Contract

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I find myself in a familiar position, the dark of the office, the background of the city

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I find myself in a familiar position, the dark of the office, the background of the city. The man sitting behind the desk silently. The only change, and this barely counts, is that I'm not recovering from a near death experience. Now I was able to take in more details about the space it was very minimalistic, obvious that people didn't spend a lot of time here surprisingly.

But Castillo remained as cold as I remembered him looking.

The bundle of nerves pits my stomach, the palms of my hands sweaty clasped together as I try not to fidget.

"Welcome Back, Ms. Wills."

I don't know about welcome...

"What now?" I try and keep the abrasive tone out of my voice, although this man had made the decision to save me last time it didn't count him out as a dangerous individual.

All of these people.

"Would you like a drink?" He offers instead of answering my question.

Before I can get the words out to object he's already set the class down in front of me, the action showing that him asking was only a nicety. In reality I had no choice if I wanted the glass of water in the first place.

With reluctance I take the glass of water, taking a sip.

Castillo opens the drawers to his desk pulling out a small folder. "Where we begin is surveillance and cleaning, they are going to be looking for you now. Unlike the last time." He begins searching through the folder seemingly not being able not able to find the thing he was searching for.

He presses a button from the conference type phone on his desk, a woman's voice coming through a moment later as he asked for some documents to be brought to him.

Moments later were joined by the Doc a cigarette in her mouth as she hands him the paper. She gives me a knowing nod as the only form of acknowledgement before exiting the room.

There wasn't any hidden: 'I told you so' or smugness in her gaze.

What she had told be before had only been a fact, a truth of this world. It's so much like our own and that had been one of its rules.

A law.

"What's this? The contract for my life, stating that I become your personal assistant at your beck and call?" I chuckle dryly, thinking of the various tropes of books written about the 'romance' of the mafia life or the ones written about billionaire CEOs.

He doesn't respond immediately, fixing me with a straight stare. In the moment I fear that this exact assumption is correct, and that this was about to turn into more of a twisted situation than this already was.

My smile dies at the thought.

"I was going to ask you to lend your photography skills to our media department at the Coliseum. But if you prefer that it can be arranged." He says.

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