Without even thinking about it, I dislike the man. He steps forward, somehow obsequious as he moves. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Klempner.” He looks up at me with a flat grey gaze but never quite meets my eyes.
He gives me the creeps.
“Mr Jenkins.” I keep my voice polite, but I don’t want to talk to him. “Bech here has interviewed you? Approved you for the post?”
“I hope so, Mr Klempner.” His voice is silky, almost oily.
Bech would never have introduced me to the little shite if he wasn’t happy he could do the job. “Fine. Jenkins, you take charge of that lot.” I thumb towards the cringing group then turn to leave, but Jenkins interrupts, “You want me to send one of them to your lodgings, sir?”
That pitiful lot….
The women turn my stomach.
“No. And mind your mouth, Jenkins. Bech, you’re
