Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Read Online Free PDF Page B

have to talk, Maggie.”
    I tried to gracefully pull away, but he was one wily octopus.
    “It’s about your future here.”
    “My future?” Shoving his arm off of me, I made a point of putting a chair between us before I turned to face him.
    “Your reviews are consistently problematic. I’ve done what I can to protect you, but . . .” He let his unspoken threat hang in the air for a second before he made his move. “I think you need more one-on-one help. Some additional training outside the office.”
    I have many faults. Among them is my tendency to imagine the worst of any situation. It’s something I’m working on, so I did my best to give him the benefit of the doubt. “You mean at headquarters?”
    He chuckled. “With me. Over dinner.”
    “You’re asking me out?”
    He nodded, smiling.
    “No.”
    His face fell. “That would be a mistake, Maggie.”
    “Are you threatening me?” I’d gotten away with murder. Twice. I was pretty sure I could knock off this smug son-of-a-bitch and get away with it.
    “I’ll give you until the end of the day to make your decision. Just remember that your job is hanging in the balance.” He opened his office door and said loudly enough for half his employees to hear, “I’ll see you in the meeting.”
    Steaming, I marched back out to Armani’s desk, intent on sharing what I’d just endured, but I never got the chance.
    The moment I was within earshot she blurted out, “Bad news, Chiquita.”
    “What now?”
    She pointed to my letters which she’d laid out: RUF RIDE “You’re in for a rough ride.”
    I didn’t need a freakin’ psychic to tell me that.
    The meeting consisted of stale donuts, burnt coffee, and Harry doing his best to play benevolent dictator while threatening to “let go” twenty percent of the department who had “less than stellar” reviews. Basically this meant me, Armani, a couple of alcoholics who stumbled in late and hungover on a consistent basis, and the twenty-something slackers who were more suited to bagging groceries at a snail’s pace.
    To be honest, I was miffed to be counted among the company of the others. I was punctual (despite what Aunt Leslie might say), accurate, and efficient. I just “lacked empathy” for the idiots sucking up valuable space on Earth who called in their accident reports day in and day out.
    “I was thinking about the rough ride thing. Maybe you just need new shock absorbers in your car,” Armani said as I ended my last call of the day.
    I glanced from her to the clock on the far wall. In two minutes I would be free of this place. Free from the worrying glances Armani kept shooting in my direction. Free from Harry and his pepperoni breath. Free from the morons who couldn’t spell the name of the street they lived on, but had still managed to somehow pass a written driver’s test.
    “Maggie?”
    “Yeah. I’ll have a mechanic check out the car.”
    “Ice, ice, baby.” It was a none-too-subtle reminder that she’d ignored one of her own visions and been run over by an out-of-control Zamboni, resulting in a bum leg and hand that she tended to milk for all they were worth. “On the other hand, that dream about a disco ball may mean you have something to celebrate soon, so don’t go around feeling sorry for yourself.” Settling her hip on the edge of my desk so that she could take the weight off her bad leg, Armani picked up my newest addiction and sniffed it suspiciously.
    “They’re Life Savers. Candy. Mints.” I’d started chomping on them whenever I felt anxious because they reminded me of Patrick, the only calm and stabilizing influence in my life. Yes, I know it’s pathetic that a hitman is the best person I know, but it’s the truth.
    “Have you made a decision, Maggie?”
    I didn’t even bother to swivel my chair around to face Harry, who’d crept up behind me. Instead I rolled my eyes at Armani. To her credit, she didn’t react at all.
    “I have.”
    “And?” He sounded