Page 63 of Flint

“Any news on Crazy Eights?” Chains asks casually. Ain’t nothing casual about them. Guy’s been asking every few weeks now. I would, too, if the debt owed was because of me.

“Casper hasn’t reported any yet. Figured now that Flint’s back, we can get back to usual business around here,” Law says as if it wasn't a big thing that I was in the fucking doghouse for so long.

Finally. Been itching to get back to my chair, manning the comms. You miss it when you got other shit going on. Not complaining, as it led me to Jules, but still happy to get back. The fact that Casper is probably ripping the paint off the walls, dying of boredom, is more than likely the deciding factor. I might be back in the flesh, and in the club’s good graces, but no one wants an antsy Casper on their hands. Shit tends to get messy, and that’s the last thing we want with him in our only on-site tech room.

I also know how to handle my machines better than him. I fucking built the system and created a ton of back doors. Manuals only get you to a few doors; you need me to get through the rest. I might have set him up to watch the feeds for C8s, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other places to look. The sooner they tell us what they want, the sooner the club is free and clear.

Club doesn’t have many debts. When we do, we pay them off quickly. This waiting shit is killing me, and I got a bad feeling that killing is going to be the operative word when it comes down to it.

Chapter 27 – Julianne

W

ork sucks. There, I said it. I have no idea why I was so excited to come back. This is fucking torture.

I like numbers. Yeah, it’s my thing apparently. I’m good at it. I have a nice flow with it. That isn’t the problem. No, it’s the people.

My office—all glass walls, by the way—is apparently the best place for my coworkers to stand in front of. Maybe I get good circulation or heat vents? I first thought there was a coffee machine close, but no. Not even a Diet Coke machine in the entire building. Travesty, this is. How is this a good place to work without a vending machine?

I finally give up pretending and just start asking them to talk louder. I mean, if they’re going to talk about me, at least I should hear what they're saying, right? How else am I supposed to get my memory back? Of course, they only want to talk about Flint and me, but whatever. I guess it’s not every day a sexy man walks me to my office and makes out with me. Actually, that’s good to know. I should tell that blond guy thanks, but I think I scared him when I screamed at him to fuck off. Whatever. His mama should have taught him better.

I keep looking at the clock, but no matter how many times I do, time doesn’t move faster. Trust me, I look a lot. I think at one point, time went backward. Then I realized the clock was broken. Has been all morning, I think. Kind of proves my point. Work sucks. No working clocks or Diet Coke? I’m in hell.

“Back to work, Jonathan. You won’t be able to close that deal if you keep talking with Shannan.” A sharp voice pulls me from my clock watching to see a man with thinning hair slink by with a glare in his eyes and a cockiness in his gait. Both things he should not have. I mean, first, why not just shave it when you got like five hairs that are combed over to cover the whole head? I bet they flap in the wind. And he’s ungodly ugly. There’s zero cool fact that he should have swagger at all, like ever. Not that I know things. Well, I know things, but I don’t really remember that I know things.

Apparently I grew up in a group of misfits. All of us were outcasts, I’m told. I bet I was even a nerd. How else could I have graduated with everyone if I missed out on so much school while modeling? That part still makes me giggle. Even looked myself up on the internet a bit, but it’s just kind of creepy. I stopped pretty quickly after I started. It’s one thing to check yourself out in a mirror but another to do so when you don’t even remember doing it. I looked really good, but I was also young, so it’s kind of creepy that I’m thinking that just by staring at photos.

I think I could consider myself a person who knows what fits and what doesn’t. Even if I don’t remember most things, I get that there’s something off about the guy. I think I might even have like a special Spidey-sense thing going on like in the movie Flint put on yesterday that I didn’t really see ’cause I was busy screwing him. I missed most of it but caught that there was a kid who did something with spiders or dressed like them or something. Not really sure. The movie actually looked really good, but I just had better things to do with my time—and my hands, if you catch my drift.

I track the ugly guy as he makes a beeline for his office, which is next to mine. He must be Larry. He doesn’t even look over till he’s in his office and hangs up his coat. As I said before, the offices are mostly glass from like the waist up. I can see him do everything, including pause midstep to turn back around and lock eyes with me. They widen as big as saucers, I swear.

I get that I was gone for a bit, and I’m the talk of the office right now, but that’s the first reaction that’s gone beyond curiosity. Guy even looks mildly scared. I don’t really know what I’m to do, so I just sit there for half a second and then think, Fuck it. I keep eyes with who I guess is my boss as I make my way from my office to his.

“Um, hi.” It comes out unsteady, kind of like how I’m feeling. I don’t know what it is, but this guy has my stomach dropping to my feet.

“Julianne. Forgive me, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why?”

“I—” He coughs. I think it’s more to give himself time to think than to actually clear his throat. “HR said you were going to be out for a while. They didn’t tell me when you would be back, and I just thought you would take more time, I guess. How are you?”

“Good. I lost my memory.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, so I’m going to apologize now if I’m slower than I was. Shannan said I could start back up just doing some data entry till we set up some retraining or something. I’ve been at it all morning, so at least I can say you’re getting something out of me.”

“What do you remember? I mean, when did it happen?” He’s quick to change topics, like he realized his first question wasn’t the normal thing to say.

“A few weeks ago. I don’t really recall much, but I can do things. My mind might not be all there, but my fingers seem to remember my passwords. Crazy, right?”

“Yeah, crazy.” He runs his hand through his hair, which is just silly as he has nothing there. Also, he has three fingers splinted out of the five, so it’s like he’s got a metal hand.

“I won’t take up your time, but I was just wondering if you knew if I had any enemies.”

“Enemies?” I swear he squeaked that out.

“Yeah, at work.” I shrug as if it’s a casual question, but he’s giving me all sorts of weird vibes. “Anyone I didn’t get along with or anything? I know it sounds weird, but a friend of mine thinks maybe I was run down on purpose.” I watch to see if he reacts to that last part at all.

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