Two weeks. A trial run small enough to manage and large enough to bring in some desperately needednits.
She was almost to the door when her comm buzzed. She frowned and looked at it. Her belly tightened as the alert transmitted a message from the last person she wanted to hear from at that moment: Beenan.
Thirty-Two
Holly wished she hadn’t looked at her wrist comm.
The message from Beenan glowed on the tiny screen and ignoring it was not going to make it disappear. Her earpiece felt heavy as lead as she hooked it on her ear.
Her old boss, well, technically he was still her current boss, did not have a demand. That was the first surprise.
It was, if Holly was hearing it correctly, a peace offering.
She went inside her residential unit, sat on the couch, and listened to it again, slowly, from the beginning.
Holly. Beenan, here.
Ugh. The sound of his voice made her teeth grind.
The Kelloran client is satisfied with the retrofit improvements to their project. They were…displeased by the reason why you were put on leave and complained to my level eight superior. They have requested your reinstatement to their account. After internal review by the level ten management team, Sol-Arc Industries would like to offer you the following terms for your return: immediate promotion to level four engineer, effective upon your first day back, with the commensurate pay increase.
There was a pause.
The Enhanced Aesthetics for Professional Development requirement has been waived.
Beenan’s tone of voice made clear his disapproval, but Holly’s mouth fell open in shock.
Leadership acknowledges that the program was applied too broadly, and your participation is no longer a condition of employment. You may resume your previous appearance and personal activities without it negatively impacting future reviews. Please confirm your intent to return no later than four weeks from today, which is the end of your reflection period. We would prefer not to lose you, Holly.
Holly dragged the transmitter off her ear with heavy fingers and looked at the ceiling.
Level four.
She had wanted level four for ten years. Had watched colleagues leapfrog past her, some of them people she had trained, while she stayed stuck at level three. Level four meant better projects. Bigger clients. A voice in design meetings where her ideas wouldn’t be filtered through with someone else’s name. It meant being seen, finally, as what she was: one of the best engineers Sol-Arc had.
And the enhanced aesthetics program, waived. No more workshops on acceptable dining venues. No more style guides dictating the cut of her suits. No more pointed suggestions about surgical enhancements to make her look more like a species from the Sang-Lok system. She could go back as herself. Hair, shoes, eyebrows, and all.
It was everything she had asked for. Everything she had fought for and been denied, handed to her now in a tidy message, four weeks before her deadline.
Bean jumped up on the couch and curled into a ball, pressed to her thigh. All he ever seemed to want these days was to be inphysical contact with her. He had become her dog, through and through.
She tapped the comm and listened to the message a third time.
We would prefer not to lose you, Holly.
That was the part that bugged her. It was calculated. Beenan didn’t say things he didn’t mean, and he didn’t offer things without expecting a return. If Sol-Arc was waiving the aesthetics program and offering her level four, it was because losing her was more expensive than keeping her. The Kelloran client had made that clear by going over Beenan’s head.
Which meant this wasn’t really a peace offering. It was a business decision dressed up as one, served with a dash of desperation.
Holly got up and crossed to the window. The working rain system had brought the plants in the square back to vibrant life. The lampposts stood quiet in the still air, and the broken fountain still sat in the center like a patient, waiting thing. Beyond the square, she could see the tree line and the faint path that led to the gardens, and beyond that, the gentle rise of land toward the field where she hoped to hold a larger festival one day, if the first one wasn’t a total disaster.
She pressed her forehead against the glass.
What do you want, Holly?
The question popped in her head in her mother’s voice, which was annoying. She hadn’t called her mother yet and already knew how the conversation would go.
She turned from the window and paced.
