2 A Month of Mondays Read Free

supermodels, movie starlets (usually just as they flamed out), CEO’s
of magazines and other more powerful—and rich—ladies of various ages. He
claimed once that he would date someone as old as sixty-five if she were
interesting, driven and passionate. Or rich, of course.
    “I’ll take a poppy-seed lemon
muffin and an espresso,” the girl said. She pulled her auburn hair behind her
ear and half-turned. Jake could tell she was a field agent. She scanned the
lobby efficiently. He knew she was counting. The drill was too familiar.
Suddenly, he felt a chill. It was a familiar feeling that usually was
accompanied by a painful headache.
    He looked at the menu again,
swallowing hard and gripping his key ring in his front trouser pocket. He
glanced back at the girl—Hallie, he remembered. Her black wool jacket was open
in the front and he noticed the large bulk under her left arm. Packing in
public was not discouraged, he knew, but only someone newly out of boot camp
actually kept a firearm in such an obvious position. Jake felt the sudden urge
to reach around her back and take the Browning he knew she carried there as she
reached for her espresso.
    Instead, he checked his watch and
wondered how late he should purposefully be today. The meeting was scheduled
for seven in the morning.
    Who made up these hours,
anyway?
    He would spend all day in
briefings, debriefings, research, planning sessions, coaching sessions from Vladimir Vissarionovich ,
working out at the gym, an hour at the range, and then tonight his mission
would kick off and usually not finish until late. It never occurred to him that
perhaps he would not be assigned another mission after the debacle in Atlanta.
    Jake occasionally lamented to Gary
that he could not figure out why he didn’t just take a long vacation to Africa
or lose himself in the Outback. Gary loved the life, but he actually got
assignments that would take him away from the office more and his schedule was
not as stressful as Jake’s. Gary worked on the technical end. He set up the
scenarios and laid out the groundwork. Jake was involved in the wet work. At
twenty-six, he was the youngest agent at Galbraith.
    He lost interest in Hallie, but
evidently she was waiting on him to say something. He did not have anything to
offer, so he stood there clicking his nail on the ignition key to his 2009
Bugatti Veyron. He continued to stare at the menu as if it had changed
overnight. It didn’t matter. He would order the same thing as he did every
weekday.
    “Caramel Macchiato with a side of
cinnamon and a strawberry cream cheese Danish. To go,” Hallie said. She stood
beside him with a smug look on her face, sipping her espresso. The muffin lay
on the counter, looking forgotten.
    “Hmm. Yes. And an extra shot of
espresso today, Barb.” He had noted the café clerk’s name badge earlier. He was
perturbed that Hallie already knew something about him. All he knew about her
was that she chewed her nails. Maybe that was something. He stored the
information for now.
    “Wanna join me in the elevator on
the way up?”
    “It’s a long voyage. I’m not sure
I want to make that sort of commitment.” He still had not looked at her. The menu
still held his interest. He watched as a fly crawled across the “We serve
soups!” sign.
    Hallie pursed her lips and watched
Barb’s back as she turned to grab the caramel.
    “I see. Tom said you were a hard
nut to crack. I just thought…”
    “Yeah. Well, don’t think, rookie.
React. You will live longer.” He congratulated himself. He was imparting sage
advice and putting the new girl in her place at the same time.
    “Is that what you call what you
did Thursday? A reaction?” She nodded and picked some poppy seeds off of her
muffin with the nubs of her ragged nails. Her smug smile was barely visible out
of his peripheral vision. She rolled the seeds between her thumb and finger.
    Jake left a ten dollar bill on the
counter and took his Danish and macchiato