Life as a New Hire Ch. 17

"Murder somebody? How much was their DNA worth?" I postulated. "I pay the cost, or somebody pays it for me. You are calling me naïve? I'm not murdering somebody. I'm repossessing their DNA. Mr. DeYoung, I'm not a lawyer, so I am not approaching this from a limited field of vision like you are. I live in the World."

"Oddly enough, I've had some recent encounters with real slavery and that has convinced me that I'll go down standing up, thank you very much," I grinned. "In case that was misconstrued; my DNA is mine, no legal precedent will change that and I'm more than willing to put bodies in the ground to keep it so."

"You sound like an anarchist," Mr. Cherrie chimed in.

"Nope. I'm independent-minded. There is a difference," I indicated. "Just like you, anarchists don't want to let me be me either."

"Laws exist for a reason," Nicole chastised me.

What she was really saying was 'you are here for a reason and it isn't entertaining my co-workers'.

"This is the point where the smart man goes 'yes ma'am, they do'," I nodded to her.

"Your young man is not stupid," Mrs. DeYoung chuckled.

"This young man knows what happens if he behaves," Nicole bowed to her superior – her boss, not me.

"Oh goodie," I rubbed my hands together. "Are we about to do some file-sharing?"

"Something like that," Nicole laughed and off we went.

All I could imagine was that Nicole had to be God's Own lawyer at this firm to get away with the crap we'd just pulled. Honestly, I had other things on my mind. We coasted into her office, with her name etched on the glass door...with the glass walls and floor to ceiling glass windows. Just because, I picked up a water-smoothed stone on her desk – glass houses and all.

"That is from the Canadian Shield – some of the oldest rocks on Earth," she told me.

"You are also going to have one of the most painful hard substance on Earth in your office if we don't do something soon," I teased.

"Where do you want to start?" she leaned against her desk.

Her office was small, but it was her own. Considering her age, it was another 'she rocks' indicator.

"Your lips," I murmured. Nicole liked that. She pushed off the desk enough so our lips could lock. It was very nice.

"The other lips," I teased her. She liked that idea even more. Her black, mid-thigh skirt came up, I knelt and decided her scarlet thong was more than skimpy enough for me to work around. I let my hands run along her calves. Nicole hummed out her acclaim and was even happier when I began lifting both legs up.

Before long, she was laying on her back, her legs were raised high and spread wide. Nice and easy was replaced by rapidly energetic and fiendishly cunning. Nicole was fighting back the tidal surge of her ecstasy.

"What are you holding back for?" I slurped around my tongue-lashing.

We weren't in a bathroom stall this time. Nicole tilted her head up, gave me a simmer glance then embraced her orgasm.

"Damn!" she screamed followed by a dozen slightly less vocal 'damns'. I gave her just enough time for me to shed my pants, roll down a prophylactic then I mounted her.

Had there been any doubt of our forceful ardor, my heroic efforts and Nicole's dynamism shattered them. Half of the lawyers I'd briefly met stopped by and peeked through the glass. I didn't care and Nicole reveled in 'bending the minds' of the onlookers. After a while, her office was not enough. That sofa in the executive reception area?

I bent her over the art deco beast and pummeled her, and it, half way across the room. The bathroom? To be gender-equal, we screwed around in the Men's room this time. Nicole and I revisited her erotic fantasy of being bent over in the toilet, ass fucked then completing the act with dispensing of the condom and a glorious blowjob.

Our last encounter involved a men's standing urinal, Nicole's legs wrapped around my waist as I gyrated against her.

"Oh my God!" she yelped. "I've got it. Put me down." I put her down because the reason I was here was to crack the mental block she had found herself in.

Me? I'd come for the sex and Nicole delivered in spades. She had upheld her side of our bargain. Now that I'd reciprocated, it was time for 'hook-up' Nicole to become 'lawyer' Nicole. She made herself somewhat presentable and quick-stepped in back to the conference room. I secured my cock and pants before following.

Nicole was babbling in an eldritch dark-tongue similar to Lady Sauron relaying doom to her pack of Nazgûl. They responded with various other arcane invocations until their agreement confirmed that millions of voices had cried out in terror then been suddenly silenced. In my universe, female devotees of Evil were all black leather-clad gorgeous sex kittens who used their dark arts to increase galactic lecherousness.

"Time to show you out," Nicole gave me a sultry smirk. "Come on." Arm in arm, we traveled closely to the elevators.

