Life as a New Hire Ch. 45

Their eyes flickered to Pamela. Chaz was scary without even trying. Pamela could be threatening, or appear harmless, as she wished.

"Chaz is a professional military man from a long line of diligent warriors and in a branch of service that requires close contact with hostile individuals, teams, tribes, clans and nations."

"The woman behind me is much, much worse. I've met precisely three people who could possibly kill her and I killed one of them. Would you agree, Chaz?"

"Absolutely," he concurred.

"We know who you two are," a Finn spoke up. She had a dazzling smile and cleavage that had to obscure her toes when she stood.

"You do?" Pamela played nice. For once, it was technology biting her in the ass, not me. Yay?

"You are Rhingyll lliw Siarl Yfory," the Irish lass looked at Chaz. That was Welsh ... and meant Colour Sergeant Charles Tomorrow ... I imagined his superiors in the British military weren't going to be happy with any of us ... him being a 'secret military operator' -- emphasis on the 'secret'.

"And you are Sverkhsekretnykh Shpiona Vsemed Svaya," the Turkish girl pointed at Pamela. Pamela snorted. In Russian that meant 'Super-secret Spy Pamela Pile'. Since Pamela in Russia was pronounced 'Pamela' they had gone back to the origin of the name of Pamela -- a fictitious 17th English novelist creation using mangled Hellenic -- which translated as 'all-honey'.

'All-honey' in Russian was Vsemed. Pamela snickered. Oh yeah ... those twelve had combed through millions of articles and pictures to figure out who Chaz was and who Pamela claimed to be. Actually, one of my Hungarian admires back when we were all in Eastern Europe had suggested Pamela was a remorseful ex-SMERSH agent turned Princely-sidekick. Pamela jabbed me -- the unspoken 'sidekick' thing.

[For those who don't know, in Russian SMERSH loosely means 'Death to Spies', it really existed from 1943 to 1946 and was resurrected by Ian Fleming as a foil for James Bond.]

"Chaz, since Cáel is, without a doubt, already having a stupendously wretched day, we must insist he inform Addison of all three of these developments -- in person. I want to see the look on her face," Pamela plotted with the man who had thrown himself between me and an explosive vest ... probably out of some psychic impulse that I would suffer far, far worse later -- like in today, within less than 24 hours of said act.

"Why am I here again today?" I lowered my head and groaned.

"Are you okay?" a dozen innocent voices cried out.

"We are here to pick up Odette," Wiesława reminded me.

"Oh yeah -- fortune cookies," I mumbled.

"Is 'Fortune Cookie' a nickname for one of your other operatives? Many of them are real enigmas. We can't find out anything about her," one of the Hungarians said. Yeah, because SD doesn't have a Facebook page, or Twitter account. Odette ... she was protected by a completely unremarkable lifestyle, but I had a feeling that was fading fast.

"Excuse us," I asserted myself. "I need to get something on the third floor. Chaz began pushing forward while Pamela had my back.

"What are you doing?" to me and "Hey, is that a gun?" to Chaz ... then Wiesława. Pamela was too sneaky to get caught.

"I'm here to pick up Agent Fortune Cookie then head out to a meeting with some really shady characters and my fiancée," I informed them.

"Agent Fortune Cookie," Chaz mused. "She's going to love that ..."

"And then ..." Pamela continued.

"She is going to want a gun," I groaned.

OH GODDESS! NO! Chaz had joined Pamela and my 'group think'.

"No, I have not," Chaz corrected me ... about my mental ruminations.

"I've been coaching him," Pamela faux-consoled me. As my new prospective bodyguards parted for my current bodyguards ...

"Do you have psychic powers?" "Where is your android?" and "Is it true you can have sex up to ten times a day?"

"Yes, but we can't talk about it," then, "Which one? We have six models," and finishing up with, "Yes, I can have sex up to ten times a day with each session lasting at least an hour, though I do need breaks for food, drink, quiet romantic conversations and showers, cause shower-sex is so damn fun."

While they mulled that over, I unlocked my door in time to see a nicely-dressed (as if she was about to go out on an expensive lunch date) Odette spring off the sofa. Looking at the crowd behind me, she blessed me with an incredibly happy smile.

"Oh cool! Do we really have enough time for an orgy?"

I wanted to cry.

[A FAMILY FUN-CTION ... minus the 'fun' part]

My fiancée giving me a congenial and contented look. Good.

My fuck-buddy/friend Libra giving me a salacious 'you and me are going to hook up soon' smile while dressed in a red, 'business suite/slinky number' combo with a plunging neckline. I put her invite on my mental day-planner. Fellas, if you can't keep it in your mind, forget about it. Print equals pain, believe me.

