Free Kelley Eskridge by Solitaire

and she
could address any concerns, but he just kept saying it was a bad path
to walk. He has some pretty strong religious principles.…I don't know.
But he wouldn't listen to Dona.” Carlos pushed his hair back from his
face. “It seems that he went to Neill yesterday and begged to be taken
off the project, and Neill refused, and so Jeremy apparently went over
his head with some kind of ultimatum. And in less than twenty hours the
company held the necessary meetings, recorded the authorizations,
processed the paperwork, stripped his passwords, deactivated his net
status, sent in the packing team, and put him on the tunnel train with
all his belongings neatly palletized.”
    He wrapped his arms around himself. “Mica
didn't even have time to say good-bye. Michelangelo is Jeremy's web
name,” he added, seeing her eyebrows wrinkle. Then, more quietly, “I
don't know why I should think of that now, we don't really use them
anymore.”
    “I'm so sorry,” Jackal said, and got up
from her chair to give him a hug. He returned it fiercely for a moment
and then said, “Sit down, finish your food. Here, let me reheat that
for you.” He whisked her plate away while Snow made a never mind, let him hand signal at Jackal
below the edge of the table. So she made herself finish her lunch, and
then left on a dead run, due in Neill's office to discuss taking over
Sawyer's project. Garbo. She found a seat alone at the back of the bus,
feeling unsettled, on the edge of an anger she didn't quite understand.
It had something to do with the ruin of Jeremy Sawyer, as if he were
sliding down a cliff and she was frozen, knowing that one misstep would
send her following. Her carrybag slipped as she stood for her stop,
spilling her things across the floor so that she had to scramble while
people laughed and tried to help and only knocked everything farther
out of reach. She had a sudden wish to break all their noses: then she
thought of the headlines: HOPE INJURES 12 ON
TRANSIT RAMPAGE: CARRYBAG BLAMED and was able to shake her head
and chuckle. I'm not Jeremy, she told herself. I'm good at this work
and I'm safe, no matter how scared I am. All I have to do is keep on
working.
    She made her way to the Executive One
building, hoping fervently that she wouldn't run into her mother. She
had a hard, busy afternoon ahead. After Neill, she would go to her
global history tutorial, where she would be expected to provide a
précis of the impact of isolationism on the representative
governments of early twentieth-century Western Europe. She had two
media interviews scheduled, and her public-relations team wanted ninety
minutes to prepare her for questions. And doubtless there'd be more
requests waiting for her confirmation that she could squeeze them in:
as the investiture drew near, media seemed to spring up around her like
chokeweed. She was expected at a boutique on the western end of the
island in the evening, to select the formal clothes she needed for the
dozen celebrations she'd be required to attend on Ko and then in Al
Isk. She also hoped to manage some time with Khofi: she needed his wise
eyes and the way he would wave his hands about, and his advice: how to
handle Chao, and what to do about making things up with Tiger. And she
was probably behind in at least one learning module. Yes, she was busy,
but that was good. It would keep her focused.
    She took a deep mental breath as the
elevator leaped the seventeen floors to Neill's office, trying to let
go of her feelings about Sawyer. It was important to be confident:
Neill demanded it, and she understood that in some way he was her
lifeline these days. The work sustained her, and only Neill could help
her grow into it. Only he could judge her. She looked forward to her
private meetings with him with three parts excitement and two parts
fear, a mix that fizzed through her as she stepped through the office
door that was open, as always. He never needed to close his door to
keep people from