Holly gazed at Beenan’s miniature form hovering above her d-pad, wishing she had not tapped that screen. Of course he’d want a live visual communication and couldn’t just send a message. He sat at his desk in his corner office in Nova. His suit was immaculate, his hairless head gleaming, his expression arranged into something that was probably meant to be pleasant but came across as calculating.
Holly was acutely aware of how she must look to him. She sat on her sofa in her grandfather’s apartment, wearing a loose tunic in shades of deep green and brown that she’d purchased from The Emporium last week, with houseplants lining the sill behind her. Her hair was down, her feet were bare, and she looked nothing like a Sol-Arc Industries engineer. She looked like someone who had moved on.
“Beenan.” She kept her voice neutral. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“Clearly.” His gaze traveled over her appearance. “I’ve received some concerning information, Holly. It seems you’ve taken on other employment.”
Holly’s stomach tightened, but she kept her expression calm. “I haven’t taken on other employment.”
“No?” Beenan’s eyebrow muscles flexed upward. “Because my sources tell me you’re running a hospitality outpost in deep space. That sounds like employment to me.”
“It’s not employment. It’s an inheritance.” Holly shifted on the sofa, trying to project a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. “My grandfather passed away recently. He owned a small moon with an outpost on the edge of the quadrant. I inherited them, and I’m overseeing matters here until the estate can be settled.”
That was a broad bending of the truth, but Beenan didn’t need to know the details. He didn’t need to know that she was hoping to stay here and leave Sol-Arc for good. There was still a part of her, which she didn’t like very much, that was terrified to cut ties with the company she’d been employed by for over twelve years. Sol-Arc had been her identity for so long. Walking away from it felt like stepping off a cliff.
Beenan was quiet for a moment. His expression shifted, and Holly recognized the look. He was calculating something. Reassessing her.
“You inherited a space stationanda moon?” he asked slowly. “I had no idea you were heir to such a thing.”
“Until recently, neither did I.”
She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t tell him that it was actually her mother who had inherited it, or about the family drama and bad blood that surrounded Charles Moone’s legacy. She didn’t mention the impossible terms of the will, or the statue, or the fact that Moone’s Landing was a two-star way station of last resort.
But she could see Beenan doing the mental math. Owning a moon was a significant thing. Galactic laws made the purchase of entire planetary bodies unlawful, but ownership that predated the law was grandfathered in. Holly was in a rare class of privilege now, at least on paper. Only she knew how precarious that privilege actually was.
Beenan’s gaze swept over her again, lingering on her flowing tunic and bare feet. “Your fashion choices certainly suggest you’ve moved on. Very… artistic.” Oh,thatword again. Spoken like it was a bad thing.
“I’m very far from Nova,” Holly replied evenly. “Out here, styles are different.”
Another side step of the truth. The truth was that shelovedhow she dressed out here. Her clothing choices were just clothing choices, and not visual indicators of status and position andworth. She wasn’t ready to say that out loud. Beenan wouldn’t understand the concept, anyway.
He grunted. “Acknowledged. Records show that you still have your living unit here on Nova.”
“That’s right. I haven’t decided to leave Sol-Arc,” she added, because some part of her still needed to say it. “I’m taking the time the company gave me to take care of family business andreflect.” Her lips twitched on that last word. “I’ll give my decision at the end of the three months, as agreed.”
“Very well,” he said. “That brings me to the other reason for my call.”
Holly waited.
“The engineer who replaced you on the Kelloran mining retrofit is not performing to the client’s satisfaction.” Beenan’s tone was clipped now, businesslike. “They’ve lodged a formal complaint. The alternative designs your replacement submitted are not meeting their expectations.”
Holly pushed back a petty smirk of satisfaction that had nothing to do with her replacement’s work, and everything to do with Beenan’s cavalier belief that Holly was so easily replaced. Whoever the poor soul was who was thrust into the middle of the project, likely on top of their own pile of work, had a miserable task. But after everything Beenan had put her through, it was hard not to feel a little vindicated.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said carefully.
“The client specifically requested your involvement.” Beenan leaned forward slightly, his pale eyes fixed on her through the holographic projection. “I need you to review the project files, analyze the aspects of the retrofit design that isn’t working, and put together two alternative layouts to pass along to the client.”
Holly stared at him. “I thought I was on leave.”
“You are. But this is a special circumstance. The client relationship is at stake.”
Andhowwas this her problem? She was already up to her eyeballs in work at Moone’s Landing. The repairs, the guests, the missingnits, the list of things that needed her attention. Taking on this task from Sol-Arc would mean late nights and stolen hours and the creeping exhaustion she had felt so often back on Nova.
She should say no. She knew she should say no.
“I’ll see what I can do.” For over ten years, she had sought Sol-Arc’s approval. Agreeing to requests from management was as natural as breathing. But even as she said it, she felt different. Less like she owed them anything, and more like they owedher. “ButI expect to be paid.”
Beenan’s hairless brows rose. “You’re on probation for defying company standards, Holly. Hardly in the position to make demands.”