Brooke had joined the lunch group ... sharing a smile and wink with Libra with the secret agreement for a three-way. Sweet! I could do this ... hmmm ... lunch break Friday ... yum-yum-yum. She was wearing a beige business suit with slacks -- minus the shirt. Only her cunningly cut jacket kept her goodies from exposure.

Hana was a saint for putting up with those two ... and me.

Buffy was studying me with the clear desire to put me in a dog cage for the rest of the week. Technically she had to produce my body for work Monday. As for the hot, sweaty, intense Brooke-Libra-Cáel ménage à trois -- Buffy was reading the undercurrents and setting up a breakwater. At least her attire suggested well-paid, successful international assassin. I wondered if I had paid for her clothing as well. I'd given Chaz's wardrobe a serious upgrade courtesy of Pamela faking my signature.

The gathering was rounded out by Mom, Imogen and Deirdre. Thank God they all had different hair styles and forms of dress. Mom was in 'casual-durable' attire, Imogen was going with the military-chic and Deirdre's get up was in the same style as Hana.

I was pleasantly pleased that Hana had reserved two adjacent tables for what she assumed would be my support network -- Pamela, Odette, Chaz, Wiesława and Juanita -- plus Imogen's five and her (Hana's) two Illuminati minders. That made me squeezing my twelve newest over-eager admirers into the mix doable, if not comfortable. Better yet, none of the new girls was dressed for a restaurant this exclusive.

Hana was quietly amused. Buffy was volcanic. Thankfully she was being a volcano on the mid-Atlantic ocean ridge ~ submerged.

"Chaz -- Pamela -- explain," Buffy seethed.

"I don't work for you," Pamela playfully bantered back, "Sweet-Cheeks."

"They are part of a clandestine operation to provide cooperation and assistance from the European Union," I offered up in such a sincere manner. I almost had them. Buffy looked to Chaz who opted to channeled his 'inner- Cáel'.

"I can neither confirm nor deny their status as operators from four European nations," he nodded.

Buffy forked a helpless appetizer shrimp then catapulted at one of my Finns -- I thought it was Oili. It bounced off her bosom. She couldn't even claim to not have seen it coming.

"What?" Oili gasped.

"Operatives?" Buffy sizzled at me.

"Prince Cáel," Flannery asked, "why did that strange woman throw a ... shrimp at Oili?"

"It was a hand-eye coordination test," Odette informed her. "Had Oili been a real spy, you would have snatched up a nearby napkin, deflect the item with the napkin and all while drawing down on her. It is what they do all the time. It is pretty neat to watch."

"Why use a napkin?" Oili asked Odette while eyeing Buffy in case another decapod was coming her way.

"You use a napkin because the shrimp might have a contact poison on it," Odette rolled her eyes. "Buffy used a fork to flip it at you. She didn't use her hands, so the possibility existed." Pamela gave Odette an 'atta girl' high five.

"Prince Cáel?" Brooke giggled. "What have you been up to?"

"Okay. I got this. Ladies, may I introduce Annikki, Belgin, Berit, Flannery, Gizi, Ilkay, Kato, Neve, Nuray, Oili, Pirkko and Zsuzsi. These fine women have decided to put their productive lives on hold so they can be my bodyguards," I made the introductions.

"They have volunteered to be ... basically the 'Hounds of Prince O'Shea/Nyilas/Archer'. My Hounds, please let me introduce Hana, my fiancée, Brooke, my close friend, Libra, a sweet & sincere childhood acquaintance, my Mother, Sibeal, my O'Shea aunts, Deidre & Imogen and Kalmarasērmi Buffy."

Despite the absurdity of the situation and my clear irresponsibility, Buffy let a smile crease her frown. 'Kalmarasērmi' was my term for her in the Amazon language = my Mountaintop.

"I will volunteer my facilities to train them," Aunt Imogen offered me drolly. She was the primary trainer for all O'Shea guardians/Special Forces.

"Train us?" a half dozen voices murmured.

"Yes Child. I am Imogen O'Shea, Cáel is the greatest treasure in my life and I have serious doubts any of you can be anything more than distracting bullet-catchers for my favorite (and only) nephew. It annoys me to think you are yet another walking advertisement showing him to be both big-hearted and soft-headed."

"I will offer prayers upon the mounds of my ancestors (lie -- her only 'ancestor' refused to stay buried) for Cáel's safety. You should invoke whatever supernatural entity you place faith in to keep Cáel safe as well ... because if he gets so much as a scratch defending any one of you, I will exercise my nearly endless knowledge of human pain to make you pay."

"Is she Ms. Dubois?" Flannery asked Odette.

