My hands were still trembling as I left, and I hurt all over now, but I managed to calm down enough to drive, and took the roads as slowly as I dared. I didn't want to hold up traffic and start some road rage, but I didn't feel totally in control yet, either.
I hoped Damon was hurting as much as I was, but I doubted it. I felt bitter, mean, and hateful. I just wanted to lie down for a long time and stop hurting.
#
Nobody came to pick me up to take me to the precinct the next day, so I had a day of peace and rest. I took painkillers, napped a lot, and watched TV. I calmed down a little from my raging high horse, but I still felt crappy about the whole situation.
It felt unfair, and I wanted to complain, but I'd thrown the first punch. Technically, nobody at the precinct had crossed any legal lines before that.
I determined I could at least play fair enough not to file any charges or issue any complaints — as long as they didn't. Privately, I might damn them to hell and back, but publicly, I didn't need to mess up their chances of working with an empath or other ESRB-licensed individual just because we hadn't gotten along.
And we really, really hadn't. I thought back. Nope, couldn't think of one friend I'd made in the whole time, anybody who'd automatically be on my side instead of Damon's.
He was kind of an asshole, breezing in and out and lording it over the others just enough to cause a little resentment. He usually told interesting enough stories that they still liked him a little, but he was the kind of guy who set people's teeth on edge at work, like he had to show off all the time for his public. Nobody really found him great, likeable company in the working environment. I think one on one, he was probably charming and friendly, like when he'd been my friend, but not at the precinct.
But whatever he did or didn't do, I ranked far lower in their affections and loyalties, and we all knew it.
Damn. I wondered if they could cause me trouble if they all lied about it and said I'd attacked Damon out of the blue, with no cause.
Which, come to think of it, was exactly what it would've looked like to anybody who couldn't read the nicety of emotions with such exactitude. He'd known exactly what he was doing — he just hadn't known I'd attack him for it.
Well, now he did. That'll teach you next time, buddy!
I sank down on the couch, scowling. It was all very well and good to feel mean and superior and self-righteous. But the fact was, I didn't have a friend in the world, I did have a lot of enemies, and everything ached inside and out. I hugged a pillow, thought dark thoughts, and tried to blank it all out with pizza, beer, and old sitcoms.
I guessed I wasn't going to keep my looks for long if I kept eating like this.
#
The officer who came to pick me up for work the next day tried very hard to be invisible so I wouldn't have a gay hissy fit and attack him. He brought me right in to see the captain, of course.
The captain did a double take looking at me.
Yeah, I knew I wasn't very pretty that morning. My nose wasn't bleeding anymore, but I had some bruises showing, and I'm sure I looked sullen. I gave him the hardest look I could, with one eye only willing to open about halfway.
I'd popped some painkillers before getting into the patrol car, so I probably felt better than I looked.
I expected the captain to hide a smirk and think I'd gotten what I'd deserved, but he didn't. If anything he looked more grave, and even seemed a little . . . angry? But not with me?
As I was trying to sort through the emotions he was giving off, he spoke. "Why didn't you tell me the officer in question had been harassing you?" he demanded, a frown plastering his face. He tapped the desk restlessly with the eraser end of a pencil. "I could've had a full inquiry done earlier and kept this from happening." His look was dark now. "Is this really why you're leaving? Mercer was harassing you?"
His gaze was searching, and he really wanted to know. "Uh — of course not. What are you talking about?" What did he know?
His scowl deepened. "The officer was heard making derogatory remarks about you on many occasions." I winced at that. "He followed you into your office in a threatening manner, and although his words were not overheard, his tone was . . . unpleasant. He was even spotted waiting for you at your car once while you were at a local bar."
He looked very annoyed now. "I wouldn't have tolerated that kind of threatening behavior if you'd told me. I wouldn't." His gaze was searching, even a little worried. "What did he do?"
I shrugged. I was in a quandary now. It wasn't quite what he thought — but he probably wouldn't be any happier to know about the whole gay affair and how Damon had ended up hating me. He'd probably wince away from knowing that.
As well, I had no desire to out Damon to his boss. He might not be my friend on any level anymore, but I had a gay dude's instinctive urge to protect another gay man's privacy. Whatever his actual orientation, whatever his issues and problems and faults, it wasn't my place to out the man. Doing so would feel like I was getting revenge, and it wouldn't really help anyone in the long run. I was leaving anyway.
I shrugged, feeling helpless, trying to keep my face blank. I didn't want to go over the whole Damon situation, and I couldn't think of a suitable lie about it. I really hoped the captain would drop it.
He gave me another long, searching, worried look, and I felt actual concern radiating from him. What, he was worried about me? Now? That was a laugh.
"You're only here for three more days," he said, tapping his pencil harder. He'd come to a decision and was psyching himself up to spit it out. "You won't work again until the head shrinks deem you suitable. You'll go and see them." He grimaced. "They probably won't. And, uh, they're not allowed to tell me personal details you share, except within very certain strict parameters." He couldn't force himself to say it, but he was thinking more — a lot more.
