Wired

by Caytlyn Brooke

  Multiple hands shoot up as each associate tries to get their voice heard in the sudden chaos. I look down and begin to sketch a rough draft of a forgotten teddy bear, getting my ideas in order before I enter the ring. A sudden bump jolts me from my thoughts.

  “What the?” I whisper. My gaze settles on a guy sitting across from me. His dark hair is styled in the same gentle wave from last night and his pale blue eyes are piercing.

  “Hi,” Jeremy mouths, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

  “Hey,” I reply. I ran into the room so fast I didn’t even notice he was sitting there. I self-consciously tuck my hair behind my ear and look back down at my notes.

  “Margaret,” Ms. Robins calls out. “You’re quiet. What are you working on?”

  Ten pairs of eyes turn to look at me and my cheeks flush. “Ah, well it’s just a raw sketch but—” I begin but Robins waves her hand.

  “That’s all right. That’s what this meeting is for.” Ms. Robins smiles, but it isn’t warm. She’s in boss mode. “Do you mind if I put it up on the screen?”

  I shake my head. “No, not at all.” Quickly I flip my notepad around and push it toward her. Using the specialized pen, she draws a thick line around my sketch and clicks the base.

  “Thank you, Margaret.” Robins nods, passing the notepad back with a flick of her wrist. Pivoting on four-inch heels that would make Sarah jealous, she holds the pen down on the digitalized screen and clicks it, releasing the captured image within the borders. In seconds, my shadowy silhouette of the father holding the abused bear is displayed for all to see in the front of the room. Robins considers it quietly and then taps her lower lip. “Interesting. If you can develop this a little more and strengthen the background, this might be it.”

  “Really?” I say, trying to keep the squeak of excitement out of my voice. “Sure, I’ll get right on that.”

  Robins nods at me and then redirects her focus to several others around the table. “Mark, Rita, Jeremy…I want each of you to brainstorm a media campaign as well. Whoever creates the best design will have it featured on the cover and, oh, win a vacation day.” I can hear the intake of breaths as the prospect of paid time off shines gloriously before everyone. She turns her head toward the others assembled. “Tell me what else you’ve got.”

  For the next hour, all the gathered agents propose their ideas. In the end Robins likes four, mine included. She turns away from the latest design of a crumbling house and removes her glasses. “All right, thank you everyone. That’s all then.”

  Robins dismisses us and I know better than to hang around. I collect my notepad and head for the door.

  “Margaret,” Robins’ curt voice rings out as the other agents file out.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Cutting it a little close today, weren’t we?” Robins asks, looking at me over the rim of her glasses again. “Yesterday I tell you not to come in so early and the next day you’re strolling in three minutes late.” She continues to collect the other images proposed with her pen, turning her back to me.

  “I’m so sorry, Ms. Robins. It won’t happen again,” I apologize.

  Robins turns, her shoulder-length chestnut hair hardly moving from its stiff position. I wonder how much hairspray she uses. “It’s all right,” she chides. “But let’s strive for a happy medium between the two, okay?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I answer. “Thank you.” I exit the room and close her door, exhaling the pent-up breath I’ve been holding since she said my name. “So stupid,” I chide myself. I hate being late, especially to a meeting.

  With a slight slump in my step, I return to the random desk I happened upon on the way in. The rolling chair is now occupied by a perturbed older man with thinning blond hair and large owl-like hazel eyes. My red raincoat is curled up in a ball on the floor by his shiny black loafers and my purse is tipped over onto its side with several tubes of lipstick and tampons scattered on the floor beside it. I’ve never spoken to the man, but from the gleam in his eyes I can tell we’re not going to start up a friendship anytime soon.

  I crouch down as much as I can in my pencil skirt and begin scooping up all the fallen objects, biting back the sharp remark dancing on my tongue. Once I’ve collected all of my belongings, I straighten up to find the man still staring at me in disapproval.

  “Hello. I’m sorry I left my things here. It was kind of an emergency,” I say, attempting to rectify myself.

