Her Billionaire, Her Wolf(18)

It doesn’t matter. If I don’t get this, I’m out in the streets by next week.

If the interview had been scheduled for first cock’s crow, it would not have changed Sara’s determination to be there. The last of her savings was sifting away like sand through her fingers and if she did not find something soon, she would have to go back on her hands and knees to beg for forgiveness.

Never...I’d rather die than go back to him.

She shuddered, then resumed walking the corridor, scanning door numbers as she went.

Sara passed doors with frosted glass panels and darkness behind each one. Over and over, not finding the one marked 217 as panic began to grip her. She wondered if she had the day wrong. Or the hour.

She reached the end of the corridor, took a deep breath, then turned around letting out the air slowly, trying to calm herself.

It’s here...it must be.

She went back the way she had come, maybe seven paces, before she saw the warm yellow glow of an office light through its glass paned door.

A quick glance up and she saw the numbered plate screwed in place. 217.

Her stomach doing cartwheels, Sara seized the doorknob and let herself in.



The office was a relatively large one and Sara noted that one wall was almost entirely made up of French doors that would open onto a balcony running the length of the room. She had already seen that the building was an older one, and the balcony’s wrought iron balustrade was intricate in design, as if it dated to turn of the century.

The sole source of light was a green shaded banker’s lamp upon a leather topped desk and over the desk, a woman slumped, apparently asleep. Her face rested upon arms crossed before her and was hidden from view. Strangely, she reminded Sara of a student sleeping in study hall when she should have been hard at work instead.

Well, it is late, she thought.

Sara shifted her feet wondering what to do, then coughed gently, hoping that the woman would stir.

“Shhhhhhhh....”

It was a whispering sound that sounded like the slithering of a snake.

“Can’t you see that she is at rest?”

The sibilant voice brought a chill to the air and Sara searched for its source, except that she appeared to be alone with the sleeping woman.

There was a click and from what she had taken for a wall behind the desk, Sara saw the back-lit silhouette of a man leap up against a dressing screen. Like the balcony's iron balustrade, the dressing screen felt oddly out of place and Sara once again felt as though the 19th century had invaded the room.

“You must excuse me. I realize that this must appear quite strange, but I value discretion above all things.”

Again, his words slipped along her skin like a forked tongue and Sara felt a chill that prickled her skin.

“But, we have weighty matters to discuss, so without further ado, let us do that.”

Sara hesitated, then said, “I beg your pardon?”

There was a low chuckle, then, “Please, dear woman, no begging. Not yet. There will be time enough for that later.”

She shifted her feet again, wondering what to do next when her eyes chanced upon the folder under her arm.

“Maybe there is some mistake,” she said, “But, I was supposed to be interviewed for a data entry job.”

“Of course you were,” the silhouette replied. “Please, continue.”

Sara hesitated, then said, “I have my resumé and some letters of recommendation, if you like.”

Again, that low chuckle.

“The qualifications that you have so dutifully written down for me are of little importance, Sara,” he said.

"So let us cut to the chase. Trim away the fat and get to the marrow of it." Again, there was that low laughter that sounded like madness in the shadows.

“What would you like to hear? That you meet all the criteria that this position requires? That your experience in data entry makes you the ideal candidate?

"Well, those reasons have nothing to do with why you have been chosen.

"I decided that the job would be yours the moment I heard your voice on the telephone.

"You positively ache with what qualifies you for this position. I could not help but notice...and in time, so will he."

Ok...this is going too far. This guy is a certified whack job.

“Now, now dear woman," he said, as if he had heard her thoughts, "Calm yourself and think of the alternative. This is your last chance as you are well aware. Without me, you are less than a week away from crawling back to your beloved Mr. Woodard."

“What did you just say?” asked Sara, in shock.

He can’t know this...that’s not possible.

“Oh, I’ve taken the precaution of investigating you, Sara Renardine. What I know is that you are on the run from the man who has beaten you senseless on any number of occasions. What I know is that Jackson Woodard is deputy sheriff of Cavanaugh County and that your pleas for help to his colleagues have gone unanswered.