Chapter 6 #2
He opened his picture gallery on his phone and was looking for the tenth floor when Barry heard a door open behind him. He tucked his phone in his pocket and spun around to collide with a woman, sending papers flying.
“Oh!” the woman cried out, trying to catch the papers as they fluttered toward the ground.
“Sorry about that.”
The woman eyed him like he was a popsicle on a hot summer day that she wanted to lick. He was no stranger to women coming on to him, but her look did nothing for him. He only wanted Mac looking at him like that
“No problem,” she said breathlessly.
“Here, let me help you.” Barry dropped to one knee, setting down his toolbox to help pick up the papers.
“Thanks.” The woman lowered herself down as well, as gracefully as she could in a knee-length charcoal grey skirt, and picked up the remaining papers. She gathered her papers close to her chest and stood up. “Who are you? I haven’t seen you on the site before.”
Barry rose to his feet and handed her the papers he had collected. “I’m the electrician. Can you tell me where Mr. Banks’ office is? I got a call he’s having some trouble with the lighting, but my office didn’t tell me which floor he was on.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Everything is always breaking on this site. I don’t know why Miles picked this side of the island where most of the storms happen.
He should have listened to his consultants and built on the north side of the island.
” The woman’s cheeks heated. “Sorry about my rant. Please don’t tell him I said any of that. ” She looked up at him soulfully.
“My lips are sealed.” So, Miles had been advised to build on the other side of the island. So why pick this side? What was so important here? Barry would have to take a boat tomorrow and scout around the shoreline.
“There seems to be a lot of work that still needs to be done for an opening in three months.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. Everything we install keeps breaking. Trying to import supplies is a nightmare. The painters are taking forever. They’ve only reached the fourth floor.” The woman closed her eyes and took another deep breath. “Sorry, there I go again ranting.”
“Like I said,” he leaned forward and whispered, “my lips are sealed.”
The woman adverted her gaze, a light blush gracing her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“You seem to know Mr. Banks well.”
“I should hope so, I’m his personal secretary.”
This woman could prove to be useful. Barry reached into his pants pocket and found one of his smaller listening bugs. It was no bigger than her pinkie nail. “As lovely as it is chatting with you, I need to find Mr. Banks’ office before I get into trouble. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, sorry, his office is on the eighth floor at the end of the hall on the left.” The woman stepped closer, brushing her shoulder against him. “I can take you if you’d like.” She batted her eyelashes seductively.
“I appreciate it, but I think I can manage. If I have trouble, I know where to find you.” Barry smiled as he reached forward and swiped his finger across her purse, anchoring the bug on.
“Do,” she purred.
Barry started to walk past her but stopped when she cleared her throat. “Yes,” he asked, half turning back to look at her.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Barry racked his brain until he saw her look down at the ground where the toolbox sat. “Oh yeah, can’t fix the lights without that.” He chuckled and picked it up. “Have a good day, Miss.” He tipped his chin down to her.
“Annabelle Delaney.”
“Have a nice day, Annabelle.”
“Are you going to tell me your name?” she questioned before he could try to escape.
“Sean,” he lied.
“I hope I see you around, Sean.” Annabelle cocked her head to the side, looking up at him bashfully. The woman was definitely not subtle about her interest.
Barry didn’t say anything further, but he left with the toolbox and headed down to the fourth floor. Two men in white hazmat-looking suits with goggles held spray guns painting the walls.
The hallway was loud with the sound of a generator supplying power to operate their small lights and the spray guns.
Neither of them seemed to notice him when he walked in; they were focused on their work. Barry walked up to the closest one and tapped them on the shoulder.
The person jumped, not having heard him come in. “Boss said to get a break,” Barry yelled over the sound of the generator.
“Good, I need to get out of this thing. Sweating my balls off,” the man complained, turning off the spray gun and tapping the other guy on the arm. “Break time.”
“About time,” he grumbled, setting his gun down and discarding his suit.
Both men left without another word and headed down the elevator.
Barry set his toolkit down and removed the hat before stepping into one of the suits and pulling the hood over his head before adding the goggles.
He grabbed the spray gun and some masking tape, stuffing it into his pocket, then the bucket of paint before heading up to the eighth floor.