Chapter 3 - Some Like The Extra Service

Rayna

When we reached the helipad of Hextrion HQ, it was already ten in the morning. The sun was almost high in the sky and my stomach was already rumbling.

A group of men—about five of them—waited for our copter to park. I only recognized one though: the seasoned man with the highest rank standing front and center among the other four.

When we safely landed, I took a deep breath and muttered a two-word prayer. ‘Thank heavens.’ 

My employer watched me with his mouth still in the neutral. I ignored him and just unbuckled my seatbelt.

“Sir, I’m going to do some safety checks before I let you disembark,” I informed, tossing him a look.

Mr. Windstorm nodded just as he took the ear pads off of his head. “Go ahead,” he said, now without the sharpened pitch of the intercom.

His voice even sounded smoother like this, I must admit, but I blinked fast to discourage myself from swooning over it.

After I deplaned, I checked the perimeter of the helipad, ensuring nothing was amiss. We were in a heavily guarded place, I know, but it pays to be vigilant sometimes. After all, my credibility was at stake if I let this important man get harmed.

Now, when I was sure everything was clear, I nodded to George, signaling him it was time.

Like before, he and I helped with unstrapping and unbolting Mr. Windstorm’s wheelchair. It was taxing work that entailed bending down repeatedly, twisting the knobs here and there, reaching across his lap, unbuckling the extra straps around his wheelchair, and more—and I wouldn’t have minded it if not for the way he sat like a stone while all of this took place. My crazy mind shouted that he was still staring at me more than necessary. More than a woman could take. In the end, I ignored this and proceeded with my job.

George and I carefully lifted him out of the copter. Just as this happened, those five men I saw earlier neared us.

“Mr. Windstorm, I am Colonel Victor Garrison, the head of this whole operation. Welcome to Pentagon’s secret department, Hextrion,” Colonel Garrison stated while holding out a hand.

Mr. Windstorm, to my surprise, ignored it. “Are the shipments delivered yet?” he asked instead.

The colonel awkwardly placed his arm down and straightened his shoulders again.

“We encountered some problems in the Customs Department, Sir, but this is not a cause for worry. Your precious cargo will be delivered tout-suite tomorrow.”

“Adequate,” was my employer’s reply.

Colonel Garrison stepped back, swung his hand sideways and pointed to the wide path ahead going to the double metal doors of the building.

“I’ll be guiding you to your rooms first before anything else,” he said, then looked at me. “Officer Chase.”

I saluted in reflex. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Follow me.”

He didn’t need to say any further. He meant me following him as I push Mr. Windstorm’s wheelchair forward. The other officers with him helped with our bags and followed us.

Inside the imposing building, we were led to a room at the second floor. This area was at the end of the hallway where a glass-walled mini lobby stood, overlooking the dense forest of Gundonovia.

“This is your room, Mr. Windstorm,” Colonel Garrison informed, pointing to the door beside him. “We want you to be as comfortable during your stay as possible, so we chose the seldom-used General’s room for you to occupy. As you can see, you have a sweet spot going on here.”

He then gestured to the mini lobby ahead.

The colonel was right. The interior design at least contrasted with the imposing walls of the building. I almost felt like we were just in a hotel instead of a highly guarded government facility.

Mr. Windstorm thought so too. Still wearing his Chopard sunglasses, he nodded. “I appreciate the choice, colonel. And Ms. Chase’s room? Where is it?” he asked.

I was taken aback. For him to inquire about my sleeping arrangement was rather...off. The colonel didn’t find it odd judging from the gleaming look on his face.

“The General wants to ensure your safety above anything else so he wants us to situate Officer Chase with you, Mr. Windstorm. There are two rooms behind this door. One is a common room, and the second is the master’s,”—he signaled to one of his subordinates to open the door and the latter did while holding one of our bags,—“Come and see.”

With that, I pushed my employer's wheelchair inside.

The General’s room was luxurious as expected. It had a one-tiered chandelier, a red carpeted floor, cream white-painted walls, expensive-looking furniture, and damask curtains. It didn’t have glass walls like the outside lobby though, but it had casement windows where sunlight spilled in.

"This will do,” Mr. Windstorm remarked after a few short movements of his head. Somehow, he didn’t sound impressed.

I, on the other hand, gulped. Us sharing a room? How freaking convenient. I knew Uncle James was innocent about this, but the General? It was obvious this was planned, and I fell right into it.

Shit. 

“Please settle down first, Mr. Windstorm. Lunch will be served at twelve hundred hours, and a tour of the facility will follow,” Colonel Garrison stated then he turned to me. “Officer Chase? May I have a word with you?”

I released my grip of the wheelchair handle and straightened. “Sir, yes, sir.”

"Excuse us, Mr. Windstorm,” he stated just before leaving.

From my periphery, my employer showed no response. He was motionless, as always. I had concluded that his lack of movements was part of his illness—if he ever has one, and I understood it. I gave him a brief nod as I left. 

“Officer Chase, you accepted this job, so you will be in charge of everything about our guest,” Colonel Garrison stated after I closed the door and when he was sure no ears were listening in the hallway. “Ensure that he is safe and well-cared for.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” I answered. That wasn’t hard. Maybe I was just overthinking about the colonel in cahoots with the general.

“Good,” he grinned. “And another thing, Officer Chase. I’ll be frank with you. Make him comfortable. If he wants extra service, do it, although I doubt he can erect something with that kind of lower body impairment.”

Or not. Hell.

Mentally, my mouth dropped. How could he...he blatantly say that!

The moment I entered the Corps, I received a surplus of offending remarks from my colleagues just because I was a woman. I had come to live past it, showed my worth, and gained their respect. The colonel’s words didn’t bother me anymore, but for him to make a mockery out of their benefactor? It was a heartless move. 

“Colonel Garrison, I believe that’s not right,” I tried to say, but he shushed me by holding a hand up.

“Did I ask for your opinion, soldier?” The corner of his mouth twitched. He gave me an icy look, one that told me I was a step away from saying goodbye to my position.

I was simmering inside. I wanted to vent, but I knew I couldn’t. “Sir, no, sir,” I answered instead.

“Good that we’re on the same page.” After that, he turned heels and left me alone in the hallway.

I stayed for a couple of minutes in the mini lobby, grinding my teeth. It was the only way I could contain my anger. The only way I could face Mr. Windstorm as if I heard nothing from the colonel’s filthy mouth.

When I finally returned to our room, he was still in the living space, sitting in his wheelchair obviously, but his sunglasses were gone. He took it out.

He shifted his head to look at me. Our eyes locked. I silently gasped because his eyes held the most mesmerizing green-violets I had ever seen in my life.