Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(15)
Right.
Basically, he needs an assistant with a heart in the wrong place, so whichever place he slings that heart to, she’ll think it’s the right one. She’ll be clever enough to keep up but not emotionally aware enough to notice. And I’ve been doing this too long, panicking over decisions and requirements and personality clashes; I need to just hire someone. God knows I’d like to shove his attention somewhere else while I figure out this Blood Honey thing. He won’t be patient with me for much longer…and what then?
I take a seat behind my desk, shuffle around a few stacks of design paperwork, and flick on my computer. The start-up chords sail smoothly through the speaker. Gwen smiles with anticipation. She’s already been interviewed twice by human resources so I don’t have to waste time with the usual crap.
I knot my fingers, rest my chin on them. If I do that, maybe my hands will stop shaking. “Can I get you something to drink before we start?”
“Oh no.” She reaches down beside the chair to tap her tote bag, where the lid of water bottle peeks out. “I’m good.”
“Excellent. Okay. So I liked your resume, Gwen—is it okay to call you Gwen?”
“Of course.”
You could describe her as haughty. You could describe me as haughty. If we were in some sardonic TV drama, we’d already be at each other’s throats, but I’m too polite for that and I suspect she’s too smart.
“So why don’t you tell me why you’d like to work at Lore Corp?”
She pauses. Slides closed lips back and forth across her teeth. “This is the part where I say I like a challenge, isn’t it?”
“Challenge would be one word for it.”
“Mmm hmm.” Another pause. “I saw the Go Fund Me page.”
“Some people want the news, and some people want to put their heads in the sand. You can’t really win,” says the girl who’s been beating her skull into dry desert for the past week.
“I’m guessing the news wouldn’t really be my concern,” she goes on. “As in, I wouldn’t be making those decisions.”
“No, but you’ll need to be informed. Mainly you’d be taking care of Aeron’s calendar, running errands. Standard stuff. There are the usual implications with a boss in this kind of position.”
“Oh, my people skills are very strong—”
“You won’t be needing those.” I try not to snort. “Certain voices in the media have their opinions on Aeron—I’m aware of that—but in person, he’s really very charming. You won’t have to placate some secretary he’s humped and dumped, or haul around bottles of Jack Daniels to balm his temper. I was referring to the longer working hours, above-and-beyond kinda thing that tends to come along with these gigs.”
“I see.” She gives a hesitant laugh. “I’m used to that. The last part…not the secretary part.”
Liar. Ha.
“I’m sure you’ve worked for some unique characters.” I’d like to tell you I’m beginning to relax, that the enclosed space of my office feels safer, but it doesn’t. Nowhere does. “So let’s get back to why you’d like to work here.”
Silence.
My computer beeps impatiently for the passcode.
“I think I could be useful,” Gwen says eventually. “I think…it sounds like a complicated environment, and I have the kind of initiative that works well with that.”
When I started SilentWitn3ss, I was on my own. I hired my team based on gut instinct and that worked out great. But this is different. Trusting someone with a prototype or some funding details is one thing; trusting them not to go digging around for dirt on Aeron’s many sins is quite another.
There is also the question of my own sins. They barely existed before I knew him, but now they’re piling up like traffic behind some horrendous car accident. Between the two of us, we’re perverting a hell of a lot more than the course of justice; if information like that fell into the wrong hands, we’d be finished. Locked up. Done for.
Torn apart.
“I’d be interested to hear your opinion on something.” I drop my hands to my lap. They’re trembling again. I’m about to make Gwen feel very uncomfortable and it could go one of two ways. “I assume you heard about our accident.”
She licks her lips. Glances away, just for a moment. “The shooting?”
“Yes.”
“I read about it.”
“There’s been a lot of speculation on the subject, and a lot of that speculation centres on the idea that it was deliberate. That I meant to shoot him.” I find her carefully made-up eyes and peer right into them; they’re nervous and watery, maple syrup and mud. “Now I imagine you read our side of the story. That he didn’t know I was carrying the gun and happened—happened to…” I inhale deeply. Let it out. It’s all in the things I don’t say. “Then we found ourselves in very unfortunate circumstances.”
“Yes,” she repeats. “I was so very sorry to hear about that.”
I give an abrupt little laugh. It’s sharper than I intend, and the sound sends ribbons of panic snaking down to the small of my back. “It wasn’t pretty. But I digress.” Beneath the desk, my hands are clasped together so tightly they’re starting to ache. “What do you think? Did you think it was deliberate, when you heard?”