"Hold the door," a female voice commanded right as the doors began to shut on the two of us. Nicole put a hand out to keep us from a few more second of alone time.

A Caucasian women with short brown hair and a fierce scowl entered first. An imperious damsel came in next. My heart stopped in shock while I barely registered on her radar. A dusky man, nearly my height came in last of all. The doors shut and down we went. I was spending too much time watching the woman and her two bodyguards as we all headed to the door and not enough with Nicole.

"Don't even think about it, Cáel," Nicole teased. "That's Ms. Brianna O'Shea, she leads our client's team and she's totally off limits."

O'Shea pulled a 'Katrina' the moment after Nicole used my name. She spun in place so that she was now facing Nicole and me.

"What was your name?" she asked with sugary smoothness I associated with Bolivian tourism officials – the nice ones. You know, the ones that thought using a truck battery attached to the jumper cables and your testicles was too much because a car battery would do.

"Percival Fenris, ma'am," I introduced myself. "I'm a product engineer for Cyberdyne Systems. My team is creating a process that uses constantly recycling colored sugar dust as a medium that will replace current LCD technology. We are calling it Pixie TV." Nicole was giggling. I was feeling less giggly, mainly because I was staring at my Mother.

Not my Mother-mother; the woman who gave birth to me and who had been eaten alive by cancer. No, this was my Mother the way she looked when she was twenty-five and in excellent health.

"Ms. O'Shea, this is Cáel Nyilas. He is a good friend of mine," Nicole cut through my obfuscation.

O'Shea took several steps toward us, away from the exit. Her guardians kept up and were ratcheting up their vigilance.

"Interesting eyes," she noted. "What is your heritage?" Rude and scary. Even Nicole knew something was incredibly wrong.

"Cáel, you two have the same eyes," Nicole mumbled.

"I was thinking the same thing, Ms. Lawless," Brianna said. Huh?

"You are a lawyer named Lawless?" I gawked at Nicole. "How did that happen?" Why had that not registered when I went to Nicole's office? Oh yeah, her leading me in, eyes pleading for sex.

"That is not relevant, Mr. Nyilas," O'Shea kept coming.

"What do you mean 'not relevant'? Are you saying you'd hire a male escort named Quick-fire Small-Penis?" I wondered. "If so, you are a more trusting soul than I."

"Why are you avoiding my question?" Brianna queried.

"Why are you asking questions I clearly don't want to answer?" I retorted.

"Cáel, please don't antagonize my client's representative," Nicole was playful yet concerned.

"No problem Nicole Lawless, Attorney at Law," I grinned to her. I gave her a secretive butt squeeze then made to leave. Miraculously, Brianna let me slip by. The deceptiveness of that kindness was revealed when I stepped outside and found the limo...with another bodyguard standing beside the front passenger door.

O'Shea/Mom's double was hot on my heels. As I turned and headed up the street, she grabbed my right arm.

"Why don't we go out for a late bite to eat," she stated. I wasn't being invited. I was being told.

"No can do," I shrugged off her hand. "I promised my Father to leave a recognizable corpse."

"What makes you think I have sinister intentions?" she questioned. There was a lot of that going around – not answering stuff, that is.

"Why do you assume you aren't giving off the same bad vibe as a half-dozen 18th Street gangbangers on a Meth binge?" I teased. Brianna made a hand signal and the three bruisers put their hands on their guns. The closest to me moved around me to block off that escape route.

To be correct, the guy at the car door was African-American, around my height with maybe 10 kg on me. The two guarding O'Shea were a guy of Moorish decent and a woman of the English Midlands. I knew this because I was afraid and making shit up.

"Was I supposed to be impressed with the quiet appeal of desperation you exhibited by playing patty-cake with yourself," I kept smiling.

"Or are these three supposed to scare me?" I chuckled. "Here...in downtown Manhattan; one of the few places on the planet Earth trying to rival London in video surveillance."

"Video evidence can be altered," Brianna gave me a wicked gleam.

"Was that supposed to be your Evil Henchwoman voice?" I kept snickering.

"If so, get a refund from that mail-order firm you took lessons from," I grinned.

"You appear to be rather fearless, and obstinate," O'Shea nodded. "Foolishly so."

"Lady, I'm staring into the face of my dead Mother who is trying to get me into a limo with three goombahs who think they are intimidating. They are not," I pointed out.

"This whole weekend has been a disaster, so me beating the crap out of those three, you and the driver isn't going to change a damn thing," I enlightened them. The Moorish guy extended a collapsible cane.

