Rogue's Passion(32)

“Andy Carroll. I need to speak to him.” He grabbed a hard candy from the crystal bowl on the counter and popped it into his mouth. Butterscotch. He spit it back into the wrapper and tossed it on the desk, where it lodged under her keyboard. “I fucking hate butterscotch.”
Frowning, she blinked a few times and tried to collect herself, unsure how she should respond. Finally, she managed to ask, “Is he expecting you?”
“No.”
She turned her attention to a few colored sticky notes on her desk and pulled off a red one.
Jesus. Even their office stationery looked like it belonged in an elementary school.
“I…uh… I’m afraid he’s out on assignment right now.”
“When will he be back?”
“Probably tomorrow. He’s shooting footage again today. Would you like to make an appointment?”
He didn’t make appointments. “Who’s the producer, then?”
“Excuse me?”
“The editor,” he said, waving his hand impatiently. She looked at him with a blank expression that mirrored her intelligence. How dumbed down did he have to make this? “You know, whoever takes his images and video clips, cleans them up, and loads them onto your site in all the various sizes and formats for people to download. That’s who I want to talk to.”
She visibly bristled, her cheeks reddening even more. “We don’t clean up our images, sir, or doctor them in any way. They’re on the site in their raw state, just as they appeared through the lens of a camera at the time they were taken.”
He was beginning to lose patience. His bad hand started to ache like it always did when he wanted to resolve a situation with violence. If what the woman at the hospital told him was true, and he had no reason to doubt her, he needed to see all the footage taken at the scene of the explosion. The news blogs with the best pictures listed Andy Carroll from RMI in the photo credits. He wanted to see them all.
“Let’s try this again,” he said in a singsong voice with exaggerated slowness. “Who hooks the fancy camera to the computer and presses the little button, so that, wow, all the pretty pictures go onto the web thingie?”
Her eyes narrowed at his condescending tone. “Are you referring to the image processing manager or the director of digital systems?”
He gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles went white. His anger was never far away, but stupid people seemed to have a knack for bringing it out. He was done being nice. “I don’t care what the hell the job title is. I want to speak to the person who handled the fucking images that Andy shot yesterday.”
The woman’s glare went even icier. “I don’t accept your speaking to me that way. Would you like me to call security or would you like to leave now?”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the documents from Institute. They gave him complete authority to use whatever means necessary, but he hadn’t wanted to use them because it meant he’d failed to persuade her on his own. However, he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. With a flick, he tossed them carelessly toward her. They skidded across the shiny surface of her desk.#p#分页标题#e#
“What’s this?” She stared at the folded papers as if they contained the plague.
“Go ahead. Look. I’ll wait.” He pulled a toothpick from his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped the thing in his mouth.
“I don’t care what that is,” she said. “Our director of digital systems is in the editing room and wouldn’t be able to meet with you anyway. You’ll have to come back another time or make an appointment. But next time, I suggest you bring your manners.”
Editing room? Hadn’t she just told him they didn’t fuck with their images?
God, he hated gatekeepers. He shouldn’t have to explain every little thing to some little twit who had no talent other than sitting in a chair and knowing how to use the phone. Each minute spent dancing around like this widened the gap between him and his quarry.
Time to put an end to this. Glancing at the nameplate on her desk, he removed his handheld device and opened a note-taking app. Brenda, receptionist at RMI. When he had some free time, he’d be sure to pay her a little visit after she left work.
He leaned closer and pulled off his sunglasses, giving her a good long look at his ruined face and milky, unseeing eye. After glancing at him once, she squirmed in her desk chair and blinked uncomfortably, refusing to meet his stare.
“I don’t care how busy anyone is,” he seethed through his teeth. “This is an urgent matter. Did you even read those papers?”

She grabbed the document—probably as an excuse not to look at him—then swallowed nervously as she read it. He put his sunglasses back on. Without saying another word, she punched a few buttons on her phone.