Page 9 of Corrupt Game

“Ms. DeLandro, these papers are going to need your signature. Please read them carefully before signing them.” He pushed a stack of papers toward me with a pen.

He stood back, eyeing the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing possible.

Certain that I would find the answers I needed with this job, I filled in a few of the blanks with my full name and signature with only a quick glance at the contract. It mentioned the year and one day clause, but not the reason for it.

At least contractually, he wasn’t planning to have his goon Rossi off me until it was over.

A fairly normal non-disclosure statement followed by a few other papers and a W-4 finished off the pile.

He held out a hand. “I’ll need your phone now, ma’am.”

“My phone?” I only had a burner phone on me for emergencies. I’d kept the actual phone with all of my information on it out in the car. I hadn’t wanted it to fall into the wrong hands.

Eh, well. I shrugged. He’d figure out soon enough it wasn’t my actual phone.

Lifting the flap on my purse, I took it out and placed it in his hand.

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll follow me.” He turned to the still open bookcase.

A hidden elevator would give the CEO a way to escape without leaving through his main office lobby.

It was now or never.

I took a step toward the elevator and held my breath as I passed Rossi.

His presence encouraged my theory that Andy had been forcibly taken to his death.

The door opened to the private garage, where an SUV was sitting—similar to the one Andy had gotten into in the video.

This time, there wouldn’t be any footage for Ingrid to find. I could disappear and no one would be any the wiser.

It was eerie, but I was committed to my cause—even if it killed me.

Chapter 5: Ian

The morning thus far had been a disaster. The past few months had been a disaster, really. One of the very few people in my life I’d cared for had been murdered, and the investigation had only found small clues.

It made me angry and frustrated. The best way to work out the emotions clouding my mind would be to take on the training of a new assistant. I hit the elevator button, ready to get these interviews over with. A process which had pretty good odds of being an even worse waste of time than my meeting had been.

Just before the doors closed, a delicate, manicured hand thrust between them, causing them to reopen.

An attractive young woman attached to the hand barreled straight into me. I caught a faint whiff of flowers, probably from her shampoo, but no perfume. I liked the faint scent of her.

The day might be looking up just a little.

She stammered an apology in a husky voice, so I refrained from telling her this was my private elevator. I wanted to see what happened.

The faint blush on her cheeks was endearing. I gave an inward chuckle at her obviously frazzled state.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered again, but quieter this time.

Instead of moving toward me, as women normally did, she stepped further away.

Interesting.

Could she be genuinely embarrassed?

If so, her easily-read feelings made a refreshing change from the typical person I interacted with. In my world, people didn’t let their emotions show through their tough exterior. They were always asking for something or playing a game of some type.