Thanks for checking out my story, hope you enjoy! I own nothing except Jo and her attitude.

*Little update for those checking this out for the first time, the sequel has been posted for this story. It's called Sins of the Father. You should check it out when you finish reading this, along with the companion piece for this story which is in Owen's POV. If you do, I would love to know what you think. Thanks!

I cracked an eye open and tried to orientate myself. My head was pounding and my mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. I stifled a groan as I attempted, and failed, to sit up straight on my couch. The world seemed to be spinning a little fast this morning, gravity can be a real bitch sometimes.

The 10 beer bottles on my coffee table told me all I needed to know about last night and my non-existent coping skills. Who needs a therapist when you're over 21, and had a liquor store within walking distance?

"Ms. King, are you there?"

Apparently, the pounding I heard wasn't just taking place within the confines of my head. Seriously, who knocks, unannounced on someone's door at...OK, so it was noon on a Wednesday, but that was hardly the point.

"I'm coming, just, hold on," I mumbled, trying to stand without falling. Jesus, I needed some Tylenol. Maybe the mystery man at my door was really the Tylenol fairy. I shuffled to the door ignoring the nausea in my stomach and peered through the peep hole.

Two things became abundantly clear. One, this man was not the Tylenol fairy, which was disappointing. Two, the suit he was wearing most likely cost more than I made in an entire year. If I still had a job.

I grabbed my gun from the table by the front door and held it loosely in my right hand. Instinct told me this guy was about as violent as a Girl Scout, but my instinct had been slightly less than reliable lately. Let's not forget those girls could be vicious during peak cookie selling months.

I cracked the door open just enough to level my gaze at him. "Are you lost?" I asked.

"Are you Ms. King?"

He seemed utterly unperturbed by my disheveled appearance. I tried really hard to find some dignity standing in front of him in his Armani suit wearing yoga pants and a faded Dallas Cowboys T-shirt. I'm fairly certain I left my dignity somewhere in the middle of my coffee table with the beer bottles, but I'm a glass half full kinda girl.

"And you are?" Maybe if we both kept answering questions with questions we could set some kind of record.

"Of course, excuse me. My name is Simon Masrani." The way he said it gave me the impression he was use to just his name making an impact, and clearly conveying his message. Most likely he was use to dealing with people who weren't hung-over and gave a crap.

"Wow, congratulations." Vaguely, in the dark recesses of my mind the name registered on some level. If I could maybe get a damn Tylenol so the little drummer boy in my head would quiet down I might be able to figure it out. But right now that little shit was too busy pounding out Metallica's greatest hits.

"Listen, Mr. Masrani, I'm sure we could keep this little dance going and while I enjoy a little verbal sparring I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm hung-over, and I need you to just cut the shit. Why are you here?"

He tilted his head back, laughing in the hallway of my apartment.

"You are exactly as they told me you would be Ms. King."

That's not creepy. "Stop calling me Ms. King. It's weird. My name's Jo." I stepped back and swung the door open dropping my gun back to the table by the door. His eyes widened slightly. "Come on in. Something tells me you won't go away until you do so let's get it over with."

I moved into the kitchen rummaging through a drawer for some damn Tylenol while I grabbed a bottle of water. I saw Mr. Armani standing awkwardly in my small, dirty living room looking about as comfortable as a whore in church. His caramel colored skin stood out against his light gray suit and the scruff on his face did nothing to deter from his presence. Everything about him screamed money and power.

"Can I get you anything? Water or...water?" I needed to go shopping.

"No, thank you, I just need 10 minutes of your time Ms. King," he said as he awkwardly angled himself into the chair opposite the couch. He looked uncomfortable. Probably answering the door by pointing a gun at someone was rude.

"Jo."

"Right, Jo."

I moved into the living room and flopped down on the couch tossing some Tylenol in my mouth chugging water. "You can relax? I know it looks bad, but I promise I didn't drag it off the street corner," I said, pointing to the chair.

This time anyway.

He smiled leaning back. "Jo, as I said my name is Simon Masrani and I am the CEO of the Masrani Global Corporation."

Ok, well, wow. Now I really felt like an ass. The eighth richest man in the world was sitting on my Rooms To Go Furniture surrounded by enough beer bottles to make a fraternity proud.

"As you may or may not know, we are striving to build a fully functional theme park on Isla Nublar in Costa Rica. While most of the infrastructure to support the park is done we still have several portions of the project pending. Mainly the animal enclosures. We plan to open within a few years. Give or take."

"A theme park?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I'm assuming you don't mean Disney World." It wasn't a question. Isla Nublar could mean one thing and one thing only.

"You're quite right Jo. This would be a fully functioning dinosaur theme park."

Of course it would. I grabbed the bridge of my nose dropping my head in the process. "Dinosaurs. As in the kind that are, you know, alive?"

"Naturally, not much of an investment if they aren't, don't you think?"

This question was most likely rhetorical, and good judgment would tell most people to keep quiet. I've never been a slave to good judgment.

"Other than the fact that every time we decide to mess around with real live dinosaurs someone ends up getting dead. Yeah, great investment." I had a black belt in sarcasm.

His mouth tilted up in an almost smile. "That my dear, is where you come in."

I choked on my water. "I'm sorry." My inner skeptic was sitting up tall shaking her head back and forth. This was not good. Not good at all.

"You come highly recommended by some colleagues."

I snorted. "I find that hard to believe considering I'm currently unemployed."

"Yes, I heard about the unfortunate events at the bureau." My inner skeptic was now flipping Mr. Masrani the bird.

I stood up moving to look out the window with my hands on my hips. "Unfortunate is not how I would describe the loss of four innocent lives Mr. Masrani."

"Please Jo, call me Simon, and I apologize. I meant no disrespect concerning the events that surrounded your dismissal. It was my understanding the events which took place were outside of your control."

Ha, that was laughable. Downright hilarious in a dark, demented way. He was wrong. Those lives, all of them, were a direct result of my actions. I couldn't examine that right now. Maybe never. I packed it up with all the other miserable failures in my life jamming it into the darkest corner of my mind. I didn't want absolution. I didn't deserve it. I deserved suffering.

"I resigned."

"What?"

"I wasn't dismissed, I resigned." I wasn't sure why I felt the need to make the distinction. "Listen Simon, I've had a rough couple of weeks and as you can see I'm extremely busy so can we just get to the point of this whole shindig," I said waving my hand around the room.

Yea, I had a lot going on. Like catching up on X-Files reruns and getting more beer. Maybe not in that order.

"I would like to offer you a job."