He was thinking that maybe Damon had been gay-bashing me, beating me, or sexually assaulting me, a bunch of awful stuff. I barely kept my mouth from dropping open. I couldn't deny it without admitting I'd realized the direction of his thoughts, so I just nodded and turned away in a daze.
"Your new employer has been in contact with me," he added to my back. "I was supposed to write a recommendation." There was a bit of a grin in his voice now. "I had to tell them you don't play well with others."
I snorted, biting back a laugh. "Fair enough." I headed off to get my counseling sessions in and make it through these last three days. Maybe if I was lucky, the bruises would be gone by the time I started the new job.
#
Despite getting a recommendation of sorts from my previous boss, there was no real job interview as such before I met my new boss. Maybe because it was all done through the ESRB, and maybe because they wouldn't know if I could do the job properly till I'd been doing it for a while.
"You'll be working for the Shardwell Group," my new boss told me, staring at me across the table.
Kevin Goodwin was a man in his thirties with aggressive hair in an expensive cut. He was wearing a suit that clearly would have been more expensive than knitting a scarf of hundred-dollar bills, and everything about him reeked power.
At the same time, I could feel his eagerness, the tenacity and zest for life he had underlying everything. He was a fighter, a scrambler, and he worked really hard to keep his job and move up in the world. He liked and believed in what he did, and he wanted this to work out desperately, as I would give him a big edge in the corporate world.
"But you'll be working more precisely for me. Because of the nature of the business and the deals, you'll have to be able to travel at a moment's notice, and sit in on meetings almost every day, and be available the moment I need you. It's a high stress, extremely busy lifestyle. I thrive on it — you may as well. You won't have to make the decisions I do, but I'll need to know you're there at all times when I need you, to verify the truthfulness of the people I'm in contact with."
We looked at one another. This was the man I'd be at t
he beck and call of as long as I worked here.
"I've heard that there are vagaries in an empath's talents. You'll be able to tell more than truth and lies at times — intent, aggression levels, things of that nature. That will be very helpful, and I'll be interested to explore that with you as much as is in your power."
"So you want profiles of people, more or less, and not just truth and falsehoods?" I asked, trying to feel my way through it.
"Naturally. You'll need to be open with me. The reason this job pays so well is that it requires complete loyalty, honesty, and being available at all times. Now, it's not all work. We'll take great care of you. You'll have access to all the company recreation areas, and you'll have a private room in the building so you can relax and sleep whenever you need to and won't have to travel back and forth from your place as often."
He stared at me as if he was trying to read my mind, prying its secrets free. I could see he would be a good businessman. He was always thinking ahead and was very alert. He didn't seem to have the blindness I'd noticed in many rich people that made them underestimate or look down on people. He seemed aware without prejudice.
"Your previous boss — a police officer, I believe?"
"Captain," I corrected, nodding.
"Yes. A captain." He'd known that. He'd used the term 'officer' deliberately, as it made the captain sound less important. He watched me closely. "He said you had some difficulty fitting into the law enforcement world and dealing with criminals. As well, there was some issue about your sexual orientation."
He folded his hands on the table. "I'd like to let you know, we here at the Shardwell Group never discriminate based on race, age, gender, or orientation. In fact, we have other LGBT people working here. You're being hired for your professional merits, and no one will be allowed to treat you in any derogatory way. If you find anyone doing so, please report it immediately and I'll see it's taken care of. We'll take care of you here — I will."
I may have looked doubtful. I wasn't sure I liked the idea of being his pet.
Still, the money was good, and the vibes I got off him were intense, but very professional. He really, really wanted this to work, to help his career and give himself an edge in the cutthroat business world. He was very willing to work with me on anything I needed — though he hadn't said it aloud, his emotions and posture practically screamed that he would be willing to bend over backwards on almost any point of concession as long as I filled the role he needed from me.
He continued, "I'll need you to blend into the background. It will be wise to keep your abilities and role here quiet as long as possible. It will, of course, get out, but I suspect you'll have clearer readings in the meetings if people aren't worried and hostile about your presence."
I nodded, by now well used to the fact that my presence and my very existence scared people. It still made me frown, though.
"You'll start work as soon as you can. You'll receive one month's pay in good faith immediately, yours even if you don't end up staying. By the end of the month, we should know if it's going to work out. If you need anything, let us know — let me know, or my assistant. Any special dietary requirements, health concerns . . ." He looked doubtfully at my face, which was still a bit bruised, but he didn't say anything about it. "Let's see if we can't make this a mutually beneficial relationship."
He held out a hand for me to shake.
I took it. He smiled.
After a bit more explanation, and going over the contract with me, he turned me over to a competent woman who looked to be about twenty-five, shorter than I was, with serious glasses and close-cropped, dyed red hair.
"I'm Erin Comely," she said. "I'm here to assist Kevin, but my duties vary widely. In effect, I'm here to take care of you, too. If you need something, please let me know right away and I'll see what I can do."
She seemed to be taking my measure. She was very calm and professional about it, though — with none of the fear and distrust I'd come to expect. She adjusted her glasses. "We already work with the ESRB. There's another talented individual here — Mr. Smess. He's on the clairvoyant scale."
