Chapter Seventeen
The first thing George noticed about his interviewer was her legs. They were legs to die for. Long, slim, perfectly shaped, leading up to a fiery red skirt that could have doubled as a wide belt. The skirt was literally fiery, done in a shifting pattern of hot coals and flames. Those were two-dimensional, as holographic clothing tended to detract from the wearer’s assets.
She had her legs crossed and turned away from him as she stood to shake his hand. He would have completely missed her name if they hadn’t already told him who he’d be interviewing with. He thanked God that he’d long ago formed the habit of leering only discreetly. Still, he got the feeling that she didn’t miss much, which reminded him that dying for those legs would be a genuine possibility.
She ran her fingers through long, black hair streaked and tipped with glowing metallic red as she resumed her seat, crossing her legs deftly to preserve what modesty she had left by the barest margin imaginable.
“Hello, Mark. I’m pleased to meet you. I’m a very brief interviewer. One way or the other, I make up my mind quickly. Your statistics credentials are impeccable for our needs,” she said. “Why do you want to work here?”
“I like living on Earth. The money and your company’s status go a long way towards making sure I won’t end up swept onto a slow boat to Dulain,” he answered. “And, candidly, you pay well.”
The nails of one hand tapped on her knee. He noticed idly that they were black tipped with a masterful illusion of dripping blood. She was certainly intent on making a specific impression.
“The primary reason I’m interviewing you has to do with a job that isn’t on your resume. You worked at Celini and Gorse Consulting from 2048 to 2051. You’ve done a nice job of covering it. You were one of the few accountants who managed to come out of that without prison time and without speaking a word ill of your employers or any of your coworkers — and especially of the investors. You don’t run off at the mouth. We handle highly confidential business, so we prize that attribute. You’re a practical, goal oriented man. I like that.” She smiled. It was a charming smile that did reach her eyes. It gave no indication of the cold psychopath he knew lived behind those warm, brown, feline orbs. She was good; highly dangerous even to him. He smiled back with what he hoped was the right degree of polite avarice.
“You do your homework,” George, aka Mark, said. “Your own investors, of course, have no lack of resources when they want something. It reassures me that I can trust your organization’s ability to meet its generous commitments. I like to be able to trust the people I work for.”
“Mutual trust, backed by natural situational guarantees, is essential to our corporate mission. We can certainly offer you better job security than any other offers you might have. No worries about getting fired if your dirty little secret comes to light. We know, and consider your discretion an asset.” She pressed a couple of buttons on her PDA. “I see here that Joseph Espinoza is your cousin?” she asked.
“Yes. We spent a lot of time together growing up.”
This smile was predatory rather than charming. Even though he was sure it was calculated to the nth degree, a finger of ice prickled on the back of his neck.
“If he’s your cousin, I’m your mother,” she said. “Relax.” She waved a hand as he fought the sweat trying to emerge on his upper lip. “You just passed another of my little tests. You’re resourceful, and you go along with the system instead of getting your briefs in a twist the first time you have to bend a rule. Apparent kinship links keep the investors happy. See, I can be pragmatic, too.” Her playful grin, though perfect, put him in mind of a piranha.
She stood, perforce drawing him to his feet as well. “As long as you never break any of my rules, we’ll get along fine. The first of which is that from this moment onward, you will never, ever lie to me. In return, I will never ask about anything you did before you worked here. My rules are simple, reasonable. I expect loyalty and obedience. Which constitutes doing your job competently, unquestioningly, and keeping your mouth shut. From your record, that should be easy enough.” She cupped his cheek with one hand. He could feel her nails against his jawline and had to think of least squares graphs to avoid embarrassing himself, amazingly. “Breaking my simple, easy rules is a termination offense. Understand?”
He nodded, swallowing — staying in the role. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible for anyone to look coldly sociopathic and gleeful at the same time. One or the other, but not both, not that charmingly terrifying way. It was an expression he might have to practice. It could be useful for interrogations.
“Great. Still want the job?” she asked cheerfully.
Her mercurial moods were frightening to a professional. The best swordsman doesn’t fear the second best. He fears the tyro who knows just enough to be dangerous. He vowed to interact with her as little as possible, and to handle her as carefully as a crate of Tennessee antimatter balls.
“Yes, definitely,” he said.
“Can you start Monday?”
“No problem.”
“Then we’re all set. Give your salary requirements to personnel on your way out. As long as they’re reasonable, they’ll be met. If they’re not, we’ll give you our own offer on Monday.” She put a hand on the small of his back, ushering him out the door. He didn’t flinch.
“Got any plans to celebrate tonight?” she asked.
“Dinner with my girlfriend.”
“Been seeing each other long?” Her teeth were a glaring white against the retro red lipstick.
“We’re pretty serious. She’s applying for a reception position.” He shrugged at the raised eyebrows. “For a liberal arts major, your live reception jobs are one of the best paying gigs on offer.”
“I see. Thank you for telling me. In spite of all our fictional interlinks, we do try to get real ones when we can. You just gave your girlfriend an edge. I hope she’s appreciative.” Now her grin contained a distinct air of sexual predation.
He wordlessly conveyed a certain opportunistic interest, eliciting an extra sparkle from the brown eyes. “I’m sure she will be.”
“Until Monday.” Prida Felini turned and walked away, offering him a stunning rear view which he took open advantage of, deciding a leer was in character after all.
Cally tucked a strand of her shining black bob behind one ear. Despite Harrison’s edict of “no more color changes,” he had managed to find her a temporary hair color that she could wear for a month or two before it washed out naturally, with no further damage. He claimed it was protein nourishing, moisturizing, and shaft-reconstructing, whatever that meant. All Cally knew was that he had made her swear to God she’d brush a hundred strokes, four times a day, with a boar-bristle brush. Whatever. She’d do it because he knew his stuff. He could worry about the damn details.