lip starting to quiver, so I bit it to keep it still. When I got back to the safety of my car tonight, then I could break down. But not here. Not now.
“I know it isn’t easy adjusting to a new team,” he continued, “but I’m looking forward to what you can bring to our squad.”
If Colt’s judgment had broken me, then McBride’s unexpected warmth delivered the killing blow. My knees threatened to give out from the weight of my grief. I needed to turn this train wreck of a morning around—stat.
McBride, noticing my buckling legs, stepped even closer, graciously shielding me from the majority of my new squadmates. “You got it?”
I was treading dangerously deep into “pathetic” waters at this point. Too deep. The last thing I needed was a mandated trip to the shrink, too.
Colt’s remark circled through my head. Assuming she lasts long enough to cause any more trouble.
I risked a glance at him, only to find him glaring daggers at me.
His nutmeg eyes flicked between me and McBride, his lips pressed into a tightly controlled frown.
Each obsessive straightening of his stack of papers was accentuated with an aggressive smack against his pristine desk.
He thought I couldn’t handle being here. That I was the scraps at the bottom of the barrel, sent here because I needed a new home and not because I’d been hoping for this assignment since my first day at Quantico.
And the last thing I was about to do was give him more reason to think so.
I scraped together my nonexistent dignity and straightened into my familiar dancing posture.
Strong core, shoulders back, chin up, the smallest ghost of a smile on my lips.
To me, my expression always looked emotionless, perhaps pleasantly neutral, and it had served me well countless times already.
“Just some slippery shoes, sir. I decided to wear my coffee rather than drink it this morning, I’m afraid.
Too eager to meet the team and get to work, I guess. ”
The corner of McBride’s mouth inched upward before he nodded curtly and rested his hand on my shoulder. “In that case, your desk is right there.” He brushed past me, inclining his head toward the vacant desk across from none other than Mr. Starched Shirt. “Show her the ropes, Dixon.”
Colt straightened his already impeccable posture, not even glancing in my direction as he opened a drawer to expose a rainbow of color-coded filing folders.
Apparently he was back to dismissing me now, which was almost more infuriating than the outright hatred radiating off him minutes ago.
“I recommend you clean yourself up, newbie. Some of us care about representing the FBI well here.”
“By being a pompous prat, you mean?” I smiled sardonically at him. “ That kind of representation?”
He huffed like I was the insufferable one and dropped his papers into the lime green folder.
“By dressing like we didn’t crawl out of a Starbucks dumpster this morning, for one.
And for two—” he met my eyes briefly, not even bothering to hide his disdain “—earning recognition and promotions the right way.”
My jaw dropped open before I could snap it shut. What exactly was he insinuating? And I knew he could tell that the coffee stains weren’t how I left the house this morning. He wouldn’t be an FBI agent if he was as observant as a wet sock, even if he did have the personality of one.
Who did this Colt guy think he was, anyway—God’s gift to a medium-sized field office in Detroit? Puh-lease. I’d show him. Assuming she lasts long enough.
He wouldn’t even know what hit him.