“Not at all,” Ed says. “The only thing you should be concerned about is how much sunscreen you’ll need to bring. Both of you.”
There’s a long, awkward pause. I think he’s expecting Carter and me to excitedly ask what’s going on, but, for once, it appears we’re on the same page.
“Frank and I have decided,” he finally continues, “you two are coming with us to the conference next month. I’ll provide more details later. Frank just pinged me again.”
He drops the call and leaves me staring at the profile picture next to mine in stunned silence.
I thought the whole purpose ofworking remotelywas that you’d never have to do anything outside the comfort of your own home. I know some of the employees at Green Checks Insurance are hybrid, like Ed, or work at one of their four main campuses across the continental US. I only agreed to work for the company after I was told I’d never have to do anything in person. I don’t do well with big groups of people.
Even so, does he not realize how expensive flights are? Especially if they’re booked now? At the last minute? And July issucha busy time for tourism, too. I don’t even want to entertain the idea of how pricey they’re going to be.
“So.” Carter’s voice drags my attention to his grainy profile picture once more. “Before we hop onto our scrum call, we should really set up some time to discuss the cover sheets.”
My nails dig into the flesh of my palms the second after I mute my mic. I cannot stand this guy over the freaking computer as it is. There’s no way I’m going to stand three days networking with Satan’s heir apparent in person.
2
ETHAN
SATURDAY, JUNE 14TH
As we wadethrough the overgrown vegetation, downed trees, and old growth across the muddy terrain, my pulse continues to throb in my temple once I wrap up my summary of yesterday’s disastrous meeting. A scrum call should not end with us going back and forth for two hours over how to fill out a spreadsheet.
Staring ahead at the mossy pines and larch trees surrounding us, I mutter, “I’m not looking forward to the conference. I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle standing in the same room with her, let alone work with her.”
It’s not three days out of my schedule, as I had assumed. It’s five. We’re expected to check into the hotel on Tuesday night and check out Sunday afternoon, from what Ed has revealed during yesterday’s update meeting.
“Look on the bright side,” Aaron says. “It’s an all-expense-paid trip.” He pauses for a moment. “You can also bring me back plenty of lobster rolls.”
“We have lobster rolls here,” I remind him, and he waffles his hand with a disbelieving scoff. “I don’t need to fly to the other side of the country to pick you up some lobster rolls.”
“Even if it’s on the company dime?”
In answer, I narrow my eyes.
“And,” he goes on, “you can finally put a face with Barbie once and for all.”
“Or you can finally admit she’s not real,” I say, and he snorts as we halt our steps. Just a few yards up ahead, there’s a trail washout. It’s the second one we’ve stumbled across on our half-hour hike so far, and, by the look of it, it’s not advisable to trek through. “Admit it. She’s an AI bot you guys are trying to deploy company-wide by the end of the year to cut costs, and because I’m running QA, I’m the sucker who has to deal with her head-on.”
“She’s not a bot.”
“She’s not real,” I insist. “Look me in the eye and tell me you believe there’s a woman out there namedBarbie Ho.”
It’s a dumb question to ask when my best friend wholeheartedly believes that the Kraken exists, but I refuse to accept the idea that I’m the only person on this green earth who thinks a name like that is, without a doubt, absurd.
Aaron turns on his feet, looks steadily into my eyes, and claps his hand on my shoulder. “You report to Ed Flanders.”
A groan heaves from the depths of my chest. “Either I’m the guinea pig suckered into working with the most stubborn,aggravatingAI bot you guys are secretly developing,” I begin. “Or you tricked me into signing my soul away when you mentioned an opening at your job?—”
“In a way, aren’t all corporate jobs soul-crushing to a certain extent?” he muses, stroking his jaw.
“—and I've been living in some fucked-up nightmare of a simulation for two years now,” I continue, “whereBarbiewill fight me over LLCs, Casper will soon mess with my thermostat every night, and Winnie the Pooh inevitably steals my job with the next round of layoffs.”
“Barbie is real.”
“She’s fromMalibu.”
“Which is a real place,” Aaron hedges, “unlike Narnia, Atlantis, or the North Pole.”