"Visions?" I asked, surprised. I'd thought those guys all ended in up the military, working with the police, or some other high-powered, secretive work like that.
She nodded. "The occasional vision. Also impressions, hunches. He fills out reports every six months for the ESRB with details about our treatment, working conditions, stress, and so on. It goes directly to them, but we encourage him — and you now — to fill out monthly progress reports for internal use, rating various things on a scale of one to ten and letting us know what sorts of things need improvement for your best peace of mind. It's important to us to maintain a good working relationship with the ESRB, and with you. We want your time with us to be as pleasant as possible. Now, would you like to eat something at the cafeteria first, or would you like me to show you around? Maybe head straight to your room and have the grand tour later?" She smiled.
"Um." I felt almost dizzy from the choice. I was used to feeling trapped and disliked. They were certainly trying to bowl me over with kindness. I wondered if it was a trick and I'd end up hating it here as much as I had working at the precinct.
She must have seen the uneasiness and hesitation on my face — I'm not very good at hiding my emotions — but she just waited, looking at me calmly for my decision. Not rushing me, not putting words into my mouth; pure patience. For such an efficient woman, it seemed almost unnatural. I'd expected to be bowled over, but it wasn't happening.
I took a deep breath. "I'm . . . kind of hungry," I admitted.
"Excellent choice." She smiled at me encouragingly, as if I'd come through some kind of ordeal with flying colors. "If you'll come right this way." It was enough to make me wonder about the clairvoyant — the clair — they had here. Was he such a mess that merely choosing an activity took a lot of strength?
They seemed intent on coddling me and spoiling me, and I must admit, it was rather pleasant. I wasn't used to having the best of everything, or people wanting to take care of me. I enjoyed it.
The cafeteria turned out to be the furthest thing from a cafeteria, to my mind. It was like a restaurant, filling almost a whole floor of the building. There was a steaming fresh buffet to choose from, but also chefs on hand to whip up anything you requested. There was no menu; everything came included, and you could ask for anything you wanted.
I was scared to try that, so I got some of the food from the piping hot warming trays. Steam rose pleasantly up, smelling delicious, and I felt warm and cozy in the spacious dining area, with its calming wooden paneling and discreet, comfy tables and booths. It was arranged with some really good feng shui or something, because every area felt private, safe, and intimate.
There were little water fountains and low background music, bamboo, potted palm trees, and hanging ferns here and there. Tasteful landscapes in happy colors hung on the walls. It was the nicest restaurant I'd ever been in, and I wasn't even paying.
"Would you prefer to eat alone?" asked Erin, looking at my plate quickly and then up at my face. "You can have as much as you want, you know."
"Um. Thanks. I don't mind, if you want to eat too."
She nodded, again pleased with me, and went to get herself a plate. In the informal atmosphere eating together created, she talked to me a little, told me about the sort of work they did here, and the facilities I'd have free rein in.
"So without even leaving the building, you're saying I can sit in a greenhouse, work out in a gym, swim in a huge pool, and eat everything in sight?" I tried not to gape, but it was hard. I would basically be living like a coddled millionaire when I wasn't working — all in addition to my salary.
The words of the captain about earning it flitted through my brain, but I hoped he'd been wrong. I hoped this would be at least a little easier than working with the police.
"That's correct. I'll show you each of the areas, and your room, and I'll give you a map to help y
ou get around until you're more familiar with the building. It really is like a small city sometimes."
I was pretty worn out from my flight, so she let me crash in the little room they'd given me first. "You can, of course, have it redecorated to suit yourself. And you don't have to stay here. You can get your own apartment. It's merely for your convenience."
I gazed at the 'room,' which was more of a studio apartment, decorated in tasteful chrome, maroon, and wood paneling, with sleek modern blinds over huge windows and a comfortable-looking bed. The lighting was amazing. There was also a couch, a refrigerator, a kitchenette, a spacious bathroom with a walk-in shower, and a large wardrobe.
"Kevin would prefer for you to blend in at the meetings you attend, so you'll need to be fitted for suits," she explained, almost apologetically. "It's what most people wear to meetings."
I goggled at her, and managed to nod. It really was overwhelming.
"I'll leave you to rest. Just call or text when you're ready for your tour. I've left some maps of the building for you on the counter there, but it's probably easiest if I show you the first time — or the first several times, if you prefer. I'll talk to you later. Take care!"
She exited with a breezy friendliness that felt genuine. I didn't feel like she was looking down on me, resenting me, or even thinking I was someone who had to be spoon-fed everything. She was just doing her job, and being a very pleasant person in the process.
"Holy shit," I breathed, looking around the room, trying not to twitch. I'd really landed in a cushy spot this time!
My bags were sitting in the corner by the bed, looking ragged and out of place in the middle of all this clean opulence. I dug out some pajamas, took a quick shower, threw them on, and flopped on the bed. I was out like a light in seconds.
Chapter seven
After that, my life got busy — really busy. The tours with Erin took some time, and between eating, getting fitted for suits, and learning the ropes of the business, I was kept on my toes.
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