by O. J. Lowe
“Heels, darling,” he said. “Professional.”
“Shut up, Ro. If I want to discuss my wardrobe with you…” She swallowed, suddenly furious with herself for having nearly bitten. “That’s something I’m never going to discuss with you.”
“Shame, I could give you some tips on making the most of what you got. How’s your love life again? Just cracking with suitors, I imagine.”
She didn’t have an answer to that, just a glare he either didn’t see or chose not to acknowledge. Who the fuck did he think he was? Smug pile of…
“Thought so.” He sounded oddly pleased at her reaction, cackling quietly to himself.
She bit down the urge to slap him.
She had a meeting scheduled with Ronald Ritellia in a few hours, her immediate purpose for being here. It wasn’t everyone who got the chance to have a private meeting with the head of the International Calling Competitive Committee. If he was thirty years younger, it might have been pleasant. As it stood, she knew him to be reputedly obnoxious and so corrupt he could have been a criminal in another life. Maybe he had. Nobody was truly ever so shiny clean without having something wiped away in the first place. Everyone had their secrets. She had them. Ritellia for sure had them. She didn’t want to know what deep dark mysteries plagued Rocastle’s past. That was a whole selection of secrets best left unknown.
In true fashion, she’d checked into the best hotel but in a middling suite. Not the best, not the worst. That was always the way they’d been taught to operate. That was the line that they had to toe for her. Her way or the wrong way. Her way had made Alana Fuller a lot of credits. If anything, it had proven some ways weren’t worth argument. You get told to check into a less fancy suite, you damn well do it. The boss was an eccentric, for sure. Most billionaires were. They could afford to be.
Her first day on the island. How long she remained depended on today. The boss wanted her here. ‘Just in case’. No word as to what that might mean beyond the meeting with Ritellia. If she failed here, left a bad impression, she had no doubt she’d be withdrawn. The place looked so good after the building work, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted that to happen. It felt like this was where the action would be down the line, meaning she didn’t want to leave just yet.
She undressed quickly, glad to get out of her travel worn clothes and step into the shower, hot water rushing over her, a thousand tiny fingers caressing away her weariness. She leaned forward, lay her hands flat against the wall and closed her eyes, felt liquid slide over her normally bushy brown-blond hair, down her back. In here, she felt… well, content. Away from the stresses of the life she led, away from the worries and most of all, away from Rocastle. Being around him left her feeling dirty inside. The guy was like a giant slimy worm. He made you want to retch. She shuddered, thought of that greasy mane of hair concealing that fat rodent-like face and dug her nails into her palm. The sting of pain brought pleasure to disgust. She imagined her palms were his eyes. Her hisses were his screams.
Satisfaction never felt so good. She’d never realised before dislike could be so instantaneous.
In true narcissistic fashion, an ICCC temporary headquarters had been one of the first buildings erected on the island, surprise still being present on her part they hadn’t spent most of their budget on it. Even so, it was a grand structure, majestically imposing over most of the plaza, casting its shadow on three of the four corners. She walked quickly across the square, clearing her throat. Right now, it was empty here. Most of the competitors and their guests hadn’t arrived yet. She had that much to be thankful for. Too many people made her uncomfortable. Too many variables. Too many possible outcomes walking through the crowd. She could be accosted, killed, robbed, all of which she didn’t need.
She mopped at her face with a silk handkerchief, clearing it of sweat. It was too hot. Always the problem holding the tournament in a tropical clime. Next time, they’d have to arrange for it to be taken to Canterage. Cold mists all the way. Already she was arriving at the conclusion that wearing a blazer had been a mistake. Style over practicality, a mistake she should have avoided. She quickened her pace, cut the length of the plaza. Once she got inside, she’d be okay. It’d be air conditioned. No way were all the people who worked there going to sit roasting all day long. Well, the little people might, but the people she was going to see wouldn’t be. The advantages of dealing with the people at the top.
