His For The Taking
HE'D BEEN SITTING here so long his rear end was starting to go numb.
Nick shifted his weight, stretched his legs in their lightweight outdoor trousers, settled his back more comfortably against the tastefully neutral-coloured wall, and then he was motionless again.
There was a clock on the wall down the corridor from him, near the creaky elevators. It ticked in the emptiness, a constant artificial monotony that dragged on Nick's nerves. It wasn't the noise that bothered him. He was used to noise back home: the constant rush of the ocean and the whirr of leaves and the bickering of birds. Those were timeless sounds. But this tick was a precise measurement of time passing. Every second ticking by was another second he had to wait for the mysterious Ms Drake and the answers he'd waited far too long for already.
He glanced at his watch; it was over two hours since he'd spoken with the uniformed concierge in the fancy lobby downstairs.
If Nick hadn't known he was in New York already from the traffic and the blare and the buildings and the stink, he would've known from that guy. Surely nowhere else in the world could someone whose job it was to welcome people to a building ... read full excerpt from His for the Taking ebook