"That would be me," Buffy showered fury their way.

"Do you really want to kill us?" Neve tried to stare Buffy down.

"Until ten seconds ago -- Yes. Now I want to hand you over to these two," she motioned to Deidre and Imogen with her fork.

"Prince Cáel, why are they all so hostile?" Flannery requested understanding from me. "We have come here to help you. We have skills. All we are asking if for a chance to prove ourselves to you."

"To Us," Buffy snapped. "Cáel's vote doesn't count."

"Chill, Buffy," I snapped back. "I'm dealing with this, and your lack of trust is pissing me off."

"Buffy," Hana intervened. She placed a hand on Buffy's thigh out of sight, yet not outside of my notice. "When was the last time Cáel failed to take your advice on something life-critical? These young ladies appear to be honest and diligent. If not, Pamela and the Colour Sergeant wouldn't have let them come here, or near Odette."

If I dated dumber women I would have less explaining (lying) to do, but I'd miss the challenge both inside and outside the bedroom. Hana's deft touch and gentle words calmed Buffy more than anything (outside of a righteous dicking) I could have accomplished. I was suddenly seized with the realization there was a goodly number of Katrina's positive attributes in Hana. How had I missed it?

"Marrying you is going to be Hana's first step toward mortal beatification," Brooke teased me. Normally only dead people were made saints.

"A Servant of ... probably not Jehovah. I think everyone at the table can agree she has interacted with supernatural forces," Sibeal hid her joking well.

"Martyring her hopes of monogamy?" Deidre's fey gaze flickered over the women of note (the women at the main table).

"Her Heroic Virtue is Prudence?" Buffy added. Buffy had been Catholic?

"Ladies, I'm Lutheran. We don't normally venerate saints. Joking aside, I was given a reason to believe this lunch date was important on a social level between myself and my fiancé. Food would be nice too."

Brooke and Libra's presence regulated Pamela and Chaz to an adjacent table. A waiter slipped in, took my order -- I decided to forgo an appetizer because I was late -- then the conversation began.

"Hana, this is my Mother, Sibeal Nyilas. Imogen and Deidre are my family from Ireland," I made the introductions, most definitely unnecessarily. I was buying time to get a better read on the women around me.

"I know," Hana showered me with mature compassion.

"Get to it, damn you," Buffy huffed.

"Wow ... I'm thinking of the best way to tell you this," I barely could meet Hana's eyes.

"I am pregnant with your fiancé's child," Imogen cut to the chase. What she said was delivered on purpose. Imogen wasn't as socially maladjusted as Rachel. The fewer women in my life, the easier the O'Shea would have roping me in. Imogen's words were meant to hurt Hana and drive a wedge between us.

"You too?" Hana's sad eyes studied Imogen. She hid her anger-disappointment-disgust well. In this crowd her efforts to obfuscate her feeling only worked on Libra and Brooke. Those two ladies were less astute at concealing their surprise.

"She's your aunt, right?" Libra's look settled on me instead of a blatant Imogen, or a pained Hana.

"No," Mom answered for me. "My sisters and I were born sterile. It is impossible that our paternal heritage has been passed along. Whatever Imogen's maternal contribution was, it is not from our DNA. My sister does have a child inside her -- Havenstone verified it and will have the precise genetic make-up within 24 hours," she persisted (lying).

"If Cáel has a failing, it is that he was seduced by my sisters who played upon his very confusing Mother-Son relationship. I faked my death when he was seven. I 'died' in a quite painful manner and he had to watch helplessly as he witnessed me wasting away. I did such a horrible thing to a young boy because the people who were hunting me down -- the two O'Shea before you and the nine who aren't here -- would have used numerous means of torture to verify my death."

(Until they realized 'what' I was. Then my imprisonment would have begun)

"My wonderful husband would have died without giving them the truth. It was too much to ask of our son. For fifteen years he believed me dead. He learned the truth at his Father's funeral. I believe every woman at this table knows my son doesn't handle emotional pain well."

"Imogen's statement was a thinly-veiled stab at Hana's heart and a kick to my son's sense of responsibility to both Hana and his unborn child. How could this not hurt Hana? How could Cáel possibly respond, torn between the woman who has already sacrificed so much of her happiness for a man barely aware of his own maturity, and the woman bringing his child into the world?"

"Good one, Imogen. Those two are better than you ... or I. By all means, make a mockery of my son -- your nephew -- who has pledged to fight for your life when he should clearly walk away and let the rest of you die. He asks nothing of you yet you feel no remorse at sullying his happiness."

"There are ten good reasons for you getting up and walking out of here intact right now. There are six better reasons for making you pay for your cruelty," she threatened.

