A thrill zips through me. Sitting in on a design meeting after only a week on the job? That’s far more responsibility than I expected this soon. “Are you sure you wantme?”
“Yes,” she replies, completely matter-of-fact, then continues toward the break room.
Before I can process Anya’s words, Leon, who officially “adopted” me as his work daughter sometime around Wednesday, leans over the top of his monitor. His receding hairline and thick horn-rimmed glasses give him the vibe of someone who has seen every design mishap imaginable. Rumor has it he treats all the junior engineers like fragile ducklings in need of shepherding.
“Better bring your A-game,” Leon says, pointing at me with a twinkle in his eyes that feels like a friendly warning. “Riverton will be back from London and leading the meeting. He’ll be cranky, and don’t expect him to give you a new-hire handicap. He doesn’t believe in rookies—only engineers who can do the math and those who can’t.”
There’s the name again. “Riverton?” I tilt my head. “Remind me who that is?”
“He’s our fearless leader. Think Luke Skywalker,” Leon says.
Andy, another engineer on my team, snorts as he walks past with a coffee cup in hand. He’s about five foot seven, with jet-black hair and warm brown eyes. “You wish,” he mutters, “Think Anakin Skywalker fromRevenge of the Sith—right after the Jedi Temple scene.”
Leon’s eyes narrow. “No. We agreed to pretend theStar Warsprequels never happened.”
“Ididn’t agree. You just assumed we did sincewe”—he gestures to the rest of the office—“have given up trying to change your stubborn mind.”
“Ignore everything he says. He’s just trying to brainwash you.” Leon returns his attention to me as Andy walks off. “The point is, Riverton is the big boss. He’s the guy who signs off on every major concept that comes out of this office.”
He leans back in his chair, lowering his voice even though the Orlando branch is small enough that half the team could probably hear him anyway. “He’s sharp, but blunt. If there’s a weak link in your analysis, he’ll spot it and rip it apart like a shark. His methods take some getting used to, but in his own way, he means well. Don’t take anything he says personally.”
My stomach tightens, though I can’t explain why. “Well,” I say, adjusting my glasses, “guess I’d better make sure there aren’t any weak links, then.”
Leon gives me a pat on the shoulder. “Good plan, kiddo.”
Around five, I power down my computer and step into the heavy Orlando dusk, Leon’s warning replaying like a stuck soundtrack.Rip it apart like a shark.What exactly did he mean by that?
“Hey, Kaori. You interested in joining us for drinks?”
The voice jolts me out of my spiraling thoughts. It’s Derrick, another one of the engineers on my team. He has unruly red hair and green eyes. He isn’t too much older than me. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s about twenty-six. “It’ll be Leon, Ted, Andy, and me.”
I hesitate. All week I’ve dodged his invitations, burying myself in my work. Back home, coworker dinners are basically mandatory. It’s a polite form of bonding and ensuring you’re a “team player.” Here, however, it’s voluntary. Casual. Fun.
“Um . . .”
“I promise it’s low pressure. Just like hanging out with three older brothers. We go to Original Jorge’s on Fridays. They have trivia and two-dollar tacos.”
My shoulders loosen a little. If I want to find my place in the office, I need to make an effort to be part of the team. So maybe I should take a page out of the Japanese cultural playbook. “All right. I’m in.” I nod toward my desk. “Give me two seconds to grab my purse.”
Derrick and I ride the elevator down to the lobby, where the rest of the guys are waiting, all wearing jeans and varying plaid shirts. Apparently, engineer uniform is a real thing. Casual Friday is alive and thriving.
Andy spots me first and waves. “All right! You got her to join us.”
“He had me at two-dollar tacos,” I say.
“They’re the best,” Leon agrees.
“I’m Ted,” the tallest guy says, offering his hand. He’s all blond hair, blue eyes, and a round baby face. “Don’t think we’ve officially met.”
“We haven’t,” I say as we shake. His grip is firm.
Andy nudges him. “He used to be one of the cool kids, but then he transferred to the kiddie-rides division. Now he clocks out at five sharp and goes straight home.”
Ted shrugs. “Priorities. My wife and daughters come first. Except on Fridays. They’re sacred bro time.”
We head across the street to Original Jorge’s. A line curls around the building, neon lights flicker above the door, and the muffled thrum of laughter and clinking glasses spills onto the sidewalk.
“I don’t know,” I say, eyeing the crowd. “Looks packed. Maybe we could try somewhere else?”
