02: Surface Tension

  Evelyn

  “I’m not interested in collaborating with her, John,” Evelyn says as she paces in front of the holographic projector in her room. The Crimson Suites’ luxurious Executive Chambers are offered to the conference’s more prestigious presenters, and NovaTech is certainly among them.

  Her assistant shifts uncomfortably at the edge of the bed, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “Well, you did invite her–”

  “I know damn well what I did,” Evelyn hisses. “I want to know why.”

  John presses his lips together.

  “I have a degree in business administration, not psychology,” he says, craning his neck upward to fasten the last button on his white dress shirt, his pants still lying at the foot of the bed. “You hired me to maintain your schedule, and to collect and organize your documents, not diagnose your untreated mental conditions.”

  Evelyn stops in front of the window, peering out over Tokyo’s midnight skyline. The prismatic, neon colors of corporate greed hang on nearly every square foot of real estate, too busy for anyone to even try and decipher or understand.

  “I know damn well what I hired you for,” Evelyn says. She lets out a deep sigh, running her hand through her black hair, and staring at herself in the reflective glass pane.

  “Am I not…” John begins, hesitating on his next word with an ill-deserved grin, “...performing?”

  A rush of air escapes Evelyn’s nose.

  “Are you that starved for approval?”.

  “An ‘attaboy’ or ‘good job’ wouldn’t hurt.” His reflection materializes behind Evelyn in the window, his hands gentle but firm on her hips as Evelyn gnaws reflexively on her lower lip.

  “I’d sooner fire you and find another assistant,” she says, turning into him and pushing him back onto the bed. “Finish getting dressed. I need to get some sleep.”

  John’s smile fades.

  Every time.

  Evelyn can’t understand why he seems to think their relationship outside of business is anything more than casual. She has made it clear time and time again that their intimacy, however mutual, serves a purpose. But it has never stopped him from trying, and who could blame him. She sees it in his eyes. His hunger, his lust. But Evelyn isn’t certain it’s for her. She suspects John sees her as a means of progressing his own career in NovaTech.

  That poor, prosaic fool.

  There is no career path for men like him within NovaTech, glorified yes-men and fuck boys for the movers and shakers. Perhaps John is actually interested in pursuing a relationship with her for– well, her. She smiles at the thought. So novel. So naive.

  He is not without beauty, though. Many considered him the epitome of ruggedly handsome. His overly processed short blond hair, like rays of sunshine, frames his perfectly strong jawline. His radiant blue eyes, the shade of sapphire, deep and intense, reflect the myriad of emotions that lay beneath his stoic exterior. His gaze has a way of both drawing her in and keeping her at arm’s length, serving only to add to his charm. Standing tall above Evelyn doesn’t hurt his aesthetic, either. But John lacks what Evelyn needs in a mate.

  Intellect.

  He’s not an idiot by any means, but his eyes lack a certain understanding whenever she rattles on about her newest theories, findings, and inventions. And a life of uninspired conversation, devoid of intellectual stimulation is no way to choose to live one’s life.

  But God, is he a good fuck! A proven method to both pass the time and settle her nerves.

  “Back to the task at hand,” she says, clapping her hands together.

  John makes a face.

  “Five thirty, sharp,” she continues, ignoring his pleas for attention. “I need you to run a full history on Dr. Harper and her time with StellarCorp. If she’s going to breathe down my neck during this conference’s panel– and why wouldn’t she– I want as much ammunition as you can give me.”

  John didn’t move, but just stared up at the ceiling in disquiet.

  “I have a multi-trillion dollar corporation’s reputation to manage here, John,” she chides, picking up one of his shoes and tossing it toward his chest.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Yup,” he says reluctantly, catching the shoe as he sits up.

  “Get me what I need on Dr. Harper. And I’ll see you in the morning.”

  John sits up, eyeing her suspiciously.

  “Something’s bothering you,” he says.

  “Yeah, no shit.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, in a voice that reminds her of her last failed relationship.

  “That’s not why you’re here,” Evelyn says, her frustration rising.

  John opens his mouth to protest further, but Evelyn holds up her hand.

  “Fine,” he says instead, and with a pout he grabs his pants and pulls them up around his waist, shuffling toward the door.

  Fine? What is he, a prepubescent tween?

  Once his shoe is back on his foot and his belt buckled, John looks back at her, pausing with his hand on the door handle.