"Ten?" Brooke whispered.

"The sisters' five bodyguards, the two body guards they gifted me with, Deidre, Imogen and Cáel. You don't think he would let the woman bearing his child take a beating, do you Brooke?" Hana enlightened her.

"No."

"The Six?" Libra scanned the room.

"My other two bodyguards won't act unless I am directly threatened. They won't be out to hurt anyone. If anyone tries to hurt me, they will jump straight to the making them dead option. The 'Six' are Buffy, Pamela, Chaz, Juanita, Special Agent Maddox and Sibeal."

"We'd help," Libra insisted. Brooke was onboard with that proclamation.

"No," came forth from Hana, Mom and me.

"Brooke and Libra; you two, Odette, the other twelve and the wait staff will only confuse the issue. My sisters and their soldiers will use you and the rest to distract Cáel. Except for Ms. Maddox, the rest won't give a fuck so your best bet is to hit the deck and let the professionals deal with things," Mom clarified.

"Brooke -- Libra, this is a wacko chicks with guns moment," I put things in perspective.

"Hana?" Libra put a hand on Hana's shoulder.

"Don't mind me," she patted Libra's hand. "I'm diving for cover and not getting up until you, Brooke, Cáel, or Buffy tell me to get up. Sorry Sibeal, but I don't know you that well yet."

"I understand," Mom agreed.

To punctuate the awkwardness of the moment, Aisha (the Arabic swimsuit model) and three other SD ladies waltzed into the place and took a table. When the maître de tried to impede them, Aisha threatened to exterminate his entire extended family with a look alone. Been there -- done that, and the maître de was nowhere close to being in my league.

I had to think that through. Had Buffy called them, the SD would have been here before I arrived. Pamela was a possibility, except the SD still hated her over Constanza's maiming. If she told them my life 'was' in danger, they would still show up. My life wasn't in danger and Pamela wouldn't yank their chain.

It had to be Juanita. The head of my bodyguard telling Elsa that I was in an exposed position with 9 armed Illuminati would have elicited this level of response. Pamela prodded Odette. Odette had a 'what do you want me to do' non-verbal exchange with Pamela then got up and went over to Aisha.

Odette even remembered to navigate the room in such a manner Aisha and her team could keep an uninterrupted view of the threat. Pamela and Chaz's lessons were paying off. They weren't training her in the lethal arts. They were showing her how to not be an obstacle, which was better, given our current circumstances.

"Hana, don't hate Imogen. The only parent she's ever known was Granddad," I returned my attention to the crisis at hand.

"Oh ... I'm sorry," Hana sent sympathetic waves Imogen's way. If there was a hint of 'you bitch' hidden within those words, none of us would admit it.

"Yes, yes," Imogen smiled back. "Father was a real troll."

"That's not true," Hana responded. "I've met him and he has always been very nice to me. It was easy for me to look past the nations of dead he's murdered, his propensity to rape his daughters and his plans to destroy my Cáel."

"I don't hold you to blame for not protecting Cáel more than you have. He's a handful and reminds you of your Father -- the mass-murdering rapist. And Imogen, don't try to hurt Cáel using me again, you Bitch. I'm not a part of your circus. That doesn't render me powerless. I love more than I hate. I count a person great by the lives they save, not those they take. Where there is Valor, there is Hope and my fiancé has both in spades. Do we understand one another?"

"Proving you are smarter than Ms. Sievert is not something which equates to being a threat," Deidre countered.

"Cáel, why aren't you saying something?" Brooke whispered to me.

"Because he knows better," Mom grinned. "This is a battle Hana has to win, or lose, on her own."

"Cáel has plenty of women willing to go behind his back and kill people, Brooke. Now, if Hana asks for such a favor, we know it is not over some petty bullshit," rolled menacingly forth from Buffy as her feral countenance made a few of the Illuminati at the next table nervous.

"That won't be necessary," I broke up the tension. "We are as dysfunctional a family as they come, but we are family and we will all treat one another as such by the standards of the only one who matters. Clear?"

"You?" Deidre soothed me.

"No. Ferko Nyilas' -- my Father and the best man I've ever known. He taught me to never make excuses for your own behavior. Surrendering our control over our lives is a cop-out. If you want to continue acting like the creepy-ass bitch daughters of Cáel O'Shea, so be it. That is your choice to make. I care for you."

"I care enough for you to fight Granddad over your futures. I hope all of you know I mean what I say. Whatever you decide to do, no matter how you act, I will always love you. I've made my choices and I am going to hold you responsible for yours. Let's eat lunch. It has been a rough fucking day and it isn't over yet."