Page 13 of Mann Hunt
“You’ll do well. Poke your nose in when you’re done and let me know how it went.”
“You got it.”
“Oh, one more thing,” Gwen added. “You may want to take that,” she said, indicating his crumb-covered case on the table.
Charlie left the café, portfolio carefully tucked under his arm, and entered the door marked Declan Hunt Investigations.
At the second-floor landing, there was another door stencilled with the name of the company. Below that was a note stating “Just come in.” Charlie checked his phone—10:56 a.m. He silenced it, took a deep breath and opened the door.
It was a bright, uncluttered room, toned with warm woods and brick. It was peaceful—so different from the other offices he’d worked at. His heart rate increased.I would look so good working here!
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Charlie was all alone. What was the protocol in this situation? Should he call out? Maybe he should clear his throat? He looked around to see if there was an obvious place to direct his throat-clearing when Declan Hunt entered from a side door. He was wearing khakis, brown loafers and a snug-fitting white shirt with his sleeves rolled up to below the elbows. His black hair shone like it had just been washed. His strong jaw was covered in a five o’clock shadow. He looked even more handsome than he had in the photograph—if that was possible.
“You must be Charlie,” he said, approaching with his hand extended.
“Yes.” Charlie took Declan’s hand. He had a firm handshake. Charlie’s pulse quickened and, to his horror, he started to get an erection. He used the box from Gwen to cover his growth spurt.
“Is that for me?” Declan asked, pointing to the box, smiling.
“What?” Charlie replied, thinking that he was referring to the bulge in his pants.
“The box…”
“Oh… Yes. The lady who runs the café downstairs asked me to bring them up to you.”
“That was no lady. She’s the devil in disguise,” Declan said as he reached forward to take the box, but Charlie was in no position to give it up that quickly.
“I’ll just put it here,” Charlie said as he walked to the desk, imagining all sorts of things which would deal with his not-so-little problem—thoughts of influenza, injured puppies, seeing his mother naked. That seemed to help.
“You obviously have lovely neighbours,” Charlie said, turning, after shifting his portfolio to cover his mid-line issue.
“She’s not so much a neighbour, as my landlord…and my stepmother.”
“Your stepmother? Wow, and I thought it was bad enough still being at home with my folks at twenty-four—I’m so sorry. That didn’t come out right.”
Declan smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes we just never quite grow up the way we thought we would. Now, come on. Let’s have a talk in my office.”
Charlie followed Declan, all the while staring at his firm buttocks, thinking,You grew up just fine.
Once they were seated on opposite sides of Declan’s desk, Charlie removed two pieces of paper from the portfolio. “Now, Mr Hunt—”
“Please—call me Declan.”
“Of course… Declan.” Charlie was having trouble controlling his quavering voice. “Here are letters of reference from my previous employers and—”
Declan interrupted, “Rather than spend time talking about what you did in the past, I’d like to focus on what I’d like you to be doing for me in the future.”
“Sure,” Charlie said, his rehearsed speech now thoroughly derailed.
“You’ll be filling in for my regular assistant, Mrs B, who has taken a three-week leave. Most of the work will be standard office duties, scheduling, invoicing, answering enquiries—that sort of thing, which I don’t think you’ll have any problems with.”
“Okay…”
Declan continued, “Now, about the agency—we sometimes deal with confidential cases that involve clients that, shall we say, work outside the law.”
“…All right.”
“And, you may already know that we specialise in clientele from the LGBTQ2S+ community.”
