Undercover (Hot Off The Press) Book 1 by C.T. Sloan Page A

that was high enough to make me nervous. The very thought of coming eye-to-eye with the T. Rex makes me shake in my boots.
     
    So far, I have gotten some pretty interesting info on Rex Industries and Mr. Rex himself. First of all, one can not go above the 80th floor of the Rex Building without a special “Gold Badge.” These are the blessed ones who interact with the T. Rex on a daily basis. Secondly, I have learned that Mr. Rex comes and goes via his personal helicopter. A few days ago, I observed a group of three of those helicopters hovering over the Rex Building. Two of the helicopters acted as escorts. What is intriguing is that the other two “escort” helicopters appeared to be armed with Gatling guns.
     
    When Mr. Rex is on a lower floor, a bell rings out. According to the employee handbook, no one is to approach the elevator during that time. And perhaps the most odd thing about this place is that no employee is allowed to gossip about Mr. Rex himself. That is grounds for immediate termination. This has presented a problem since I was hoping to interview long-time employees for my story. Instead, I have to rely on simple observation and occasional “Snooping Around.”
     
    My home at the 15th floor secretarial pool is a hive of stunning six-foot blondes with long legs and perky breasts whose only real job is to try and lure a well-to-do exec. At five-feet, four-inches, my petite little body simply disappears into the horde of blonde would-be Dallas gold-diggers.
     
    After work, I go back to my place and write up notes on Rex Industries. Right now, I have half a story. Sure, I have some insights into Rex Industries’ rather cultish like work environment. But without interacting with the T. Rex himself, I have no bombshell expose. Each Saturday night, I communicate with my senior editor via e-mail using the nearby McDonalds complementary wi-fi hotspot. My boss is pretty happy with what I have. However, he is quick to remind me that I need to get into personal contact with Mr. Rex before I can have my story.
     
    “You get to the T. Rex and you are superstar,” my editor writes to me.
     
    “It’s my only goal in life,” I tell him.
     
    “Be brave. But be careful. And, most importantly, don’t get caught,” my boss says before ending our conversation.
     
    I come into work at Monday morning. It’s about 7:00. As usual, I am the first one in the office. No, I am not trying to be a model employee. I’m trying to use this as an opportunity to sneak around and learn as much as I can about Rex Industries and Mr. Rex himself. After getting a cup of coffee, I wander around the secretarial pool and then make my way to the executive suites on the fortieth floor. None of the execs seem to notice me. Possibly because I am not a six-foot blonde with tits pushed up and out for all to see.
     
    At 8:00, I wander back to the secretarial pool. I’m still the only secretary on the floor. As I sit at my desk, I notice my supervisor, Ally watching me. My heart begins to beat rapidly. This has happened a few times before. For the past few days, Ally has been coming in early. She has been noticing my early arrival and I’m afraid that she is going to be suspicious. I sit at my computer and pretend to get busy when I hear the familiar footsteps of my boss approach my desk.
     
    “You are an early bird aren’t you?” Ally says to me.
     
    “Um, yeah,” I say nervously.
     
    “What time do you come on? Like 7:00 a.m.?”
     
    “Yeah. I’m an early riser,” I say as my knees begin to knock together.
     
    “Uh huh,” Ally says as she walks off. I can’t help but notice that she takes another glance at me as she walks off. That’s it. I’m fucked. I think my cover is blown! If there is one thing I know about this place it is that any suspicious activity will attract a hornet’s nest of attention.
     
    I sit there at my desk with my head down. The thought of just running out of the office crosses my mind more