Chapter 60 WELCOME TO THE TEAM

Chapter 60 WELCOME TO THE TEAM
“…authorities are still searching for witnesses after the brutal murder of Elias Miller,” the news reporter’s voice droned from the 72-inch HD monitor mounted on the wall. “The former detective was killed inside a downtown bank in what officials are describing as an exceptionally violent attack. Police are urging anyone with information to come forward—”
Though my attention was on the man sitting about twenty feet away from me, I leaned back against the plush leather sofa, 
"Wow," I murmured, staring at the screen with a carefully constructed expression of casual indifference. "Such a shame, huh?"
Kanan Maddox didn’t even glance at the television from his perch at the head of the conference table, flipping through the shipping paperwork while two men who looked like lawyers discussed the clauses in it. 
After spending thirty minutes getting over my shock and disbelief about the fact that Kanan had invited me to his corporate headquarters, I was finally getting my composure back.
Every single second in here, surrounded by his scent, was making my skin crawl. 
"Yeah, it is," one of the lawyers piped up, shuffling a stack of shipping manifests. "A guy dying like that in public is kind of sad. But honestly, I doubt anyone really cares about the case.”
“He’s an ex-cop,” I replied, barely holding in a snort. “The police definitely care.”
The second man shook his head. “Nah, he was forcefully retired after it was discovered he was dirty. He’s not a priority, you think he is,” he chimed in. “I’m even wondering what he was even doing back in town when he fled town to avoid arrest.”
I raised a brow. So Kanan had destroyed his life before running him out of town…. Interesting. 
I subtly looked at Kanan’s profile. What would he think if he found out the council had permitted Miller to return? Would he be scared or feel threatened?
Even as I watched him, he didn’t show a single tell that he knew Miller or ordered his death. 
There was no emotion, twitch, or tension in posture. He just calmly kept reading and singing documents.
God, I’ve always hated how good he was at hiding things.
“Boss man,” I directly addressed him, deciding to stop beating around the bush. “What do you think about the case?”
"That’s not why I called you here," he said, his voice flat as he flashed me a blank look. 
Irritation flared in me. I had forgotten how maddeningly closed-off he could be. He was like a vault, entirely detached from whatever chaos around him.

Then he turned to the men. “I’m done. You go through them and ensure there’s nothing we missed.”
The men nodded and immediately began gathering the papers. Within a minute, they were filing out of the office, leaving me alone with my psychopath ex-husband and the assistant whom I had met yesterday.
He made a subtle gesture to his personal assistant. "Samuel, give her the documents."
I blinked as Samuel stepped forward and placed a thick folder in front of me.
I flipped the cover open, my eyebrows arching at the sheer volume of text. 
"Really?" I drawled, looking up at Kanan through my lashes. "Is this a contract to sign my soul over or something?"
Samuel gave me an exasperated look.
Kanan leaned back. “You may review it with your own attorney if you’d like.” He said, his expression dead serious. “See if the terms are fair enough for you."
I barked out a laugh. “My attorney? In what world?”
I began to casually flip through the pages. To the outside eye, it looked like I was just scanning the sheets carelessly, but I was actually looking for subtle traps or serious legal nooses. in it. I didn't trust the bastard for a single second. 
But to my surprise, the contract was straightforward.
I worked for him, represented him when necessary, followed assignments, then received compensation.
I paused when my eyes stopped on one particular clause.
I read it, then I slowly looked up, tapping the page. “You expect me to come every time you call?”
He gave me a blank look while Samuel leaned over, reading it with surprise.
“Jeez,” I chuckled,  a mocking, wicked tone sliding into my voice. “Is this some sort of weird ownership kink?”
Samuel groaned, flashing me a look like my insolence towards his boss was giving him a headache.
I leaned forward over the table. "Why does it sound like you're trying to get me to come every single time you ring your little bell, Mr Maddox?” I drawled, dropping my voice into a raspy whisper, which was surprisingly easy with Sienna’s voice. “I didn't know you were looking for that kind of personal service."
The double entendre hung in the air, thick and provocative. 
Samuel cleared his throat nervously, but Kanan didn't even take the bait at all.
He gave nothing… not even a blink.
God, it was like flirting with a brick wall.
"Are you signing it?" he asked, his voice smooth.