Entering the building, she let out an audible sigh of relief as the cold hit her like a punch, stopping to savour it, the most beautiful sensation she’d ever experienced after the sweltering heat of outdoors. Paradise had nothing on it. She let herself linger a few seconds longer than necessary, letting it wash over her. It’d be horrific when she had to go back outside, but still, the moment was there to be enjoyed. It was with a new swagger in her walk she strode to the desk, a confidently pleased smile on her face.
The secretary was a native Vazaran, dark skinned and slender with black and blue braided hair. Behind her glasses, her eyes were strangely large and a deep shade of brown. If there was anything remarkable about her, Fuller wasn’t about to try and discover it right now. She had her purpose, the secretary did as well. And thus, the world kept on turning.
“Good morning,” she said. “My name is Fuller, I’m here to see President Ritellia.”
Manicured fingers danced across the keyboard in front of her. Her eyes barely rose from the screen. Fuller folded her arms serenely.
“He’s waiting for you,” the secretary said, finally looking up. She gave Fuller a smile, showing an array of dazzling white teeth. Too white. They looked false. Wouldn’t surprise her. Life was harsh in some areas of Vazara. Food quality was poor, violence was rife. It wasn’t a surprise to see those who had risen out of it wearing false teeth. It was a sign of pride. “You’re free to go straight on up, Ms Fuller.”
She returned the smile, slightly smug in knowing that her teeth were all her own. “Thank you.”
She’d met Ronald Ritellia before never solely on a one to one basis. He’d been guest of honour at one of the Reims events years ago. She hadn’t been quite so senior then. It felt like a lifetime now. Everyone in the department had been excited that such a public figure was appearing, he’d said a few words, made a few sound bites for the media, greeted some of the workers (she’d been one of the lucky few) and generally been a success, his charisma back then plain for all to see. Of course, he’d been paid a lot to do it. Even rumours of his friendship with her boss hadn’t been enough for him to forgo a fee for the night’s work.
There wasn’t much chance of forgetting that night. Though the drinks had been flowing, she hadn’t imbibed too freely. The room had been heaving with people and Ritellia had been sweating up on stage, just as he was now, despite the coolness of the room. If anything, it was colder in here than it was outside. He looked like he’d be sticky if she touched him. Ritellia was a short man in his sixties, an ever-expanding waistline compensating for his receding hairline. What little hair remained on his head was fuzzy and the colour of dirty steel. Even despite his wealth, he wore the perennially scruffy look of a man for whom no suit would fit well. Still he had a certain charisma; she saw that as he rose to his feet with a smile to greet her.
“Ms Fuller,” he said affably. Not for nothing had he made a career as a politician. Too many people underestimated him. “Good morning to you.” He held out a hand.
“President Ritellia, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking his hand. She was right, he was sticky. She could smell marzipan. “You look in good health.”
His smile grew as he sat down and gestured for her to join him. Without hesitation, she did. “You’re a poor liar, my dear, but I appreciate it all the same. This job is not good for me. Good job I love it, eh?”
Fuller’s expression didn’t change. Inside she smirked. Yeah, you love the power and the status it gives you. Divines forbid you should improve the sport beyond filling your pockets and your stom
ach. “It’s important to have job satisfaction, President Ritellia.”
“Call me Ronald, my dear Ms Fuller. May I call you Alana?”
No, you may not, she wanted to say. Only my friends call me Alana. Well, my friends and Rocastle. I can’t stop him doing it short of smashing his teeth in and ripping his tongue out. Even then that creepy bastard would probably find a way.
“Of course, Ronald,” she said, keeping her smile plastered firmly in place. If nothing else, climbing the corporate ladder at Reims had helped hone that skill. Never let them see past a smile.
“Well, Alana, I think I’ve seen you before. I have an excellent memory for faces. You’ve blossomed since then, I must congratulate you.”
“See, my job IS good for me,” she replied. It brought a snap of laughter from him. “You were inspiring that night.”
