Page 2 of Hated By the Boss

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

My eyes had finally adjusted to the room's low-level visibility, and I was gradually able to make out five figures whose features were hidden in the shadows.

"Please take a seat."

Darkness gave the voice a seemingly disembodied quality, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. The person's voice - Voice #1 - sounded gentle enough, but so what? Most serial killers had nice voices—-

Stop thinking gruesome thoughts, T.G.!

I forced my legs to work even as fear crawled down my body and left a trail of goosebumps on my skin. Keagan recommended this job, I reminded myself. If I couldn't trust Keagan, then I might as well distrust everyone else.

There was only one vacant chair on my side of the stone table, and a voice once again addressed me as soon as I was seated.

"State your name please."

Something about the darkness made my sense of hearing keener, and I realized right away that I was talking to a different person altogether.

"T.G. Baskerville," I answered Voice #2, whose tone sounded so cultured, his words so precisely spoken, that I couldn't help wondering if he had spent most of his formative years in an English boarding school.

"And it's short for what?" It was still Voice #2 asking.

"Tahoma." I usually felt dread whenever I heard myself state my first name out loud, but this time I was too nervous and distracted to even feel self-conscious.

A short pause had followed my answer, and then I heard another voice murmur rather skeptically, "Like the font?"

"Yes." My nails dug deeper into my palms. Voice #3 sounded American and casual, almost too casual, and my nerves went taut with fear. Something about this man...

A cough from Voice #1 interrupted my thoughts. "Your name is Tahoma...and your last name is Baskerville?" The gentleness was less pronounced this time, and what was more noticeable was the note of suppressed mirth that underscored his words.

"Yes." My name got me bullied a lot when I was a kid, but today I found myself intensely grateful for it. If my name could make these guys feel less prone to kill me, well, wait until they knew...

"And the G?" This was Voice #4, made distinct by its gravelly rumble. "Is G your second name or..."

"My mother's maiden name," I answered.

"Which stands for..." It was the American again, and he now sounded just as amused as Voice #1. Oh thank God.

After taking a quick, big gulp of breath, I gave up the last of my secrets in hopes that the sheer ridiculousness of it could save my life. "It's Garamond. My whole name is Tahoma Garamond Baskerville."

There was a moment of silence.

And then another.

And finally...

The sound of masculine laughter, and while the way people tended to crack up at my name used to make me cry...well, it still made me want to cry now, but this time it would be tears of joy and relief.

Alive-but-embarrassed was a lot better than unridiculed-but-dead, always.

IT WAS VOICE #1 WHO did most of the talking after that, and there was something about his questions - what he was asking and how he was asking it - that made me answer as truthfully as possible. It felt as if I was being tested, not just for a job, but...

"Have you heard of Strakh Incorporated, Ms. Baskerville?"

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