“Wow. Exercise,” Claire deadpanned. “People change.”
Bea grinned. “Still the same me. Just with more core stability.”
Claire put her mug down. “Okay, Beya Slaya—give me the download. What’s new?”
“Nothing. Which is a relief.”
“That sounds like fake news.”
“No, really. Last year wastoo muchnew. Country, school, rules, friends, job. Gage. Even a new driver’s license photo. Total system reboot.”
Claire’s brows lifted. “Just casually tossing the crown prince of capitalism into that pile, hm?”
Bea smiled. “He’s not new anymore, either.”
“So he’s like a pair of comfortable socks now?”
“He’d be offended by the comparison,” Bea said dryly.
“True. He’d never be a sock,” Claire pondered. “Military-cut coat energy. Dry-clean only. Possibly bulletproof.”
Bea listened indulgently. This was not her first Claire tangent. She weathered it like a seasoned professional.
“Remember how I told you I asked him once—how someone becomes Gage King?”
“Yeah, the origin story,” Claire recalled. Her voice deepened, becoming theatrical. “Groomed for the throne since birth. Conquered spreadsheets and men. Deadly with both weapons and silence.”
“He’s just so…impressive,” Bea mused. “Sometimes I look at him and wonder—what does a man like that even need?”
Claire tilted her head. “In general, or from you?”
“Either. Both.” She toyed with the pen cap again. “He’s got money, power, abs. What can I give him?”
“Love? Sanity?” Claire offered. “The best rendition of ‘Listen’ he’s ever heard in this life?”
Bea smiled faintly. “Yeah. Maybe.” She reached for a piece of mango. Chewed on it contemplatively. “Enough about me. Have you done any job apps yet?”
Claire blinked. “Wow. From love to business. That was such a Gage King transition, I’m almost concerned.”
“You have, haven’t you?”
Claire sighed. “Fine. I’ve applied to three places in Toronto, one in Vancouver, and—don’t freak out—I’mthinkingabout applying there.”
Bea paused mid-chew. “Here-there?”
“Yes. The UR. Only because of the quality of the stationery at that expo stall, Bey. You know I’m weak for free office supplies.”
“Get. Out. Are you serious?” Bea could barely contain herself. “Because if you move here that’s thirty-three percent of my reason for moving back to Toronto, gone.”
“The other sixty-seven are your parents?” Claire sipped her tea.
“Of course,” Bea said, leaning back against her pillows. “Okay, but how serious are we talking?”
“Not very. The application process sounds brutal. Six rounds, group assessments, panels, IQ testing…not that any of that scares me.” She drifted, then smirked. “It’s the psychological profile I’m worried about. I’m not convinced ‘occasional chaos goblin’ qualifies as a desirable archetype in the Republic.”
Bea snorted a laugh. “I wonder if…”
“What?” Claire pressed.