“Not just that, but many, many others,” Ritellia smiled. It didn’t quite touch his ears, she found herself wondering who’d be the first to let their façade crack, him or her. “I don’t like to brag, but inspiration is one of the things that I do. That we do here.”
“You must be excited for what’s coming next,” she said. “You’ll always be remembered as the one to bring the Quin-C to Vazara for the first time. You’ll go down in history for it. If it’s a success, I wouldn’t be surprised if they name a day after you.”
“They’ve done it for less,” Ritellia said. If anything, his smile did appear genuine in a greedy sort of way as he considered it. “Ronald Ritellia Day. It has a nice ring to it.”
“A worthy celebration,” she said. He smiled, genuine this time perhaps, then it faded as abruptly as it had appeared.
“As much as I do enjoy the company of pretty young things such as yourself…” How delightfully condescending, you corrupt slovenly bastard. Although she wasn’t that young anymore, it wasn’t entirely unwelcoming to hear. “… I am pushed for time. All this time to prepare and still things left undone by imbeciles. Pray do tell me of your boss, how is she? Well? Ill? Too sick to make the trip herself, I wonder. What other reason might she foist an underling upon me.”
She ignored the stab of annoyance poking at her like a knife. Rising to his sudden insult wouldn’t do any favours to anyone. It required a cool head. And THAT she could do.
“As much as she wishes she could be here; my boss is also extremely busy. She takes a very hands-on approach to running the company. That’s why I was delegated here. Make no mistake, I speak with her voice on these matters.” And if she were here, she’d already have you bent around her wrist. Alana Fuller let a hard edge slip into her voice. “First of all, I was instructed to thank you once again for seeing that the tournament ended up here on Carcaradis Island.”
Ritellia grunted. “I still don’t understand why you felt the need to have it here so strongly. There’s plenty of places on mainland Vazara infinitely more suitable. And not all of them are gang ridden hellsholes either. A lot of people think that.”
“I speak with her voice, not with her mind. I do not know myself. I wish I did,” Fuller said. She meant it as well. “All I can tell you is…” She halted theatrically, her own grin growing. Chuckle on that, Ron. “Nah, you’ll not be interested.”
“I highly doubt it’s solely down to her desire for an island getaway in the Vazaran tropics away from the filthy masses,” he said. “I’ve seen some of what Reims’ investment has wrought here. A considerable sum. More than you or I will ever see individually. Maybe my business knowledge just isn’t what it used to be. There’s something going on here. If I was a more inquisitive man, or perhaps an investigative one, I might be inclined to consider it.”
Was that a threat? She narrowed her eyes. “Whatever you think you may or may not know, I do believe it is just that. An exclusive resort. Nothing more, nothing less. I told you, you wouldn’t be interested.”
The look of disgusted disappointment on his face was palpable, just as was his way of trying to bluff his way out of it. “Either way, I have other things to worry about beyond what your boss chooses to do with her credits.”
Liar!
She resisted the urge to call him on it and leaned forward in her seat. “The second item on the agenda. ICCC elections. They’re a year away.”
Ritellia rolled his eyes. “Perhaps I have no comment on this. I’m sick of answering questions about whether I’m going to run again.”
“Maybe that’s because you’ve not given an answer,” Fuller said. “Tell me, who would likely challenge you for the job should you run for president again? In your own thoughts.”
She knew the process. The ICCC did split itself into five individual factions across the five kingdoms, each with their own head, all of them subservient to a committee above them, which in turn was overlooked by the very man who sat in front of them. Not dissimilar to the way Unisco ran things she believed.
In theory, any of the committee could run for president, as could any of the higher-ranking officials in the individual departments. It was rare that they toppled any of the committee members standing against them though. Even rarer you sometimes got outside challengers running a campaign for the top job, ranging from retired callers looking to make a difference to publicity hounds wanting to appear in the news. None of them had ever succeeded down that route and yet still they tried. It was almost an admirable way to fail spectacularly.