"You seem very confident," she informed me.

"Of course I am," I stated. "You haven't spotted my bodyguard yet, meaning all of you are truly screwed."

"Why would you have a bodyguard?" she inquired.

"Why would you want to know?" I countered.

"Do you practice being irritating, or is an innate talent?" Brianna regarded me.

"We can do this 'answering a question with a question' thing all night long, except I have to be at work at six a.m. so how about you tell me what you really want to know and tell me why you look like – screw that – are my MOTHER's clone," I sighed.

"Tell me about your genetic heritage," O'Shea demanded. She was that kind of authoritative prick – actual penis not required.

"I apologize. I don't seem to have a handle your native vocabulary and your English-as-a-Second Language skills suck," I sneered. "I should go home now."

Moorish guy blocked my egress. English chick was on my right flank, back to the limo and the street. The most pressing issue was a matter of privilege; O'Shea's people thought they'd get away with breaking the law. The moment the Moor popped out is baton, it was 'on'. A baton is a weapon plus O'Shea and her bodyguard were blocking my exit.

I was legally free to attack him now. Normally I was lawfully compelled to exit the scene as opposed to engaging in violence. Since I couldn't run away, I was allowed to kick his ass...and O'Shea and company didn't give a crap. I worked five-plus days a week with people like that.

The wavy-red haired, emerald green-eyed O'Shea wasn't the daughter of some Mafioso, or Nigerian Warlord. I didn't know what she was, but she was the many opposites of good news.

"I imagine you think I didn't notice that Taser," I addressed the Englishwoman while getting in the Moor's face. "That is an unfortunate miscalculation on your part."

"See, your dumbass partner, with his wonderful 80 cm tool, has let me get inside his reach. Before he can bring it to bear, I'm going to crush it trachea," I outlined. "Now I have his tool and the whole reach thing is working in reverse. You have a hand-held device with a 10 cm reach and I have one that is 80 cm and the distance to make effective use of it."

"Don't worry about the guy at the door. By the time I face you, my bodyguard will lethally wound Ms. O'Shea there. In case you missed it, now you are all fucked because your job is to guard her, not suppress me – and you all just failed," I kept the Moor's eye contact. "While this horror crosses your mind, I'll break your hand."

"Your buddy isn't coming to help you. He's running to Ms. O'Shea because he's supposed to keep her alive and that takes all his time and concentration. You poor driver will get out and, not yet having his situational awareness, my bodyguard will neutralize him. About the same time, I will crack your skull open. This allows me to decide whether, or not to kill Ms. O'Shea," I concluded.

All of that was an utter and complete fantasy. Collapsible batons – I'd seen them in a few movies. Tasers? I have been tased and never, ever want to repeat the process – three separate incidences was enough for me. Did I have a bodyguard close by? I had not asked for one and Havenstone had the sad habit of not telling me a damn thing that concerned my personal survival.

On the plus side, I could be a compelling actor, or successful conman. I'm not an actor by the grace of two little words – sex scandal. If I sleep with a girl I want it to be because I've tricked and deceived her, not because she wants to tape us then sell it to the media. That would make me feel degraded – cheapened even.

I'm not a conman because they use seduction to get what they want. For me, the seduction IS what I want. Steal their money? That would imply I would never, ever be able to sleep with them again. I couldn't do that and remain true to myself. To prove my point, the Moor looked past me to O'Shea for instructions.

I punched him in his Solar Plexus and took his toy as I shoved his breathless form to the sidewalk. The Englishwoman expected me to attack her, just like I'd told her I would. It took her a second to realize I'd played her. By then it was too late. I could flee up the street if I wanted.

"You attacked my man," O'Shea noted casually.

"Well, your ears are dicey, but your eyes are spot-on," I snorted.

"Shoot him," O'Shea was decided to wrap this up. I was ceasing to be amusing. "In the legs." Out came the guns and down went my likelihood of getting out of this intact.

Pamela walked out of the building we'd exited a minute ago. She was wearing tight black stretch pants, a red turtleneck and a short beige jacket.

"Protocols," Pamela invoked in a bored voice.

"Define," O'Shea demanded.

"Cáel," Pamela kept her gaze on O'Shea, "who do you work for?"

"Havenstone," I answered. O'Shea looked from Pamela to me.

"This does not protect a simple employee," O'Shea stated.

"I am invoking the Protocols. This does not require me to explain things to you," Pamela was cool and relaxed. "By all means, if you feel I am abusing the Truce, kick it upstairs and it will be adjudicated."

