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A grin starts to break out on my face. I can't help it. "And I should keep up the good work?"
I sense right away I've poked the bear a little too much. She scowls further.
"Of course, you should keep up the good work," she sneers. "Why would I give you permission to start phoning in crap now? That makes no sense."
She scoffs, looking infinitely more comfortable berating me than complimenting me, and honestly, I'm a little touched.
"Thank you, Angel. That means a lot," I say, smiling at her.
She gives me a sideways look up and down and then turns away. "Don't let it go to your head, Sloane."
She walks away, leaving me smiling like an idiot between desks, holding my cup of coffee and feeling like a million bucks.
I like what's happening here to me. I may even like Angel a little. That cool, sharp demeanor is growing on me in a way I never thought I'd find enduring, and yet ridiculously enough, I do.
I watch the shimmering wings flutter slightly as she goes and wonder if that means she's happy, when her wings vibrate like that, or if she's disgusted and trying to shake off the joy I was sending her way. Either way, it makes me smile broader.
I've seen that wing-flutter happen a lot recently, and I'm a little frustrated with myself that I still can't read her body language exactly. I have been tailing her for a bit now, since the gala, and one would think that much time watching a pixie move around town would tell you a thing or two about their moods.
As far as I can tell, Angel is just as grumptastic with everyone as she is with her colleagues. Everyone from her mail monster to her barista plasters on the same smile I wear when she approaches.
Despite spending her life spreading the opposite of pixie dust, however, she seems clean as far as Jarn Enterprises is concerned.
I sit down at my desk, determined to keep Angel happy with me, and pull up my email. I'm about to respond to my second message when my screen goes black.
"What the heck?"
I listen but can't hear any whir or buzzing of electricity. Have we lost power?
I stand and look around. No one else seems to have any problems, and employees are typing away at lit-up screens. Something in my gut and long years of experience tells me I need to refrain from shouting and asking if anyone else is affected.
This feels targeted.
I glance around again. No one is looking up. I sit back down and look behind my computer. It wouldn't be the first time I'd mistaken espionage or a trap for what turns out to be a cable that has simply managed to wiggle free.
Everything, however, is tightly plugged in.
I sit down and look at the screen, tapping my fingers on the keyboard. I wiggle the mouse. Nothing.
And then there is a whir and a ping and the computer is back on. The screen lights up bright, pale blue with a picture of cheerful clouds and a cartoon sun smiling benevolently in the sky.
"What the hell?" I whisper, dread filling my stomach.
Multi-colored balloons come into view at the bottom of the screen and float up in a rainbow-colored bunch toward the middle. They are attached to a sign that slowly comes floating into view.
Usually, greetings like this say things like Happy birthday! or Congratulations! This one, not so much. Jagged font is slowly revealed as the balloons rise. I read quietly to myself.
“You're not the only one who can play games, Cyber Thief!”
The message on the sign held up by the balloons hovers for just a moment in the middle of my screen, trembling slightly, as if the balloons are at the limit of their helium-based power.
And then the cords holding the message snap, and the sign begins to plummet, the point of view following it until it shatters into pieces on the ground.
The screen goes back to my normal desktop.
"Woah," I breathe.
I nod my head at the screen, appreciating the spectacle. Whoever sent this has a flair for the dramatic. They also know who I am.
