Red Hourglass by Scarlet Risqué Page A

Wilmar complex was two blocks away, on Seafront Boulevard. It consisted of six futuristic glass towers connected by skyways.
    I stood at the main entrance and looked up. The flowing water of the Hudson River was reflecting off the giant bluish tower. I’m here to get the job. That’s what I’m here for . I took a deep breath and clenched my fists as I walked through the glass doors.
    There were armed security guards dotted around the large lobby. It smelled like air freshener, and three cleaners were pushing around their carts. The worker rats filed past me, tapping little white cards on turnstiles as they rushed to the elevators.
    I went over to the reception desk.
    “First time in Wilmar?” the security guard asked, looking down at a list.
    “Yes. I’m interviewing for the position of Mr. Casey’s secretary. I was told to see the human resources manager, Mrs. Little.”
    “Are you Scarlet Walters?”
    I hesitated for a second. I wasn’t used to answering to my new name. Scarlet Walters sounded so … professional. But this was my new identity, and if I didn’t believe it no one else would.
    “Yes.” I smiled.
    “Fill in the information and sign here,” he said, shoving a guest book toward me.
    “Thanks.” I picked up the pen. “What’s your name?” As an agent, getting to know security guards was a rule of thumb.
    “Peter,” he said with a snort. He was burly and had a gigantic nose.
    “If you don’t mind me asking Peter,” I lowered my voice, “why did the last secretary leave?”
    “Nice try lady. Loose lips sink ships and all that,” he said, getting up from his seat rather quickly given his size. “I’ll take you over to the elevator.”
    “You can’t blame a girl for trying to get an advantage over her competition,” I smiled.
    “No, I guess you can’t,” he said with a wink as he touched his security pass to the turnstile to let me through. “Take elevator three up to the fifth floor. You’ll see Mrs. Little’s office as soon as you get off the elevator. Good luck.”
    “Thanks Peter,” I said as I got in the elevator.
    The interview with Mrs. Little went well. She didn’t even ask about my education.
    “You’ve made it to the next stage,” said Mrs. Little. “Take elevator three up to the sixtieth floor and follow the numbers to suite sixty-fifty. It’s a corner office. I’ll let Mr. Casey know you’re on your way.”
    “Thank you.” I smiled as I left her office.
    It was a slow ride up to my next interview. The elevator stopped on every other floor as workers rushed in and out, scurrying like rats around a large glass tank.
    I got off on the sixtieth floor, turned left, and went through the door marked “6000-6050.” There were offices around the perimeter, but the regular workers only had semi-enclosed little workspaces. I walked along the edges of the white cubicle farm to the far corner of the enormous room.
    There was a small seating area with a desk outside the corner suite. The letters carved into the wood sign on the door read: “Conan W. Casey, Chief Security Officer.”
    This was it. I’d done all I could to prepare, but I still felt uneasy. My feet were stuck to the ground, rooting me to the spot. I pinched my left palm with my right thumb and index finger and thought calming thoughts. It was one of the Neuro-lingistic Programming, or NLP, techniques they taught us at the Academy to anchor ourselves, overcome negative thoughts, and control our emotions.
    I knocked lightly on the door. No response. I raised my hand to knock again.
    “Come in,” a deep, authoritative voice called out before my knuckles touched the door.
    I stepped into the office and was greeted by a one hundred eighty degree view of New York City. The black leather and chrome furniture was sleek and shiny. All the files were neatly arranged on shelves by color and size. It appeared that the CSO was an orderly man who liked to know exactly where everything was.
    Conan Casey was sitting