Ritellia looked pensive as he thought over it. In her experience, it was never easy thinking about the day you were replaced. In her own experience, when it happened, she hoped it would be because she’d moved onto better things. “Kwan-Sun from Burykia, I hear he’s making noises about entering next year’s race. It’s been a long time since there was a president from that kingdom.”
“And good reason too,” Fuller said. “Wasn’t the last one a bloody lunatic?” It sounded childish even as she said it, realising she shouldn’t have. Just because a kingdom had produced one idiot politician unsuitable for the job didn’t mean all of them would be. She didn’t like Burykia. It was too unstable to predict long term events there in the industries Reims conducted themselves in.
“One way to remember him,” Ritellia said. “Mister Jerome wants to do it one day, it might be a bit early for him though. Or there’s my old friend, Klaus Zynski. He’s served on the committee for almost thirty years.”
“He used to compete, didn’t he?” It was a guess, but a good one for Ritellia nodded. It hadn’t been entirely her sticking her neck out. Fifty-fifty chance that he had. Not a hard guess. The ICCC had long been a mix up of career politicians and administrators combined with retired spirit callers who’d decided they were going to do something for the sport. Probably about a half and half split, she’d read not too long back in a Kate Kinsella piece. They liked all sorts of opinions, provided they were ones shared across the board.
“Won the Quin-C forty years ago this year. Don’t ever broach him on the subject, you’ll never get him to shut up about it.”
“To be fair, an impressive achievement,” she said diplomatically. “What’s he like?” How best to diplomatically ask if he’d be as susceptible to being bribed? “Do you think he’d do the best job he could, all that stuff about upholding the ethics and principles of the office? If say hypothetically he was asked to make a few decisions that needed to be made and say hypothetically he might in some small way profit from it…”
“I’m insulted!” Ritellia said, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Calling into doubt the integrity of someone who works for me, I should have you thrown out of here right now!” His voice rose as he spoke, his face going red.
She was amused. He’d managed to sound self-righteous enough. At least she hadn’t burst out laughing at his denial. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, President Ritellia. We both know things that make that little outburst sound hollow. A shame really. Because it would really sound good in the media once the mirth died down.”
“I assume you’re going somewhere with this,” he hissed. All
pleasantries had apparently been thrown to the wind now. “Or are you seeking to bait me with insinuations and accusations?”
“Only that I hope you do run once more,” she said. “I think you’ve done a stellar job here, all things considered. And Reims would seriously consider financing your campaign to become the head of the ICCC for another term. Has anyone been elected five times to the post? I can see you making history.” She saw his eyes light up and she smiled to herself.
Hook.
“I know you could probably afford to do it yourself but why should you? Backing you pays for itself in the long term. Hey, spend your money on another beach house or a fast speeder, enjoy life. None of us know how long we’ve got. Maybe even buy a villa here when we open the resort.” If they’d lit up before, they were beacons of illumination now.
Line.
“In short, it benefits both of us. You’ve been good for us. You’re a known quantity. And your legacy can live on when your term ends; you can help build relationships between us and Zynski. What better way to leave than with it in secure hands?”
Ritellia rested his chins on his fingertips, an impressive sight if a little stomach turning. “Alana, I must confess I am flattered by the interest that Reims shows in wishing me to continue on. I’m an old man. I do not know if I wish to continue. My work takes me around the kingdoms; the days when I could rule centrally feel long gone. I don’t see my wife or my children or my grandchildren anywhere near enough. Do I want another three years of this?”
He let out a sigh, almost a little too theatrically. That was when she knew she’d had him. Her briefing had told her Ritellia resorted to theatrics when he was being coy, when he’d made his mind up but was trying to see what else he could get before committing. All graspers acted that way in her experience.
Sinker.
“Well, think about it, yes?” she said. “I don’t want to pressure you. And family is important. The time you miss is time you don’t get back.”