"Well," I muttered, picking up the silver pen his assistant had placed next to the papers. "A contract on paper is one thing. Actually getting somebody like me to uphold the contract is a completely different story. I guess this might turn out to be exciting for you."
"It isn't a game, Miss Sienna,” Samuel hissed. “If you think we won't uphold the terms—"
"Relax," I cut him off, raising a hand with a lazy flourish. "I'm signing."
I pressed the pen to the paper, signing my new name in a sharp, jagged script that looked nothing like Elena’s elegant, cursive hand. When I was done, I slid the heavy folder across the polished wood back to his side of the desk.
I leaned back in my chair and looked around, giving myself time to calm my pounding heart. I had just signed myself and time to the man who killed me, and it felt like I was drowning.
I stiffened when I saw an altar at a far corner where the projectors and other equipment were kept when not in use.
Just like the one in his office at La Caverna, there was a picture of my old self surrounded by flowers and a candle. 
A wave of bitter, white-hot fury coursed through my veins, and I looked away before my expression betrayed me. 
Fucking pretender. Of course, he would also be doing his little mourning act all the way here, too. It was sickening.
I forced a smile when I noticed he was looking at me.
“So?” I drawled, turning back to him and purposely crossing my legs. The movement caused the fabric to slide higher, putting my bare legs on complete display. “Is there no champagne to mark the occasion?”
His eyes flashed down to my exposed thighs, and a flare of heat filled his stare for a second before his icy professionalism returned.
I had worn a short, flared black dress that hit mid-thigh, which I had chosen with this very intent. 
He looked at me, his eyebrow lifting at my request.
I shrugged. “Come on, I just literally sold my soul to you.”
Samuel let out a strangled laugh.
At his obvious interest, a sense of smugness rose in me. But with it came a sickening wave of disgust and annoyance. 
I had been murdered less than ten months ago, and here he was, staring down the legs of a random street fighter like a randy goat.
The thought made me suddenly uncomfortable. The flirtatious air left me, and I straightened and uncrossed my legs, pulling myself back.
His gray eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the sudden change in my body language.
"So," I said, my tone businesslike. "What exactly is my role? The little stunt you pulled two days ago when you sent me to that corporate jargon was ridiculous. If you want me to act as an executive assistant, you should be ready to pay me an executive salary."
He nodded to his assistant, who immediately dropped a smaller envelope in front of me. 
I pulled the flap open, expecting a standard check, but was met with a printed payment statement. 
My breath caught in my throat. The number of zeroes on the paper was staggering. 
“What is this?” I asked, looking up. The number couldn’t be right. 
Samuel nodded, amused at my reaction. “That’s your base salary.”
"Wow, you really are buying my soul, aren't you?" I muttered, looking back at the paper. “Is this for a year?”
"No," Kanan replied, his voice steady as he leaned back in his seat. "That’s paid out every two months. And there is an additional commission structured into every gig you carry out successfully."
I looked at the paper. Then back at him. “Jesus Christ.”
A rare amused smile touched his mouth. “Problem?”
I slapped the paper onto the desk. “Problem? When I’m not crazy.” I stared at the paper, completely stunned. "Wow. I knew Harbinger was swimming in cash, but damn, man.”
Kanan let out a low chuckle at my reaction.
"But there is a downside," he added, his tone instantly shifting back into gravity. "Any mission you fail to fulfill, the penalty will be deducted directly from your check."
I tilted my head, sliding the paper back into the envelope. "How many percent?"
"Five percent per failure," he stated.
I gave him a smirk. "Well, I don't think a tiny five percent is even going to make a dent. Now I get why every street crew is dying to work for you."
Kanan shrugged. "I take care of my people."
The words hit me like a physical punch to the jaw. I take care of my people.
A sudden, blinding surge of memory flashed through my mind. The smell of gunpowder and the sight of my family’s blood pooling on the floor of our home. 
My jaw clenched so hard the bone ached as raw, unfiltered rage rose in me, temporarily choking out caution.
"Take care of your people when you couldn't even take care of your own wife," I hissed under my breath before I could stop myself.
His entire body went rigid, his fingers tightening against the armrests of his chair until the leather groaned. His gray eyes turned into twin chips of ice as he fixed his gaze directly onto my face.