Mr Anonymous 소설 & 이야기

I know I hesitated as I heaved a relieved sigh. “Sure…that will definitely be lovely,” my voice stuttered. “And don't worry, Sandra is a professional at what she does so your company is in safe hands,” he added. “Then that's great. I would like to be anonymous in the meantime. How do you see that Gary?” “Perfect!” He revealed. “That's awesome ma'am.” “Few minutes to go; let's get there,” he announced. “Sure,” I couldn't hide the excitement in my voice.

‎Glasses clinked. A victorious smirk touched his lips. He believed he had survived the storm. ‎He had no idea a new one was already forming. ‎The door opened. His assistant walked in holding a stack of beautifully wrapped presents. ‎“Sir, these just arrived for you.” ‎Richard frowned. ‎“Who sent them?” ‎“It says… Miss Anonymous.” He showed Richard the card—Miss Anonymous written boldly in cursive. ‎Laughter erupted around the table. ‎“Seems like you have secret admirers, Mr. Williams,” one teased.

“Do you mind if I know who the friend is? I mean the person who said he knew me.” She handed over the file to me. “It contains everything you need.” I nodded my head and thanked her, still expecting a reply to my question. “The Mr. chooses to be anonymous. You know how philanthropists are. Just don't bother about him. Your job is secured.” After I filled in the day I would resume, which is in two days, I left her office with my file in my hand. I came across the man who wore the dark sunglasses earlier. He was walking in the opposite direction. His sunglasses were off and I could see those emerald eyes. He was the same man who scared the rogues away.

His shaking hands gave him out easily; however, I was sure not to show him that I could read his expression easily as he extended a file to give me, wanting me to read it. “These are the financial records for the past month” he said, and I nodded, reading through the numbers that were dropping drastically this month. The hotel was mostly empty lately and despite noticing it, I didn’t put much thought into the topic, but now, seeing these numbers, I couldn’t help but worry. “Does Mr. Nathan know of these?” I asked and the man shook his head. “I am yet to inform him of anything. But I figured to let you know…”

Snow making an appearance. I sat quietly tapping my pencil against my binder, glancing over at the door every now and again. I don't know why but the longer Mr. Snow wasn't walking through that door made the pit of my stomach drop. My anxiety started to rise higher as each mintue ticked by. The sound of shoes hitting the tiled floor in a rush could be heard bouncing off the walls in the hallway, soon followed by Mr. Snow entering into the classroom. He slowly walked over to his desk, placing his hands on top of it as he huffed and puffed trying to breath in as much air as possible. When he was finally able to slow his breathing down, he turned, facing the class as his eyes darted franticly f

Caleb questioned. "Well when they contain $10,000, I do. That's a good job." Caleb pounded his fist on the table and grimaced as the coffee cup jumped up, spilling its content onto his paperwork. After a few profanity laced sentences, he turned his attention back to Steven and growled, "Steven, how did Mr. Anonymous know to contact you? I mean why you? Do you have a reputation for being a willing hired gun?" "No comment," Steven calmly replied.

He can help us cover our latest improvement and achievement for larger publicity She said. Smith agreed as they walked to the company which was three building away. I would love to help with that ma rather than making people think I’m a criminal. The anonymous guy said. Don’t you have a name? Blake asked with a deep voice. I do, my name is Arnold, Arnold Cole. Okay Mr. Arnold what ideas do you have? Smith asked as they walked into their building.

“He’s offering three billion dollars. One billion now, and another two billion if the team makes it to the NBA.” “Who is it?” Charlie asked. “I like him already,” Tristan said. “Only his assistant called. He wants to stay anonymous for now,” Grayson said. “But he goes by the name Mr. A of Spades.” “Mr. A of Spades?” everyone echoed, brows raised. “Why not Mr. A of Hearts?” Charlie mumbled. “He obviously has a big heart.” *** In another city, the mysterious Mr. A of Spades was grumbling in his study. “That punk. He couldn’t get his pride down to ask me for help. I had to go anonymous!”

“I’m done having lunch with Mr. Anonymous. You want to tell me something? Say it now. Over the phone. Like normal people.” There was a pause on the line—short, but heavy. Then, quietly: “I’m a writer.” I blinked. “A writer,” I repeated slowly, more to myself than to him. “As in... books?” “No,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, even though he sounded nervous. “Well—sometimes. But mostly I write stories for brands. People. Companies. I help them find their voice. Sometimes under my name. Sometimes not. Depends.”

I wanted to take a picture so badly. I was proud of the outcome, but I wasn’t done yet; I still had one more move left. And also one more question now. From Adam’s message it is obvious he is the anonymous person posting. But how exactly does Adam know so much?