Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Eagle-eye rolls his eyes, though I'm not sure Dad catches it. “Fine. Nobody listens to me around here anyway. If you have the capacity, I'll allow it.”
“What do you mean?” Dad asks curiously.
“Nothing. Far be it from me to stand in the way of fate. Do you have anything you want to say to your daughter before we discuss the details?”
Dad fixes me with his CEO glare. “Rory?”
“Yes?”
“I expect you to do everything in your power to keep yourself safe, but as this might take some time, I’ll have your work equipment and a suitcase packed and sent with our guests. You might not be able to keep standard working hours, but don’t assume this is a vacation. The project must and will continue as scheduled. Do you understand me?”
A chill settles in the pit of my stomach, but I nod. “I understand.”
“I also expect you to obey your current guards and to not cause trouble for your host. I’ll be in touch to let you know when you may return. Is that clear?”
I pretend not to see Diesel's smirk when Dad tells me to obey them. “Clear.”
Dad pauses. “You do have internet, right?”
“What’s that?” Shrapnel asks, face blank.
A horrified look crosses Dad’s face. I nod before he realizes he’s being teased and gets annoyed. “Yes. I'll log in starting tomorrow.”
“Good.”
And then we're dismissed while Dad and Eagle-eye discuss the terms. I take a deep breath when we are out of the office, not entirely happy, but very relieved that I still have time to figure out how I’m going to keep Hermes from being turned into a weapon. How is this going to go? I’ve been having fun with Bull, Shrapnel and Diesel, partly because I knew our time was limited. Fooling around with them didn’t seem like that big a deal when I thought I was going to either leave on my own or get taken back by my father. If this takes days or even weeks to resolve, it’s going to be hard to keep my emotions from getting mixed up in everything.
“Hear that?” Shrapnel asks as we get to the bottom of the stairs. “You gotta do exactly what we tell you to, Florence.”
Bull nods. “Daddy's orders.”
16
RORY
My room in the clubhouse is fine, though I’d rather stay in one of the guys’ apartments. At least they have windows. All I have is the basics: a bathroom, a bed, a kitchenette with a table, and a sitting area with a big screen TV where Bull and Diesel have a basketball game on in the background while they’re playing chess. It’s basically a dorm crossed with a studio apartment. There’s a basic ceiling light, and the walls are a soft, masculine brown.
I clear off the kitchen table so I can use it as a desk. The folding chairs it came with would suck to sit in for a full day at the keyboard, but it’ll work for what I need it to for now. Someone came to help me set up the Wi-Fi, and if I can find an HDMI cable, I can probably use the TV as a second monitor if I feel like it. The best part of the whole thing is that I finally have some of my own clothes again and I could change into shorts and a new shirt.
I turn on my phone after letting it charge for a while. It’s the first time since the crash, and just as I expected, there’s a slew of worried messages from Mason, Dad’s bodyguard, and then a few from Dad. Not a whole lot else. There are a few headhunting emails, including one from Watchsmart, Mary Haney’s company. I tag it for later. The timing seems odd, but when this is over I can check to see if I was targeted specifically or if everyone in the R&D department got one.
Could I switch jobs?
A year ago I wouldn’t have considered the idea, but maybe it’s dumb not to look into it. The Hermes project was fun when we were figuring out if it was even possible. I love the problem solving part of my job, but nothing has been the same since our first successful test. Dad transferred almost everyone off the team to keep information from leaking, and I’ve been feeling dirtier and dirtier ever since I went to him with my concerns and he told me he understood, but thought the ultimate goal was more important.
I pull out my laptop and set it up. Sitting cross-legged on the folding chair, I stare at the screen until I work up the courage to type ‘Howard Westminster’ into the search bar. The first hit is an article about his suicide attempt. It feels morbid to have it there in black and white, but there were too many witnesses to his jump to keep it quiet. The third result is an update.