Blair forced her palms flat against each other to keep them from balling into fists. People where always hemorrhaging their feelings all over the place. If Blair could keep hers buttoned up, there was no reason why others couldn’t also. “Now, Maxine, please don’t cry.”
“I’m not.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pants pocket and dabbed her eyes.
Blair dug her pinky nail into her palm, relaxing slightly as a jolt of pain sparked up her arm. “Really, tears are nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Black.
Blair unclasped her hands, unfolding herself in an attempt to look more open and approachable. “So far, what I need and what those assigned to me have been able to supply have been two vastly different things. It’s nothing personal.”
“This,” with the square of fabric Maxine gestured to her sliminess before slipping the handkerchief back into her pocket. “Is because of my allergies. They always flare up this time of year and turn me into a leaking mess.”
“Oh.” The revelation stung. Blair possessed an uncanny sense for sniffing out others’ lies, and this had the air of truth. She didn’t necessarily want to make people cry. But she did want people to want to work for her so badly that the thought of getting fired would at least have them on the verge of tears.
“If I’m honest, Ms. Scott, and, may I be honest? Actually . . .” Maxine waved her hands as if erasing the question. “I’m going to be honest whether or not you want to hear it. This style doesn’t work for me either. When I received word that I was assigned this position, I was ecstatic. We’re both twenty-three and I am in awe of what you’ve been able to accomplish. I thought working for you would be an amazing learning experience. Then I heard about the ways your past assistants had treated you. So, in order to work with you, I became that. And I have to say that I really don’t like it. You’re great, but you already know that. I hate being the person who follows you around with the sole purpose of managing your ego. It’s insulting.” Her pointed chin lifted. If not for the fact that Blair was a head taller, Maxine would have been looking down the end of her nose at her new boss. “Insulting to both of us.”
Blair inhaled, slowly and deeply.
“Ms. Scott,” Maxine continued, “I do want to stay, but only if I’m able to be honest with you. I also have a lot of connections and can—” Blair held up a finger and Maxine’s jaw clamped shut.
There might be a nice balance with Maxine. A fiery subservience Blair could enjoy.
Blair scraped her gaze down the petite young woman, her straight blond hair, snowy complexion, and pointed heels. “Call me Blair.” Her office doors opened with a hiss as she passed her cuff under the scanner. “And, Maxine, when the bots come by with my coffee, tell them I want it black.”
V
From the second Aiden stepped off the elevator and into the twelfth floor Career Center Receiving Area, he regretted everything. Okay, maybe not everything, but a lot. What he regretted most of all was that he had used up all of his free passes. The next step was getting shipped off to Rehab. How had he reached the end so quickly?
“Next citizen, please.” The Holly that haunted the MediCenter pointed to a line of low-tech lighted arrows built into the floor. They flashed green, leading him to a wall of private booths. The accordion doors opened automatically, and Aiden stepped through the Violet Shield’s stream of purple light, before plopping down on the metal stool protruding from the floor like a tooth.
The computer screen in front of him flashed white and gray and then white again before the Key Corp’s red logo faded into view and uncoiled before him, staining the small booth with its tendrils of red light. “Welcome,” the computer’s robotic voice croaked. It was different from Holly’s, not as alive or real, though hearing Holly always brought goosebumps to his arms and a heaviness against his back as if he was being haunted. “Please scan your citizen identification cuff and state the reason for your visit. I understand complete sentences.”
Aiden tapped the toes of his boots against the floor. “You don’t, actually. But it’s good to see you again. I’ve been reassigned to janitorial duty. At least, that’s what the message said this time.” He scanned his cuff and left the computer to sift through the extra words he’d provided. Each time he’d visited the career center, he’d said something a little different to test the computer’s abilities. It said it understood complete sentences, when what it meant was that it understood certain words spoken in a certain order. But that was probably too much explanation and actualization for such a low-tech device to comprehend.
“Citizen 1782445, your reassignment has been updated.” The computer whirred and an arrow appeared on screen, pointing to a narrow strip of paper poking out from under the monitor. “Please take your printed reassignment update. Have a pleasant day.”
Aiden pulled the paper free and read aloud. “Reassigned. Report to basement level room forty-four at 0930.” He glanced up at the screen. “Reassigned to what? There’s nothing even halfway decent down in the basement.”
The arrow flashed in response.
“Great. Thanks a lot.” Aiden nearly ripped the flimsy door off its ancient sliders as he shouldered his way through the tight opening. He clomped toward the elevator, his boots still leaving a trail of dirt behind him.
This morning was turning to shit.
But at least he hadn’t walked into a door.
VI
Elodie arrived at the Long-Term Care Unit breathless, at exactly 0930. Precisely on time. Although, to Elodie, who was habitually ten minutes early, being on time felt unnervingly close to being late.
And like every day he was scheduled to work before her, Gus sat ready and waiting, his back to the door. “Almost, Elodie. Al-most.” Gus waggled his finger at the clock glowing down at them from the corner of the holoscreen that monitored their patients. From the back, Gus looked sharp in his maroon Key Corp LTCU scrubs with his shaggy hair and lanky, unassuming figure, but when he turned around—
“You’re wet.” Confusion creased Gus’s bushy, dandruff-
flecked brow.
Elodie pulled her towel-dried waves into a tight bun and smiled politely. “Yeah, I showered.” Sure, Westfall citizens opted for light baths instead of the water showers of the past, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t take a real shower. There wouldn’t have been one in her house if it was against the rules. “Are you planning on giving me an update before you head out?”
“Don’t I always?” Gus pursed his thin lips, instantly transforming back into the impatient employee who treated every workday like it was the worst day of his life. But how could it be? This is what the Key chose for him, for both of them. And it wasn’t an idea the corporation plucked out of thin air. No, the Key had taken their time. And Gus and Elodie and everyone else in Westfall and cities around the globe had done their part and taken the series of tests to determine not only what would make them happiest, but also what they would excel at. The Key had done an impeccable job placing them (not that Elodie would ever think that the Key would do anything less). Elodie was happy. Her parents were happy. Her friends were happy. Gus . . .