Was that about to happen to her, even after all the effort that she’d put in? Was she doing that badly in the more physical aspects of all of this that it canceled out her good work everywhere else?
The prospect of it made Paige feel sick even as she kept walking to the admin building. She couldn’t just not go. She’d been sent for. It wasn’t as if she had a choice.
Paige stepped inside and went up to the receptionist at the front desk.
“Yes?”
“Paige King,” she said.
“Ah, yes.” Even the receptionist sounded as if she didn’t approve of Paige being there. “Second floor. Conference room A.”
Was that where they told people that they were being cut? There was no clue in the name, and Paige had to make her way up a set of stairs almost trembling at the prospect. She looked around until she found a large set of double doors labeled as the conference room, then knocked.
“Come in.”
Paige stepped inside. There were two figures in there already, at one end of a long oval conference desk. One, she knew vaguely by sight as former agent Tom Podovski, the administrative head here, a man in his sixties, with steel gray hair, lined features, and an overweight frame.
The other, she knew much better than that. Agent Christopher Marriott stood as Paige entered, letting her take in his solid, six-foot-four body, his sandy hair, his square jaw and almost boyish good looks. Paige couldn’t help staring. What was he doing here?
“Paige, there you are,” he said. “Please, sit down. I need your help.”