  “You know,” he starts, and Evelyn knows he’s going to say something about her being cold and distant. Never letting anyone in. It’s always the same conversation over and over. Ever since university. Ever since she started dating, if you could even call it that. Evelyn knows she is wounded. Broken, even. But that doesn’t change how much it stings. “When I took this job, I wondered how a woman like you could still be single.”

  Yup.

  “But now it all makes sense?” Evelyn asks, trying not to roll her eyes.

  “It does,” he says, but his eyes are sad, not angry or scorned. Just sad. “You’re incredible. Beautiful. Smart. Funny when you want to be.”

  Evelyn raises an eyebrow.

  “But you’re too focused on your endgame– whatever it is– to let yourself be happy.”

  She tries not to laugh. “And let me guess. You’re my happiness?”

  John just shakes his head, but his eyes look hurt, like she’d just hit him.

  “I’d like to be,” he says, opening the door and stepping into the hallway. “If you’d let me.”

  Evelyn wonders if he will be there in the morning, or if he’ll quit like the last three assistants she’s pushed away. John is different though. He’s actually quite… well he’s actually quite nice.

  She taps the air over the holographic projector and it springs to life with a tiny chirp.

  “Find me everything you have on Doctor Allison Harper’s thesis.”

  I have work to do.

  ***

  Allison

  Allison stares at Sara with wide eyes.

  “I most certainly did not,” she shouts, before quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

  A few heads at the bar turn, more curious than disturbed.

  “You practically threw yourself at her feet in worship,” Sara says, through fits of laughter.

  “I was just–” she starts to say, but can’t find the words.

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  Sara has brought Allison out for drinks after the first day of the conference. A day dedicated to registration and milling about corporate stalls before the real meat of the conference. The drinks are “to take her mind off the pressure,” her friend has told her, but Sara isn’t drinking. She is part of her security detail after all, and Sara is professional to a fault.

  “I am not looking forward to this week,” Allison complains, resting her elbow on the bar and her chin in her hand.

  “Oh come on,” Sara says reassuringly. “You’ll give the keynote address, which you will absolutely crush and you know it. You also have the panel–” Allison remained dejected. “Oh! This isn’t about your speech or the panel, is it? This is about that woman from NovaTech. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You pegged her to the wall with that question.”

  “Phrasing, Sara. God!”

  Sara mouths the word wow, before adding, “You, my friend, are pent the fuck up.”

  “And drunk. Thanks.”

  A tall, blond-haired man slides onto the stool next to Sara. He stares into the mirror behind the bar, rearranging the inch or so of hair on his head. Sara peers at him for a moment before turning back to Allison with a suggestive raising of her eyebrows.

  “Not my type,” Allison says nonchalantly.

  The man must have heard them; he turns his head with a sad smile that brings color to Sara’s cheeks.

  “Oh,” Allison says, lifting her head from her hand and jeering at Sara, “But yours, maybe?”

  “I’m on duty,” Sara reminds her.

  “Yeah, for another ten minutes before I check out.” Allison reaches around Sara and gently squeezes the man’s arm. “This is my friend Sara. She’s darling, and you’re probably gorgeous– I’m guessing.”

  “Uh… thanks?” the man says, clearly confused. “I’m not here to hit on you, though. Sorry if you got that impression.”

  The man’s eyes narrow as he finishes his sentence, whatever troubles he had vanishing in a flash of recognition.

  “You’re,” he says, lifting his index finger to point at Allison. “You’re Doctor Harper.”

  “Maybe,” Allison says.

  “And who are you?” Sara asks, leaning inbetween the man and Allison.

  “John,” he says with a deep, blue-eyed smile. “John Starling.”

  “Well, John Starling,” Sara says, placing a gentle but firm hand on the man’s suit coat. “Doctor Harper is calling it an evening.”

  “And,” Allison adds, “You’re not my type.”

  He nods, his smile bemused. “So you said.”

  “But you are hers,” Allison reiterates, pointing to Sara with both her hands. “I, on the other hand, play for the other team.”

  “That’s great news, actually,” he replies with a chuckle, muttering something under his breath.

  Sara drags Allison from the bar. “You, dearest, have had enough.”

  “Bye George!” Allison calls over her shoulder.

  “It’s John,” Sara corrects her.

  “Ooh you do like him.”

  “You’re a child, Allison. Let’s get you to bed.”