That Time in Paris by Logan Ryles (best ebook reader under 100 .txt) 📗

He took a cautious step into the stairwell, then crept down two flights of stairs and into the lobby of the fourteenth floor. All was silent, and Wolfgang adjusted his grip on the pistol, then took a cautious step down the hallway.

“Hey, moron! Over here.”

Wolfgang jumped and whirled around.

An office door, half-hidden behind a decorative tree at the corner of the lobby, swung open, and Edric leaned out. He shot Wolfgang a glare, then jerked his head toward the room behind him. “You’re early,” Edric said as Wolfgang sheepishly withdrew his hand from his coat.

“Early is alive,” Wolfgang said.

It was one of Edric’s favorite quips, and Wolfgang hoped it would win him some points for being caught with his back turned.

Edric didn’t seem to care. He just stepped back, allowing Wolfgang to slide into the room, then the door smacked shut.

The office suite was laid out like a penthouse, minus the fancy trappings or expensive furniture. A wall of windows stared out over the Mississippi River and the Gateway Arch, while a hodgepodge of folding chairs, a cheap futon, and a beanbag were strewn over the industrial carpet.

On one wall was a massive marker board, currently festooned with a series of completed tic-tac-toe games, and in the middle of the room was a folding table with a few chairs gathered around it. The only light in the room shone in from the windows, growing gradually dimmer as the sun faded behind the tower.

Three people looked up as Wolfgang shuffled in. First was a tall man with broad shoulders and the kind of buzzed haircut that only an ex-military guy would subject himself to. He had milky blue eyes, and from the moment Wolfgang caught his gaze, he felt unwelcome. Buzzcut stood next to the windows and raised one eyebrow in condescending dismissal.

A second man was short and wiry, with long fingers and round glasses that sat on a sharp nose. His black T-shirt was covered with bleach stains, and he leaned over a laptop computer as though it were his child, not even looking up as Wolfgang entered.

Then there was the petite woman sitting in a corner. Wolfgang didn’t notice her at first. She leaned back against the wall with her legs crossed and a cocktail glass in one hand. Shadows played across her face, obscuring her features, but it was impossible to miss the bright red of her hair, which was held back in a ponytail and laid over one shoulder. Eyes closed, she looked perfectly relaxed, as if the world around her either existed or it didn’t, and either way, she wasn’t going to move.

Wolfgang felt Buzzcut’s glare and realized he’d been staring. Somehow, the irritation of the big man only made him want to stare longer.

Edric cleared his throat. “Drink?”

“Sprite,” Wolfgang said.

Edric retrieved a beer and a can of Sprite from a mini-fridge, then hit a switch on the wall. The room flooded with bright LED light from overhead, and Wolfgang could now see the woman in perfect clarity.

She was attractive. She kept her eyes closed, apparently undisturbed by the glare. Her face reminded him of a china doll, with rounded cheeks and a nose that was more of the button variety than the supermodel shape, but suited her perfectly.

She was cute more than hot. Pretty, more than runway gorgeous. The kind of woman you might just as soon meet in Iowa as you would Los Angeles, but she’d draw eyes either way. Wolfgang liked that for some reason. Something about the way she gently pulled herself to her feet and turned to the window, stretching and running a hand through her hair was confident but weary, as if she hadn’t slept much lately or had something heavy on her mind.

Whatever it was, it kept him staring far longer than was polite.

“Hey, shitface. Shut your mouth before I stick a brick in it.”

Wolfgang turned toward Buzzcut, whose eyes blazed somewhere between disgust and irritation.

Wolfgang smirked, a retort already wavering on his lips as Edric pressed the Sprite into his hand.

“Ease up, Kev,” Edric said. “Let’s be friendly.” He snapped his fingers and motioned to the table.

Wolfgang glanced back in time to see the woman take one more look out the window before turning to the table, and then he saw her eyes. They were large and grey, a little brighter than stone, and crystal clear, but sad. As she brushed hair away from her face and scrunched her nose, he saw a deep pain accentuated by a slight redness in her cheeks. Their gazes met, and in an instant, the sadness vanished, replaced by a block wall. Her back stiffened, and she looked away, proceeding to the table without giving him a second look.

“Have a seat, Wolf,” Edric said. He motioned to the end of the table as the woman and Buzzcut found their seats.

Wolfgang slid into the end chair and took a long pull of the Sprite, suddenly feeling very awkward and self-conscious.

“All right, everybody,” Edric said. He stepped behind Wolfgang and gave him a slap on the shoulder. “This is Wolfgang Pierce. He’s been with the company for three years, and he’s now joining Charlie Team.”

The woman picked at her fingernails, and the wiry man behind the computer continued to stare at his screen. Only Buzzcut faced Wolfgang, his eyes as cold as death.

Man, what’s up this guy’s ass?

Edric walked around the table and smacked the laptop shut without ceremony. The wiry man opened his mouth to object, but Edric continued.

“Wolfgang, welcome to Charlie Team. On your left is Kevin Jones. Besides being a three-time world champion of the Resting Bitch Face Olympics, Kevin is our primary driver and combat specialist. When we need the big guns, Kevin’s our man.”

Wolfgang nodded once at Kevin but received nothing more than a continued glare.

Edric moved around the table. “Center stage is Lyle Tillman. Lyle is our tech wizard. Phones, computers, security, communications, high-tech gadgets . . . Lyle makes it happen.”

Wolfgang offered the nod to Lyle