The Argentina Rhodochrosite Read Online Free PDF Page A

turn on.
    She felt a tight ball of disgust forming in her stomach. Despite his position as her new boss, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, whether or not, hypothetically, he might’ve given her a chance in the sack. After all, his charisma was undeniable.
    But that was before this little display. She didn’t date narcissistic peacocks.
    Ainsley stood near the window, looking onto the street. “How many women does he go through?”
    Nadia looked annoyed. “How many stars are in the sky? Why do you care? Just don’t be one of them.”
    “I wasn’t planning on it.”
    “Neither was that girl, probably. Celebrity has a strange power.”
    Ainsley chewed on her lip, thinking, staring out the window at the bushy tops of the green trees, waving in the gray spring afternoon.
    The elevator opened again. An elegantly-dressed butler wheeled a metal cart into the room, an old-fashioned number with a shiny silver dome.
    “You can leave it there,” said Nadia, pointing near the door. “Did you see Horacio in the lobby?”
    The butler shook his head.
    Nadia glanced at her watch. “That flaco is always late.”
    “Who is Horacio?”
    Nadia glanced up. “Horacio is the official taster.”

7

    Ainsley cocked her head. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard that right.
    “Taster?”
    “Yes.”
    Absorbed in her phone, Nadia was acting like this was the most natural occupation in the world. Doctor, lawyer, fireman, teacher,… and taster.
    “Is he that picky about his food?”
    “Not about flavor. Just about poison.” Nadia put away her phone. “Ovidio thinks he’s going to be poisoned.”
    “Really.” Ainsley felt a smile curling the corner of her mouth.
    Nadia saw her skepticism and explained further. “You don’t understand yet how angry the people are at him. There are many who are losing money every day, legally and illegally, because of his refusal to play. Ovidio talks a lot about what happened to Escobar after the World Cup.”
    Ainsley remembered the story. In the nineties, during a World Cup match against the United States, a Columbian defender had scored on his own team, which subsequently caused their elimination. Three weeks later, in Medellín, he had been shot twelve times by assassins, who were rumored to have been hired by a drug lord who lost a lot of money on the match. They had shouted the word goal with each blast.
    The elevator doors opened again. A thin man with a brush cut sashayed into the room, wearing a tight sky blue t-shirt with an orange scarf. A touch of makeup put the exclamation point on his outfit.
    “Horacio!” Nadia cried out. She stood up to exchange air kisses.
    Then he noticed Ainsley. She noticed his eyeliner as he tracked her from head down to her boots, then back up to her head.
    “Why is this one dressed?” he said to Nadia.
    The manager shushed him with a finger to his lips. “She’s not one of them. She’s a journalist.”
    He paused. “Old habits. Sorry.”
    “Go, go,” said Nadia, slapping him across the shoulders, “make my client feel safe.”
    Horacio walked over to the room-service tray and lifted the lid. Underneath the dome was a single dinner plate with a milanesa , fries, and a salad. His nose twitched. He bent down and sniffed the food.
    Then the taster pulled on a latex glove, lifted a single french fry, and laid it on his tongue. He waited for several seconds. He removed the spud and tossed it into the trash, as though it were a used tongue depressor.
    Then he pulled a package of silverware from his pocket, cut off a section of the milanesa , and did the same routine. That was followed by a forkful of salad.
    By the end, he had swallowed none of the food.
    “All good,” he said.
    “I will let the baby know,” said Nadia, flipping through a magazine.
    Horacio turned to Ainsley. “I love your hair. But you are way too skinny.”
    Nadia laughed. “You are telling her this?”
    “It takes one to know one.”
    Ainsley blew him an air kiss, and