The Bureau (A Cage for Men and Wolves Book 1) by Michelle Kay Page B
Authors: Michelle Kay
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Jeannette seemed unsuspecting, but she didn't want to risk it. Just because she was a werewolf didn’t mean Clover should trust her.
As they finally broke for water, Clover decided to prod a little deeper. Connell was busy flirting with an office worker from a nearby department, so she took her chance.
"Do you think that little computer in the store room is locked?" She tried to sound casual, looking through the mouthpiece of her water bottle like she was checking for poison.
It had dawned on her about an hour ago. What if her family, at least her mother, was already here, inside this building? What if she was doing the same work Clover was at this very second? Part of her knew it was impossible. Her family had been gone less than a month; there was no way any of them could have made it through the finishing school system already, especially given the rebellious spirit she’d inherited from them. But sitting around, waiting for Elliot to get his act together would drive her crazy. She figured it was worth a shot.
"That's a really dangerous question, you know."
"I know." Clover's voice was solid, but she tried to soften the tone, not wanting to seem the type to act too rashly. Not wanting to seem like herself.
"Honestly, I've never touched a computer in my life, so I’ve no idea if our roster is locked or not. You better not let one of them hear you asking things like that, though." She tilted her head toward Connell, whose back was still turned to them.
"I was just curious," Clover murmured before polishing off the last half of her bottle in one go.
They were both silent for a while, the now familiar atmosphere of resigned misery seeping in from the other workers.
"I know what you're doing, Clover," Jeannette whispered, eyes fixed on her own drink.
Something like pre-panic prickled across Clover’s skin.
"But, even if you found your mother on our roster," her voice was sympathetic again, "What good would it do you? You both have different masters now. It would just hurt more to see each other."
Clover’s sigh of relief sounded vaguely pained, even in her own ears, and she was glad for it. Jeannette had missed the heart of her lie.
"I just want to see her," Clover said, thinking a show of sorrow would further distract the other woman from her real intentions. She hardly needed to act to be convincing.
In the late afternoon, Connell finally led them back to the large, damp room they'd started in. Equipment was stowed and owners began claiming their property. Everyone in her crew had gone when Elliot finally arrived. Clover and the other stragglers had been given the task of bleaching mop-heads as they waited.
"Don't think that being the director's son gives you special privileges here, Mr. Montgomery." Mrs. Pierson’s aggression was cooler, but just barely. She’d been supervising the pick-up by the main entrance into the maintenance room.
"Of course not, Ma'am. Where I’m at now, I can only hope to be in a station as high as yours someday."
It had been a subtle insult, but even Clover had picked up on it. Elliot’s body language gave tiny signs—a quirked eyebrow, the slight tilt of his head, the quiet emphasis on the word “station.” Clover didn’t figure working with the slave labor had much prestige, and when Pierson’s lips pinched like she wanted to spit on him, Clover read the situation loud and clear. It was hard not to smile. Apparently Elliot did have some use—politely infuriating people. She kind of liked it.
Elliot took the plastic card Pierson shoved at him without his smile faltering—the same card other owners had swiped through a machine before claiming their servants. Scraping together enough sense to not look Pierson in the eye, Clover followed Elliot out of the room. The woman was still seething, her arms folded sharply across her stomach. Clover could feel her stare, like she was waiting for a mistake. She wouldn't get one.
"See you tomorrow, pet," she whispered so
As they finally broke for water, Clover decided to prod a little deeper. Connell was busy flirting with an office worker from a nearby department, so she took her chance.
"Do you think that little computer in the store room is locked?" She tried to sound casual, looking through the mouthpiece of her water bottle like she was checking for poison.
It had dawned on her about an hour ago. What if her family, at least her mother, was already here, inside this building? What if she was doing the same work Clover was at this very second? Part of her knew it was impossible. Her family had been gone less than a month; there was no way any of them could have made it through the finishing school system already, especially given the rebellious spirit she’d inherited from them. But sitting around, waiting for Elliot to get his act together would drive her crazy. She figured it was worth a shot.
"That's a really dangerous question, you know."
"I know." Clover's voice was solid, but she tried to soften the tone, not wanting to seem the type to act too rashly. Not wanting to seem like herself.
"Honestly, I've never touched a computer in my life, so I’ve no idea if our roster is locked or not. You better not let one of them hear you asking things like that, though." She tilted her head toward Connell, whose back was still turned to them.
"I was just curious," Clover murmured before polishing off the last half of her bottle in one go.
They were both silent for a while, the now familiar atmosphere of resigned misery seeping in from the other workers.
"I know what you're doing, Clover," Jeannette whispered, eyes fixed on her own drink.
Something like pre-panic prickled across Clover’s skin.
"But, even if you found your mother on our roster," her voice was sympathetic again, "What good would it do you? You both have different masters now. It would just hurt more to see each other."
Clover’s sigh of relief sounded vaguely pained, even in her own ears, and she was glad for it. Jeannette had missed the heart of her lie.
"I just want to see her," Clover said, thinking a show of sorrow would further distract the other woman from her real intentions. She hardly needed to act to be convincing.
In the late afternoon, Connell finally led them back to the large, damp room they'd started in. Equipment was stowed and owners began claiming their property. Everyone in her crew had gone when Elliot finally arrived. Clover and the other stragglers had been given the task of bleaching mop-heads as they waited.
"Don't think that being the director's son gives you special privileges here, Mr. Montgomery." Mrs. Pierson’s aggression was cooler, but just barely. She’d been supervising the pick-up by the main entrance into the maintenance room.
"Of course not, Ma'am. Where I’m at now, I can only hope to be in a station as high as yours someday."
It had been a subtle insult, but even Clover had picked up on it. Elliot’s body language gave tiny signs—a quirked eyebrow, the slight tilt of his head, the quiet emphasis on the word “station.” Clover didn’t figure working with the slave labor had much prestige, and when Pierson’s lips pinched like she wanted to spit on him, Clover read the situation loud and clear. It was hard not to smile. Apparently Elliot did have some use—politely infuriating people. She kind of liked it.
Elliot took the plastic card Pierson shoved at him without his smile faltering—the same card other owners had swiped through a machine before claiming their servants. Scraping together enough sense to not look Pierson in the eye, Clover followed Elliot out of the room. The woman was still seething, her arms folded sharply across her stomach. Clover could feel her stare, like she was waiting for a mistake. She wouldn't get one.
"See you tomorrow, pet," she whispered so
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