Chapter 3 { Emrys }
658 Words
5 Months later
Sorry. No news.
I stare at the text screen in frustration. Obviously, I need to find a new private investigator. This one is useless. How hard can it be to find one person? In this day and age, you’d think you’d be able to do one internet search and come up with anyone. But, no, because I don’t have a last name nor a picture, this easy search has turned into a five-month mystery. And I hate mysteries. And surprises. And anything remotely resembling either of them.
I rub my eyes. I’ll text him in an hour and then every hour after that until he gives me the information I paid for. Until then, I’m in the mood to destroy someone
" Rosa , where the hell is that report?” I bark into the speaker.
“It’s coming, Emrys .” The sound reverbs slightly, which tells me she’s using the damn toy I bought her for Christmas. “You asked us to make changes to it ten minutes ago and it takes time to regenerate all the numbers. You’ll have it in five. Besides, the market doesn’t open for another hour in CT city .” My assistant’s tone is one part soothing and two parts snippy irritation.
“I need it yesterday.”
“And I need you to be nicer to me. This is harassment. I’m going to report you to Human Resources.”
“You do that.”
“Seriously, though, you need a vacation. You haven’t been in a good mood since your trip to Kive city .”
The word acts like a trigger and I’m thrown back to the hotel room where I’m sunk balls deep into the hottest woman ever created and she’s screaming my name as I feel her drench my hard c**k. I fist my hand on my thigh. How many men, having had a taste of heaven only to never be allowed to even look upon the feast again, would be able to summon up even so much as a smile again? Rosa’s lucky I haven’t turned into a murderous thug.
“I. Want. My. Report,” I bark out in sharp, enunciated words.
“You shouting at me isn’t going to make it come any faster. In fact, I think the computer is slowing down. Beeeeep. Beeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeep.”
“You have five minutes,” I seethe and jab the disconnect button.
Five minutes stretches into ten and when the watch hands flick perilously close to the fifteen mark, I get up. Rosa may be my sister, but that doesn’t mean I can’t yell at her. Dad might be mad if I fired her, but at least my mother would take my side. Rosa’s a flake. She hasn’t been able to hold down a job since she was eighteen and thought that she wanted to be a cop after she watched one rescue her newly purchased Belgian cat . She quit the police academy after the first week after she learned there was no position dedicated to rescuing kittens. Given her dedication to animals and access to the family trust, which meant paying jobs were only an elective, she then decided to volunteer at a shelter. Mom put an end to this after Rosa brought home her twenty fifth stray pet. From there, Rosa has flitted—like an actual butterfly—from one position to another. She never lasts more than six months. Really, at five months, her position as my assistant has been one of her longest bouts of employment. If I fire her, my dad may consider having me murdered. At this point, I might welcome it—anything to put me out of my misery.
Before I reach the doors, I check my phone again. Still nothing from my PI. What a worthless piece of s**t. I stuff my phone in my pocket and wrench open the doors.
- Writer