"What is your name?" Brianna O'Shea requested of Pamela.

"Cáel Nyilas. That is all you need to know," Pamela smirked.

"That is not possible," Brianna gained her own barracuda grin. "He is Illuminati business. Look at his eyes." Pamela laughed. The WHO?! Weren't they some kind of Freemasons?

"He walks away right now unless you explain yourself. He is at Havenstone. Whatever relationship he possessed with the Illuminati ceased when he was hired," Pamela informed her.

"Cáel Nyilas, tell me about your Mother," Brianna commanded.

"No," I shrugged.

"It is a simple enough question," Ms. O'Shea persisted.

"And it is simply none of your business," I held my ground.

"I am her sister," O'Shea declared. Pamela snorted but otherwise kept silent.

"Ugh...that was not what I wanted to hear," I groaned. Pamela snickered. She knew where my mind was. "Why should I believe you?"

"You had your genetic sequence analyzed Thursday, didn't you?" O'Shea said. "That was flagged by people working for me because you and I share half of the same DNA."

"That's not possible," Pamela stated in the same way she knew I was a cosmic joke.

"How is that not possible?" I looked to Pamela. I was really starting to accept me and Homicidal O'Shea were family. Why? I'd never had to confront the incest taboo before and here it was looking right at me.

O'Shea looked to Pamela, to me, back to Pamela then finally back at me.

"Do you have a single clue about what is going on?" Brianna addressed me.

"Yeah, of course I do," I lied. "You are with the Illuminati and you know Havenstone is more than a bunch of greedy bitches." Pause.

"So you know nothing about what is going on here, right at this moment," O'Shea's eyes skewered me. Sigh.

"Mom – your sister, is dead..." I got out.

"Yes, she died seven years ago," Brianna interrupted.

"What?" I glared. "No, she died fifteen years ago. Where do you get your information from and why didn't you at least check out the fucking gravestone?" I snapped.

"Fifteen...that doesn't make sense...I didn't know where she died, only that when her medication ran out, she would have been consumed by some kind of aggressive cancer," O'Shea responded.

"What..." sort of slipped out.

"How many brothers and sisters do you have?" O'Shea probed.

"Like I'd tell you," I growled.

"None," Pamela stated.

"Thanks," I glared at Pam. "Why don't you give away all my bargaining chips?"

"Cáel, they know your last name," Pamela stated. "Do you want them to hunt down your father and torture him for the names and locations of any other children?"

"If you go after my Dad..." I became aggressive.

"You will do nothing," Pamela interrupted. "He is not covered by the Truce."

"A Truce I know nothing about," I grumbled. "Fuck all of you."

"Don't sweat it, Cáel. They need you and I can prove it with two honestly answered question," Pamela smirked. "What name are you using today?" to Brianna.

"Brianna O'Shea," the red-haired lady replied.

"How quaint; your real name. Brianna, how many OTHER nieces and nephews do you and your sisters have?" Pamela inquired. Brianna glared. "I'll answer that for her – none. That begs the question of why you," Pamela smiled at me, "exist at all. I'm sure that come Monday morning every medic at Havenstone is going to be crawling all over you looking for that answer."

O'Shea had a new game plan. She was going to murder Pamela and kidnap me. This meant I was going to get fucked up – maybe killed. Pamela would kill everyone else and sex would be extra painful for the next week to ten days – I was tired of that crap. I dropped the baton and walked up to Brianna.

The bodyguards were twitching, Brianna was calculating multiple variables and Pamela looked mildly amused. I hugged Brianna.

"If we are family then we are family," I explained. "If there is something you want to talk to me about, give me a call. I'm in the book and I'm sure Havenstone can patch you through if you want to get in touch with me at work."

Pamela was struggling to contain her mirth.

"Can you keep this discussion under wraps for now?" Brianna requested. The likelihood of that happening must have showed in my eyes. "Okay, who do you work for?" Pamela was laughing into her hand.

"Umm...I work for Katrina Love of Executive Services," I answered. O'Shea almost had an embolism. "It is okay, my desk is in her office, so we are pretty close." Not at all what she wanted to hear. "Okay, I'll stop teasing you. I know who Katrina is and what she does – basically making people like you have believably fatal accidents."

"You are a man? Why are you still walking around free?" O'Shea muttered.

"His sexual dynamism supersedes the sublimely addictive," Pamela enlightened O'Shea, "and if you don't believe me, go up and ask that 'Nicole Lawless' woman."