She’s a junior this year at Barrington. I know her but have never spoken to her. No reason to. Like I said, she doesn’t belong to me. Releasing a sigh at his silence, I pick it back up. She stands in the middle of a parking lot next to her white Audi R8. Staring down at her cell, she’s oblivious that someone is watching her, taking pictures of her. She wears a pair of low-cut jeans and a white T-shirt. Her dark hair is down, the wind blowing it in her face.
“This has to be wrong,” I urge, shaking my head. “She is …”
“Are you denying a direct order?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
I grind my teeth. “No. It’s just …”
“Good.” He stands, ripping the picture from my hands. “Do what must be done and make it happen.”
Nodding my head, I stand as well. “Yes, sir.” Then I turn and exit
