Page 5 of The Boss' Pet

“Never met the right woman, because those countries tend to have very good climates, of course not, red, ethics doesn’t come into it, fish and chips, and no.”

“Fish and chips? I didn’t expect that answer.”

“Battered protein is always a winner,” he says. “Do you ask all your interviewees if they are criminals, and expect them to reveal that?”

“You’d be surprised what people will tell you. Sometimes people confess just because they get asked directly and it’s never happened before.”

“They sound like particularly dense people.”

“Sure. Maybe. I don’t know. I think there’s an urge to be known. It’s a human thing. It’s not as much fun doing intensely fun crime if nobody knows.”

“I am aware that there are a myriad of rumors around me, Miss Crown, but to be questioned so bluntly is a new experience for me.” He glances at his phone again. “Two minutes. I’m afraid I will have to get going.”

Two minutes. Goddamnit. Have I really wasted this opportunity this badly? I thought I was prepared, but the girl with the collar really threw me off, as did his real-life presence. I know he’s not going to tell me a damn thing that would be even slightly incriminating. Marcus could give me polite, clean, charming answers all day long.

But he’s not clean. I know that just by looking at him. I have the benefit of being in his presence, and that means I know him a little more than he wants to be known, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

When I look at him, I get the sense that some if not all of the darker rumors about him are true. Marcus Waterstone can do anything. I can see that truth in his gaze. He’s tolerating my shenanigans because I am the equivalent of a fluffy little bunny who just ran up to his big lion head, directly into his mouth, and now I’m searching his incisors for remnants of grass.

When I think about the darker accusations, that is a concerning revelation. This man has a reputation for dabbling in human trafficking. If that’s true, then I am sitting across from one of the most powerful and dangerous men I’ll ever know.

“Tell you what, Miss Crown,” he says. “Ask me one last question.”

One last question. I could ask him anything, but it has to be something very, very good. Something that will somehow salvage this absolute dumpster fire of a so-called interview.

“Would you take me out for a drink?”

The second I ask the question, I realize how presumptuous it is. I’m not asking him out for a drink. I’m asking him to take me out. On a scale of one to delusional, I am fully delusional right now. People are not going to believe I had the fucking nerve.

His dark eyes sweep up and down my body as he stands up. “Yes. Go and see my secretary. Tell her that you are going to be taken out tonight. Meet me at her desk at seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

I can’t believe it. I am so proud of myself. I had the nerve to ask him out, and he said yes! I’m going to have another shot at unravelling the rich puzzle that is Marcus Waterstone.

I decide to completely stay away from all of the questions I brought up earlier. Asking him about his potential criminal background isn’t going to get me anywhere. He’s not the sort of man who likes to brag about his evildoings. He’s a more dangerous sort of creature who can keep his secrets to himself.

I don’t bother going home. I don’t have a nicer outfit to put on, not one that will still convey some kind of professionalism. Plus, by the time I get back home, and then come all the way back, that will mean an expensive Uber, or hours on the underground. It’s easier to find a nearby cafe and stress eat the remnants of my paranoia away.

While I wait for him to be done with his workday, I get in touch with the people who tipped me off to Marcus Waterstone in the first place.

Libraryleaks is a network of journalists like me who pool information across the world. We are not known to the public in general, but every now and then we do something very special. Or at least, they do. This is my first time having any chance to contribute. Whatever I get on Marcus Waterstone will go into their databases and be available for other journalists to reference.

I want to get a lot more than one weird pic and the fact that his favorite food is allegedly fish and chips. I want to find something that links him to some of the rumored activities he is supposed to be involved in.

Opening an encrypted app on my phone designated by nothing other than a large L, my screen turns black with green chunky text. It’s styled after the way computers used to look back in the 80’s, very simple, and very secure.

There’s nothing but a > indicating I should be putting in my username. I login with my handle: Carebear.

A second > appears below it.

I put my password in manually. The app doesn’t allow you to use saved passwords. I know I’ve put it in correctly when a third > appears.

I’m now connected to a network of completely anonymous people who have a goal of making the world a better place by sharing information. Wherever rich, powerful, corrupt people are, there are those like us undermining their efforts. We are their cleaners, their gardeners, their cooks. We are the ones who carry their bags, and sometimes we are the ones who send cheeky emails asking for interviews.

Initial meeting fine, second meeting booked.

The cursor blinks for a moment or two as my message hangs in void space.

Good work, Carebear. V.

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