Ansel:It’s midnight on a Friday. Anywhere else.
Me:I’m almost done.
Ansel:Don’t forget to eat.
I toss the phone aside. He’s been hovering more than usual since we hired Remy, like he’s waiting for an explosion. Maybe he’s right to worry.
I stare at the screen for another ten minutes, but the code’s not giving up its secrets tonight. My eyes are starting to blur, and I need food that isn’t vending machine garbage.
Time to call it.
I grab my jacket and laptop bag, lock my office, and head for the elevator.
The parking garage is nearly empty, and I’m halfway to my car when I hear a woman swearing. She’s frustrated, and the cursing is getting louder.
Remy’s standing next to a beat-up sedan that looks like it’s held together by duct tape, with her phone pressed to her ear.
“No, I understand surge pricing, but three hundred dollars to go fifteen miles is—” She spots me and straightens. “Never mind. I’ll figure it out.” She ends the call, shoving the phone in her pocket.
“Car trouble?” I ask.
“The battery is dead. Or it’s the starter. I don’t know.” She runs a hand through her hair, and I notice it’s down tonight, falling past her shoulders. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Pop the hood.”
“What?”
“Pop the hood. I’ll look at it.”
She crosses her arms. “You know about cars? Look at you, showing hidden depth. I thought you only spoke in code and disapproving silences.”
I pretend I didn't hear that last part. “I know about a lot of things.” I move toward her car. “Just pop your hood.”
She bites down on her lower lip and then reaches inside and pulls the hood release. I flip it open and immediately see the problem: corroded battery terminals, covered in white crystalline buildup that screams neglect.
“When’s the last time you had this serviced?”
“I don’t know. Six months? A year?” She’s standing so close. And whatever perfume she’s wearing—jasmine, maybe something floral—makes it hard to focus on the corroded terminals.
I look up and find her watching me. Her eyes blink slowly, and her gaze is unfocused. There’s exhaustion underneath. The kind that goes deeper than a long day.
“I’ve got tools in my car. Hold on.”
I grab what I need from the trunk of my Range Rover.
Remy watches in silence for a minute before she speaks. “Why are you here this late?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Her eyes glint with humor. “I asked first.”
“I work better at night. No distractions.” I scrape away more corrosion. “Your turn.”
She continues watching me as I work on the car, then answers. “I was reviewing financial projections for the security upgrade. Trying to find ways to bring costs down without compromising effectiveness.”
“That’s not your job.”
“It is if I want to make sure this contract gets renewed.” She shifts her weight. “I need this job.”
