Chapter 15
“Miss Petrescu,” the supervisor, a short pompous man, raised his chin and frowned as he approached Irina at her easel, “your presence is required at the guard station. You are done for the evening.”
Irina was shocked at the man’s words. She looked up at the clock—8 p.m. She had another four hours to work. “But my shift isn’t over. I don’t want to leave.”
His mouth puckered with irritation. “Your pay won’t be docked.”
She was stunned. An hour’s pay for an hour’s work was the policy. “It won’t? You’re sure?”
“So I’ve been told. I suggest you hurry.” He sauntered away.
Confused, she changed out of her smock, washed the paint off her hands from the Valentin Serov oil she was restoring, and took the elevator to the main floor with the employee exit. Standing by the door was Wil