  The little man wrinkles his nose in my direction and looks me up and down. “Don’t let it happen again or next time I send everything down to the incinerator,” he sneers, spinning his chair to face his computer screen. A maroon Vertix H2 clings to the back of his neck.

  I grumble a response underneath my breath and head for my organized desk. Inside my cubicle I plop my large bag down and sink into my chair. “Time,” I command my iJewel. It’s only half past nine and I’m already exhausted.

  Frowning at my disheveled purse, I begin taking everything out in an attempt to rectify the mess that guy created when he tossed it to the floor. Bookmarks, crumpled up brochures, and numerous pen caps without pens occupy my desk. My fingers brush against a cool, solid object.

  I withdraw the shining copper Vertix from the thin pocket, marveling again at the smooth design. I try to imagine the wondrous rush I felt as my brain connected to the device for the first time, but I can’t find the euphoria. Last night I was too tired to try it again and this morning was too hectic. I could have thrown it on while I rode in, but I wanted to enjoy the rush without stressing about missing my stop. At lunch I’ll connect again.

  “Morning sleepyhead,” a smooth voice greets from behind, immediately dispelling my thoughts.

  I turn to see Jeremy leaning against the weak cubicle walls. A risky move, but I won’t tell him. “Hey. You startled me,” I say, catching my breath.

  “I see. I’m beginning to think that’s how you react every time someone says hello,” Jeremy teases, thrusting his left hand into his pocket.

  I narrow my eyes at him like an annoyed cat. “No, just you,” I tease back. “And only because you scare me every time. You’re too quiet.”

  Jeremy puts up his other hand. “Okay, I guess I’ll work on stomping around so I don’t give you a heart attack before your twenty-sixth birthday.”

  “Stalker…” I pretend to gasp. “How’d you know I was twenty-five?” He did his homework.

  “I did what everyone else does,” Jeremy replies without missing a beat. “I stalked My World until I found you, or at least—a girl who looks an awful lot like you.” He laughs.

  “Oh that’s some fancy detective work.”

  “I know,” Jeremy sighs. “I’d give Sherlock Holmes a run for his money. So what happened? Did you oversleep?”

  “No,” I groan, pulling my hair over my shoulder. “It was just one of those days where everything managed to go wrong over and over again.”

  “Ah, I’ve had ample experience with those,” Jeremy says, his eyes crinkling. “I liked your cover design,” he adds.

  “Thanks. I wasn’t expecting Robins to call me out like that,” I admit. “I think it’ll be a fun side-project to work on. Did you share an idea? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  Jeremy laughs deeply and nods. “Well at least you’re honest.” I shrug in acknowledgment. “But I’m not quite sure yet. I think I want to feature the kids somehow, you know, play on the destroyed childhood component.”

  I nod and purse my lips. “Sounds interesting. Just don’t cry too much when Robins picks my design.”

  Jeremy scoffs. “All right. We’ll see about that, Stone.” He chuckles. “I’ll see you later.”

  I watch him leave, a smug look on my face. Maggie One, Jeremy Zero. Grinning like an idiot, I turn back to my screen and swipe my finger across to unlock it. I open the Just a Taste manuscript and re-read the last few paragraphs from yesterday to re-orient myself.

  “Joe, what is wrong with you?” Melanie cried, cringi
ng away from her ex-boyfriend.

  Joe stumbled forward. “You left me.”

  Melanie gripped the doorframe, her nails digging into the wood. “Get out of here, Joe, you’re not coming in,” she said, her voice shaking.

  Joe hears the trembling in her voice, sees the tiny goose bumps dotting her skin. A masculine scent drifts toward him. “He was here,” he growled.

  “Joe, what are you talking about? There’s no one here. If you don’t leave in thirty seconds I’m calling every cop in the city,” she threatened, her lip quivering.

  “You’re not going to do anything of the sort,” Joe said sadistically.

  Melanie sucked in a deep breath and moved to slam the door shut, but Joe caught the edge and forced it back, hitting Melanie in the head in the rebound. She stumbled and clutched her forehead. “No,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she looked for something to help her.

  Joe grabbed her wrists and pushed his way into the apartment. “You can’t stop me,” he hissed.

