Page 315 of Lodestar

By the last half of his sentence, his words were slurring and Smythe cried, “David! Are you okay? What’s wrong?” To me, he snapped, “He’s having some kind of seizure!”

I hurried back to the desk.

When David started seizing in earnest, I reached for the phone and started jabbing the buttons for 911.

That was when Smythe caught my wrist. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling for an ambulance!”

His fingers tightened around the fragile bones of the joint he was trying to restrain me with.

Pretending to be in pain, I moaned and struggled against his hold. “What are you doing, sir?”

“Who are you?” Smythe snarled.

“I’m Star, sir,” I cried. “I’m just a temp!”

“You did this.” He waved his other hand at Foundry who was starting to vomit over the papers I’d spilled and which I’d failed to collect.

“No! I-I just needed a signature. Please, let me call for an ambulance!”

He dragged me over to him and shook me. “More like the cops. You’re a murderer.”

“He’s not dead yet,” I shrieked, but I knew the face of greed too well to register his satisfaction at the situation.

That was when I let the remaining papers in my hand fall to the floor and with them, the charade. As quick as death, I delved into my pocket and reached for the second syringe.

He fought hard, I had to give him that. When he saw what was in my hand, he spat, “You bitch.”

I winked at him. “You’ve no idea.”

Smythe went for my throat, but I blocked him and kicked him between the legs before I grabbed his balls in my fist and made a eunuch out of him.

As he proved he had the singing range of a mezzo-soprano, I broke free of his grip on my wrist and thrust the needle into his throat.

Staggering to his knees, I watched as the same symptoms afflicted him.

“Fucking…,” he slurred. “…cunt.”

“My favorite label,” I drawled with a smug smirk before I rounded the desk again and picked up the phone. “Dialing 911 now.”

“Redirecting,” Conor rumbled. “And recording.”

“I need an ambulance!” I cried out like I was panicked.

Troy, on the other end, sounding bored as fuck, went through the rigmarole with me and, a few moments later, declared, “An ambulance has been dispatched, ma’am.”

The outer office wasn’t bustling because Foundry hadtwo. One where his PA sat and the other was loaded with secondary staff.

Retreating to Anna’s desk, I pulled out a black body bag that I’d stored there after she’d darted to the restroom and returned to the office where I hauled Smythe into the covering first.

Huffing at his weight, I muttered, “It’s a good thing I started training for this shit again.”

Conor snorted. “Is there a ‘haul a dead body around’ program at the gym that I missed?”

“Technically, they’re not dead, just a deadweight,” I panted. “Okay, Smythe’s in the bag, D.” I pulled his body away from the door and tucked him into the corner. “Tell me when you’re about to leave the elevator.”

“Will do,” D agreed. “We’re just pulling up now.”

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