Courier jobs were, sometimes, risky. They were sometimes people who didn’t want messages to go through, sometimes people who hadn’t heard don’t shoot the messenger.
It paid immensely well, however, and Cory was willing to take quite a few risks for the money. Risks like taking packages over closed borders into war zones. Risks like delivering people to and from situations where they didn’t, legally, belong.
Risks like carrying a very lovely hand-written note to a very lovely, rich woman.
Cory swallowed and reminded himself of his Californian-style manners. Look down, smile, stay polite and speak when you were spoken to. He’d prefer the Middle East. He’d prefer North Korea.
“You’re certain this is for me?”
“Yes, your ladyship.” Cory had practiced in front of a mirror. He practiced every time he had a mission.
“And did you read it?”
“No, your ladyship.” Of course not, your ladyship.
“You weren’t even a little curious?” She still sounded bored. Bored was good.
“I’m not paid to be curious, your ladyship.” Which meant he never gave any indication that he cared in any way what was in his messages.
“And you are paid to be polite.” Oh, dear she was sounding amused.
“Very well, your ladyship.” Very, very well, your ladyship.
Ten feet separated Cory and the Lady. He liked those ten feet, his standing position and her lounging on the couch.
On the other hand, he knew better than to say no to a Lady in Tír na Cali. “Your ladyship.” Cory bowed, deeply, the way he’d practice.
“You’re cute, and you know your manners. Very cute.” Her hand darted out and grabbed his chin. “I think I’ll keep you.”
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