  I lean back in my chair as I reach the end of the chapter. I’m eager to read more, to see how he altered the encounter. He really listened to the editor and beefed up the original draft, making it more edgy and raw.

  “I need to check my inbox too,” I tell myself aloud. I save the manuscript and pull down the top bar, launching my email account from Bando. “Oh, twenty-five new queries,” I say excitedly, peering forward to scan the titles. One called Beneath the Hood catches my eye. Double-tapping the email, I set to work reading a snippet from one of the middle chapters.

  Red’s black eyes dripped venom as the curse took hold. Her velvet red cape came unclasped, fluttering to the forest floor. Red felt her bones snap, stretch, break, and reset, until she stood seven feet tall, a muscular she-wolf dominating the moonlit sky.

  “Red ran her salivating tongue over her glistening fangs. ‘Want to know why they call me Red?’ The wolf growls in the direction of the woodsman, his long rifle no match for her speed and strength,” reads Jeremy over my shoulder.

  I spin around, surprised yet again by his soundless approach. “Stop it!” I whisper, conscious of my cubicle neighbors working. “What are you doing?”

  “Reading your queries.” Jeremy shrugs. “Do you specifically request far-fetched fantasy?” He tilts his head like a curious dog, fingering the tip of one of my aloe plant’s leaves. “Or do all the other agents have the good stuff already cornered?” His eyebrows arch and I know he’s teasing, but I scowl anyway.

  “For your information, Paranormal Fantasy is huge! Young adult readers can’t get enough of it,” I say defensively.

  Jeremy scoffs. “Well good, I’m sure all twelve of them will love it then.”

  I reach out and swat his stomach with the back of my hand. “What are you doing here, besides making fun of my genre? Don’t you have your own desk to crawl back to?”

  Jeremy smirks. “I do, it even has a window. I came over,” his voice lowers, “because I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out to lunch with me.”

  “Oh,” I answer, not expecting that. “Is it already noon?”

  “Ten past, actually,” he corrects me. “Not all of us get lost in the twilight zone when we read. So…are you free?”

  I blush, loving the way he waits for my answer. I can tell he’s holding his breath. I spin around in my chair and bite my lower lip. “You know, I have a ton of stuff to get done. I was planning on working straight through my lunch—” I stop, guilt crushing me as Jeremy’s hopeful expression deflates. “What did you have in mind?”

  Jeremy’s head snaps up and his blue eyes sparkle. “Ohh, very smooth, Stone. I see what you did there. Come on, before I change my mind and un-invite you.”

  “Ha, I bet you don’t usually get turned down, huh?” I tease, saving my manuscript. I drag my finger in a large circle, locking my computer and hop to my feet. I snag my purse from under my desk and my raincoat from the back of my chair, wishing I knew how to make any of this look sexy.

  Jeremy gestures for me to walk forward first and I oblige. “And why would you think that?” he asks sincerely.

  I throw him a look that says like you don’t know and keep walking toward the elevator. “So, where are we going? Do you even know any good places to eat around here?”

  “Just because I’ve only been in Boston for two weeks doesn’t mean I don’t know good food,” Jeremy replies, stepping into the golden paneled elevator beside me. “Do you like ethnic food?”

  I groan, about as adventurous as a toddler when it comes to trying new things. “I take it I can rule out a slice of pizza?”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t count on it,” Jeremy chuckles as the doors seal us inside.

  • • • • •

  Ten minutes later I find myself in a tiny hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant, seated on thin pillows covered in scratchy sequins and beads that keep rubbing against my skin. I’ve hit my leg four or five times so far thinking it’s a bug. I watch as Jeremy digs with his fingers into the shallow bowl of brown goop that he ordered for us. He licks the collected slop off with a slurp.

  “Yeah, nope,” I say, dropping my fork onto the short foot-high table. “I’ll just grab a pretzel on the way back.”

  “Oh come on,” Jeremy urges. “It’s delicious. You just have to get over the appearance.” He swallows another mouthful and grins, purposefully pushing the grotesque food through the cracks in his teeth.

