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The man strode purposefully into the TerraVita Recovery Center and marched straight up to Niamh. He turned his head and addressed the two security guards behind him.
“Is this how you treat a lady? Have some respect.”
The guards instinctively stepped back. The man flashed a genial smile and extended his hand to Niamh.
“Good afternoon, Miss Rivers. My name’s Michael.”
Niamh didn’t shake his hand. Instead, she eyed him warily. “How do you know my last name is Rivers?”
Michael lowered his hand and casually slipped it into the pocket of his tailored slacks.
“I know more than just your last name. I know you have a friend named Lana, a vocal instructor at NeoFrontier Academy.”
Niamh’s brow furrowed, suspicion sharpening her features. Whoever this Michael was, he definitely wasn’t here for friendly conversation.
“Who are you, really? What do you want?”
Michael shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. “Why don’t we take a walk, Miss Rivers? I can’t stand the atmosphere/in rehab clinics. They make me feel like I’m the patient.”
Niamh hesitated, but before she could react, Michael grabbed her wrist.
His grip was shockingly strong, his fingers digging in until a sharp pain shot up her arm. She tried to pull away, but he only tightened his hold and started to drag her toward the exit.
The guards made as if to intervene, but at that moment, the receptionist–still on the phone–shot them a pointed look and a subtle nod, signaling them to let Niamh
- go.
Michael hustled Niamh outside and practically shoved her into his car–a flashy white Lamborghini, utterly at odds with the refined air he tried to project.
By now, Niamh understood that Michael’s polished manners were just a facade. He’d scolded the guards for being rough, but no one had been rougher with her than Michael himself. Her arm still throbbed like it had been nearly wrenched from
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its socket.
Michael drove her to an exclusive private club.
Niamh balked at the entrance, refusing to go inside, but Michael leaned in and whispered, “Don’t you want to know why your dear friend Lana got fired?”
The private lounge was dimly lit; only Niamh and Michael sat across from each other, their faces half–shadowed.
“Alright,” Niamh said, breaking the tense silence. “Start explaining. What do you want from me? And how do you know about Lana? Why was she let go?”
The questions tumbled out of her mouth. She was overwhelmed; if he didn’t give her some answers soon, she was going to lose it.
Michael, unhurried, poured himself a glass of whiskey over ice, then lounged back on the sofa and patted his thigh.
“Come sit here. If you do, I’ll tell you everything.”
Niamh braced on her cane and turned to leave.
Michael’s tone shifted, suddenly more businesslike. “I run the Burton Global Education Group. NeoFrontier Academy is just one of our schools. Your friend Lana skipped work for days without explanation. I told the principal to dismiss her. It was justified.”
He didn’t look like a corporate shark, but the way he downed his whiskey in one gulp was anything but genteel.
Niamh’s mind raced. The days Lana missed work must have been when she was at the hospital, taking care of her.
“But Lana told me she requested vacation time…”
Michael cut her off. “There’s no record in the system. If it’s not filed officially, it
doesn’t count.”
He sounded utterly unapologetic.
“Jobs aren’t exactly easy to come by these days, especially in education. Someone who’s been fired is going to have an even harder time finding another position.”
By now, Michael had made his point abundantly clear. Only a fool wouldn’t understand what he was after.
“So, what do you want from me? What will it take for you to give Lana her job
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back?”
Michael’s eyes sparkled behind his gold–rimmed glasses. He smiled, slow and sly.
“I like people who get straight to the point.”
He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, handing them to Niamh.
“I want you to write a statement for me.”
“A statement?”
Michael folded his arms and gave her a look that was all foxlike cunning.
“That’s right–a statement. I’ll dictate, you’ll write. When you’re done, sign it, and we’ll seal it. I keep my word. The moment it’s finished, you can call Lana and see for yourself if she’s been reinstated.”
Niamh didn’t mind dealing with people who were direct, but Michael’s intentions were so blatant, she couldn’t let her guard down.
“What exactly do you want from me?” she pressed.
Michael let out a short, mocking laugh.
“You?” He paused, and Niamh’s face hardened. “Please. I’m not interested. A housewife, past her prime–you don’t actually think you have anything I want, do you?”
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