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Authors: Lori Sjoberg
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David’s attempts to manipulate her mind.
Frustrated, David sent the same suggestion to Adam.
“Well, I better get going,” Adam said almost immediately. “I’m running late for work. I better go finish Buford’s walk.”
David watched in stunned silence as the pair said their good-byes. What the hell? Why couldn’t he sway her thoughts? While some people were more prone to suggestion than others, he’d never been incapable of inserting a thought into someone’s mind. Until now.
Maybe his head was still a little fried from the night before. Yeah, that had to be the reason, he thought, grasping for any plausible explanation. He’d try it again the next time he saw her, once he’d gotten a little more rest and his brain was firing on all cylinders.
While Sarah slid behind the wheel of a sporty red Mazda, Adam sauntered toward the rear of the complex at a leisurely pace, giving David a few minutes of peace and quiet.
Or so he thought.
“Had a bit of a rough evening, did you?” a dour voice said from behind.
David took another sip from his mug before bothering to acknowledge his boss’s presence. After all, the bastard was rude enough to pop in unannounced, why should he roll out the welcome mat?
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he finally replied when he turned to face Samuel. He forced his expression to remain neutral, determined to show no trace of irritation. “What do you want? We’re not scheduled to meet for another thirty-six hours.”
He’d been David’s boss for over half a century. The salt in his wounds. The sand in his shorts. The pain in his ass. And much to David’s chagrin, Samuel enjoyed every single minute of it.
As usual, Samuel looked impeccable in a charcoal gray three-piece suit, complete with diamond cufflinks, a burgundy tie, and a red rose pinned to the lapel. There wasn’t a hair out of place and when he smiled, his long, narrow face appeared crocodilian.
“Always so distrustful.” Samuel shook his head in mock disapproval. “Can’t I make a social call?”
“Nope.” David finished his coffee and moved back to the kitchen for a refill. He needed an extra dose of caffeine if he had to deal with Samuel this early in the morning. “Not your style.”
“Point taken.”
“So I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”
Samuel reached into his jacket and pulled out a business-size envelope. “I brought the roster for next week.”
“Wonderful.” David met Samuel halfway across the room and accepted the packet. He passed it from hand to hand, noting the weight and thickness. Inside held the fates of those unfortunate souls whose meters were about to expire. Mortal lives, boiled down to a name, place, and time of departure. Later, after Samuel cleared out and he had some quiet time, he’d sit at his desk and deal out death, sorting the roster by date, time, and location and then assigning each soul to a reaper.
For almost two decades, David had managed the Central Florida territory, covering nine counties that stretched from Orlando metro to the east coast. Over the years he’d watched orange groves make way for theme parks, and the population boom that inevitably followed. His team had grown from three to seven, while Samuel’s reach extended much further. How far, he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t about to ask.
In the age of fax, phone, and Internet, Samuel still insisted on personally delivering the roster each week, handwritten in neatly scripted block lettering. “You know, you could just e-mail these,” David said. “Save you the trip.” Not to mention save him the aggravation.
Samuel shook his head. “I prefer to deliver them myself. I guess I’m old-fashioned that way.”
“No, you’re primeval.”
Samuel ignored the comment. “I also wanted to check the progress of our newest associate.” He pulled a crisp, white handkerchief from his pocket and brushed it over one of the kitchen chairs before taking a seat. “How is the young lad
Frustrated, David sent the same suggestion to Adam.
“Well, I better get going,” Adam said almost immediately. “I’m running late for work. I better go finish Buford’s walk.”
David watched in stunned silence as the pair said their good-byes. What the hell? Why couldn’t he sway her thoughts? While some people were more prone to suggestion than others, he’d never been incapable of inserting a thought into someone’s mind. Until now.
Maybe his head was still a little fried from the night before. Yeah, that had to be the reason, he thought, grasping for any plausible explanation. He’d try it again the next time he saw her, once he’d gotten a little more rest and his brain was firing on all cylinders.
While Sarah slid behind the wheel of a sporty red Mazda, Adam sauntered toward the rear of the complex at a leisurely pace, giving David a few minutes of peace and quiet.
Or so he thought.
“Had a bit of a rough evening, did you?” a dour voice said from behind.
David took another sip from his mug before bothering to acknowledge his boss’s presence. After all, the bastard was rude enough to pop in unannounced, why should he roll out the welcome mat?
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he finally replied when he turned to face Samuel. He forced his expression to remain neutral, determined to show no trace of irritation. “What do you want? We’re not scheduled to meet for another thirty-six hours.”
He’d been David’s boss for over half a century. The salt in his wounds. The sand in his shorts. The pain in his ass. And much to David’s chagrin, Samuel enjoyed every single minute of it.
As usual, Samuel looked impeccable in a charcoal gray three-piece suit, complete with diamond cufflinks, a burgundy tie, and a red rose pinned to the lapel. There wasn’t a hair out of place and when he smiled, his long, narrow face appeared crocodilian.
“Always so distrustful.” Samuel shook his head in mock disapproval. “Can’t I make a social call?”
“Nope.” David finished his coffee and moved back to the kitchen for a refill. He needed an extra dose of caffeine if he had to deal with Samuel this early in the morning. “Not your style.”
“Point taken.”
“So I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”
Samuel reached into his jacket and pulled out a business-size envelope. “I brought the roster for next week.”
“Wonderful.” David met Samuel halfway across the room and accepted the packet. He passed it from hand to hand, noting the weight and thickness. Inside held the fates of those unfortunate souls whose meters were about to expire. Mortal lives, boiled down to a name, place, and time of departure. Later, after Samuel cleared out and he had some quiet time, he’d sit at his desk and deal out death, sorting the roster by date, time, and location and then assigning each soul to a reaper.
For almost two decades, David had managed the Central Florida territory, covering nine counties that stretched from Orlando metro to the east coast. Over the years he’d watched orange groves make way for theme parks, and the population boom that inevitably followed. His team had grown from three to seven, while Samuel’s reach extended much further. How far, he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t about to ask.
In the age of fax, phone, and Internet, Samuel still insisted on personally delivering the roster each week, handwritten in neatly scripted block lettering. “You know, you could just e-mail these,” David said. “Save you the trip.” Not to mention save him the aggravation.
Samuel shook his head. “I prefer to deliver them myself. I guess I’m old-fashioned that way.”
“No, you’re primeval.”
Samuel ignored the comment. “I also wanted to check the progress of our newest associate.” He pulled a crisp, white handkerchief from his pocket and brushed it over one of the kitchen chairs before taking a seat. “How is the young lad
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