Losing Control(81)

There’s a low wrought iron gate that Steve opens, and I follow him down a short flight of stairs. The plaque reading “Tanner Security” is so discreet that I almost miss it. Ian opens the door as we approach. Steve brushes by him, but instead of allowing me through, Ian halts me in the little stone alcove outside the door.

“How are you feeling?” He tilts my head upward and examines my face, taking in my makeup job and my overall appearance.

“Not bad,” I admit. “Thanks for the sandwich. And the clothes. My mom has excellent taste.”

He smiles at this. “She does indeed.”

Then he leans down and takes my mouth with his. I’m surprised by this but find the public affection endearing. There’s no tongue involved, simply a firm and sensuous press of his lips against mine for a long minute. It’s as pleasurable as when I was at the beach and enjoying the summer sun’s rays as they heated my entire body.

“Mmm,” he says, finally lifting his head. “We’ll have more of that later.”

Thoughtful, generous, but oh so autocratic.

“Is this really acceptable pre-interview behavior?” I ask, opening the door and entering the office. If I stay outside, I’ll fall into his arms again.

“I don’t really care,” he responds. Taking my arm, he leads me past the front office and down a long, narrow hallway. Despite the length, there are only a few doors and no windows. I wonder if they’re holding prisoners or something inside those closed-up rooms. Behind a door on the left at the end of the hallway, I can hear the murmurs of Steve and another man. I assume it’s Jake Tanner.

Ian knocks and enters when a deep voice says, “It’s open.”

Jake Tanner is about as big as Steve. He’s got dark brown hair and deep-set brown eyes. Even though it’s early afternoon, stubble is darkening his jawline and upper lip. The set of his shoulders is wide, and I have no doubt that people feel safer when he’s standing near them.

“Jake Tanner, this is Victoria Corielli.” Jake steps forward and offers me his right hand, which I shake firmly. He grips me a bit too tightly, but maybe he can’t tell given that it’s a prosthetic.

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

“Same,” I grin and let go of his hand. At his direction, I settle into a chair in front of the desk. Ian sits down beside me while Jake circles around behind the desk to his chair. Steve leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest. I’m not sure who he’s guarding in this scenario.

“Do you always conduct interviews with Batman and Robin here?”

Jake looks like he’s choking on something but manages to get out, “Does that make me Superman?”

“I don’t know. Can you fly?”

“I’ve got the bionic hand and leg,” he says, lifting up his foot and pulling back his pant leg to reveal another prosthetic.

“Then I think you’re the Six Million Dollar Man,” I answer.

At this he gives a shout of laughter, and Ian squeezes my hand. When I look at him, he’s got a huge smile on his face. Even Steve looks a little less grim.

After he’s done chuckling, Jake leans across the desk. His fingers entwine, making him look a little like Robocop or some futuristic bad ass. “Ian’s explained you have a disability, and I’m fine with that.” He raises his metal fingers and waves them at me. “All I’m looking for is someone who can, using her own methods or systems, keep track of all my guys in the field and what projects they’re working on, along with making sure that the calls we get are properly screened. Ian says that you’re quick and have a great memory.”

“That’s right.” I nod. “Your reception desk has a black phone with a shoulder rest attached to the back of the handle. There are two modules attached to it with digital screens. I might have trouble reading those. There are two chairs in front of the desk, one is purple and one is blue. You must have bought them thinking that they were the same color. I’d call and have one of them hauled away and replaced with a true match. Behind the desk, there are three art prints depicting a highly-stylized U-boat split into three parts—”

He holds up his hand to stop my recitation. “Okay, that’s good enough for me. Ian vouches for you. Says that you were doing some stuff in the past that might not pass muster for security clearance but otherwise you’re clean. That right?”

“Yes,” I nod. I’ll have to ask Ian later exactly what he divulged to Jake, but now is not the time.

“Then I’m ready to hire you—but given your face, you can’t come back until the you’re fully healed or the customers are going to think I suck at security services.”