I thrust a fist toward one of my silent news screens; it lands just inches from the display. "What in hell's name do you call this, then? GNS may as well throw me a whole Suicide Ball." Rachel's parents flicker up on the report, their tired eyes and drawn mouths all puckered and ready to accuse. Please, please don't let them talk. They took the money. They aren't supposed to talk.
Everybody wants to empathise with them, as if it somehow validates every fault they possess.
"This will blow over," Tuija insists. "It just all colluded at the wrong time—you and Leo making your little announcement, and Rachel Fordham pulling a Shawshank Warden on your ass. It's unfortunate, but I promise it will go away."
"Oh, will it fuck!"
"The last bad thing went away," she mutters. "Aeron. Look at me."
I try, but all I can see is the money I've spent her. Tuija is this thing I've made, and now she's trying to undo me; I was made by my mother, the dark she created, and look how that ended. History on repeat.
No matter which angle I come in from, Tuija's just tits and ass and painted lips and bottled hair. Capped teeth. A pop-culture perfect body sprayed with honey and rolled in bank notes. I could throw a match at her and she'd catch light in a second. Frankenklein.
"Run the damn story, firecracker."
She lowers her gaze. Folds her arms. "I don't like you like this. I'm worried. You're not yourself."
"You heard me."
She brings balled fists to her mouth and bleats into them, exasperated. "Well don't say I didn't warn you."
I roll back on my office couch to stretch my bunched-up muscles. "I don't need your warnings, Tuij. I just need you to do what you're told."
She goes to leave, but then turns. "Oh. That software company, The Appening? They sent over some design proofs for a new website. You want to see?"
"No." I don't want to look at anything, or approve anything, or veto anything. I just want to be left the fuck alone. "You keep them. Tell them I need a few days."
She sighs. "Right. Okay."
"Now get the twink file off my desk and take it down to the news room. Stop wasting time."
Tuija runway-walks over to scoop up the brown folder, and then shakes it in my direction. Her made-up eyebrows dip in. "The trail of batshit tragedy this is about to leave in its wake? I will not be held responsible."
I wave her away. "Whatever. Fine."
"I guess I'll go order you a new cell, too," she huffs.
"Go on, then. Get lost."
At some point today, I actually have to do some work.
How the hell am I going to manage that?
***
When the phone rings for the third time, I peel myself off the couch and swagger over to answer it. I've been asleep for God knows how long—I needed it. The world is just easier with my eyes closed.
"Uh, Mr Lore?"
Finn. My absolute fucking favourite person to speak to. Not. "What?" I bark down the receiver.
"It's Leo. I think you ought to come get her."
"I'm sorry—what?"
"She's not well. In our lab. She's...she's asking for you."
"I'll be there in a moment."
I shouldn't have let her come in. She was an hour late just because of the press, and there's no way she's recovered from what she saw yesterday. Me, I can block it out—the whole thing is eclipsed by its potential impact on my reputation—but Leo and Rachel were close.
Too close for my liking, but I can hardly fix that now.
When I burst into the SilentWitn3ss main office and rush down to the lab area at the back, there are several people kneeling behind a design bench, and Leo's bare legs stretch out from between them. They see me and most of them scatter. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife—and oh, I want to. A blunt one. Make a real mess.
My little lion isn't herself. No makeup—not that she needs it, but she's nearly always in it—and scraped back hair. She's clad in a denim skirt and a football shirt from some English team. She sniffles quietly, though her eyes flare when she notices me.
I bend down beside her, warning the others off with a scowl.
Finn is reluctant to leave. "You gonna be okay?" he whispers to Leo, his beefy hand squeezing her knee.
I want to drive a pencil through his stupid hand.
"Get off her," I say in a low voice.
"But I'm just—"
"I said, get off her. Stop groping her like some shameless retard and leave us the fuck alone."
Leo recoils, pulling her knees into her chest, and Finn stomps off to sulk, or masturbate. Probably.
"Sweetheart." I press a kiss to her cool, damp forehead. "We're going home."
Leo says nothing, but she lets me scoop her up. I carry her down the hall toward the elevator.
"Take messages," I tell Fliss as I pass her. "I'll be back in tomorrow."
***
Today, I don't complain about a security team escort. They get us back to Leo's safely, depositing us near a staff entrance at the back, and I put Leo over my shoulder while I fiddle about in my pocket for my key.
"Carrying me over the threshold?" she mumbles into my shirt.
"Something like that."
Inside, I scrape magazines off her couch and lay her down before switching her alarm off and grabbing a couple beers.
She hauls herself up to sitting and accepts a bottle. "It's a little early for this, isn't it?"
"It's past lunch."