  I laugh even as I turn my head away from his unsightly smile. “Oh my gosh, that is awful. Now I’m really never eating that.”

  Jeremy laughs and I look back as he wipes goop from his chin. He’s sitting there with the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up. God, I love that look.

  “Here, try this one,” Jeremy instructs, pushing another bowl toward me. This one holds nuts of some sort.

  I shake my head. “No, I’m okay, thanks though.”

  “Suit yourself, but you’re missing out,” Jeremy says, swallowing the last of the squishy brown gunk. “So why publishing? Is that what you went to school for?”

  I’m in the middle of taking a sip of water so I don’t answer right away. I set down my glass and see that he’s staring at me intently, genuinely interested in my answer. “It was.” I nod. “Ever since I was little I’ve always been interested in reading and escaping to other worlds. My dad was in the military so we moved almost every year. I never really made a lot of friends, but I found many in the books I read.” I look away, embarrassed by my admission. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said all that.”

  “It’s all right, I like hearing about your childhood.” Jeremy smiles, and this time his teeth are void of food. “Did you ever try writing your own stories?”

  I snort as I take another sip of water, causing a cascade of bubbles to spill down my chin and onto the front of my pale pink shirt.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Jeremy says, stuffing several nuts into his mouth.

  I put up my hands in defeat. Of course. The first time I’m out with a guy in forever and I can’t even drink properly. “Trust me, you don’t want to read my pathetic attempts.” I sigh. This better dry quick. I glance down at several spots now decorating my shirt.

  “Oh, come on,” Jeremy says. “I bet they’re not that bad. You’re just being hard on yourself.”

  I shake my head. “I wish I was just trying to be modest, but seriously, my own mother read one of my ‘stories’ and politely put it down. She told me she was proud of me for trying,” I recall. “So instead of writing my own, I decided to find the next great stories from people who could actually write.”

  “A classic case of those who can’t do, teach?” he asks.

  “Exactly!” I lean back in my chair and hear my iJewel chime. I look at the device in surprise; a message from Sarah blinks, waiting to be streamed. I ignore it. “Time,” I say, and gasp. “Oh my gosh, we have eleven minutes to get back! After this morning, Robins is going to kill me if I’m late again.”

  “And we don’t wa
nt that?” Jeremy asks, arching his eyebrows. I give him a death glare and he quickly wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Kidding, kidding of course.” Jeremy leans over the small square table toward the black sensor standing upright. It resembles a Darth Vader salt shaker. He pays through Enyo, scanning his iJewel and then we’re gone, racing out onto the busy Boston streets. Immediately I head for the subway but Jeremy calls me back. “Hey! Let’s take one of these instead.”

  My eyes follow his hands as they gesture to the side of the building. A row of hoverbikes stands at attention on the concrete sidewalk, each of them gleaming a bright candy apple red. I want to check my iJewel again but even that will waste time. “I’ve never ridden one of those things. Let’s just take the subway,” I say, turning back around and taking another few steps.

  “I have, come on. We’ll even get one built for two. I promise, I’ll get you back before you turn into a pumpkin,” Jeremy teases.

  I narrow my eyes, still skeptical, but I haven’t got much of a choice. “Fine, but if I fall off I’m never speaking to you again,” I threaten, stalking over to the hoverbikes. “So how do we do this?”

  Jeremy rents the bike with a swipe of his iJewel and the bike all the way to the left releases from the pack, gliding forward on the silver metal track. It looks just like a regular bike, save for the fact that there are no petals and the seats are extra wide. The seats are positioned one in front of the other, like a tandem bike.

  Jeremy swings his body over the front seat and rests the soles of his shoes on the provided pegs. He motions with his head for me to do the same. “Well, come on. I thought you were in a hurry,” he calls.

  “I am, it’s just…I haven’t ridden a bike in fifteen years,” I admit, slowly walking toward the red frame. “What do I do with this?” I hold up my purse.

  “They have little cubbies here for belongings,” Jeremy says, grabbing my purse and placing it between his seat and mine in a small compartment.