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A dark chuckle, just audible on the other end. “My apologies. Anyway, I’d like to hire you for another session. A proper one. Potentially recurring, depending on how the first one goes.”
I was surprised. But enjoyably so. Something about the idea of spending more time with Forest gave me a pleasant tingle in my spine. “Of course. When is best for you? I can attend at your office, or a location of your choice.”
“My office would be great. How about Monday?”
Monday was soon. For a busy man, he sure was keen. I wasn’t complaining. “Perfect. I’ll email you my list of fees. Reply with your selection and a time, and I’ll bill you for the session in advance. Do you have a personal assistant I should contact to arrange this?”
He was silent for a moment. “No, you can email me directly for now. I’ll text you my address.”
He was probably embarrassed to be contracting a tarot reader to help with his business. I wasn’t offended. One of my strengths was being able to see things from both sides.
“Well, thanks for getting back in touch with me. I look forward to our first official session.”
“Thanks, Ria. Bye!”
* * *
Monday came around too soon.I was looking forward to it, but I also had a lot of tasks I’d hoped to accomplish over the weekend that would have made me feel less like an imposter and more like an official businesswoman.
Alas, my website went untended. I doubted Forest would be checking up on it. His business was technology – maybe he could suggest a web developer I might hire when I was making consistent money.
But I was getting ahead of myself, already imagining a long and illustrious client relationship. When in fact, I still had to win him over. I could tell. He was open-minded, sure, but I knew from experience that one wrong move and an open mind could snap shut.
So it was, feeling nervously excited but hideously underprepared, that I made my way back to the head offices of Brock Technology. I resented the three legs of the journey. Once again, a billionaire client had made no attempt to see that I arrived in comfort. And I’d thought these billionaires were all about their comfort.
I checked my hair in my reflection on the building exterior before I entered. Instead of my standard issue ponytail, I’d wasted my prep time that morning trying to tame my thick dark locks into double French braids. They didn’t look too bad, though I wasn’t sure they were worth the effort.
Inside, the receptionist gave me a smile. “Your hair looks nice.”
I realized she’d been able to see me checking myself out through the glass, which was tinted only one-way, but was glad she was offering me solidarity rather than snobbishness. “Thanks. I’ve got a meeting with Forest, the name’s Ria Moon.”
She nodded. “One moment, I’ll just find you on our system.”
Everyone knew that tech was still a male-dominated business, even though times were changing. It was silly, but I’d have felt much more comfortable entering the building if I knew it was full of women.
What was a female-dominated industry – hairdressing? If I could enter a building that I knew was guaranteed to be full of hairdressers, I’d be comfortable. Except for the judgment my own hair would surely receive. But at least I’d leave with good tips and maybe a free cut and de-volume.
Here, I had no clue. My knowledge of technology was stuck in the mid noughties, and limited to my smartphone and the HTML basics book I’d used to construct my shoddily built temporary website with.
“Found you. Have you got identification?”
I slid her my driver’s license. Currently unused, because surprise surprise, I couldn’t afford a car. Maybe that would change soon.
She scanned the driver’s license briefly before locking it into a safe under her desk. “I’ll return this when you hand your visitor’s pass back in. Here it is. It only gives you access to the top floor. Mind you, that’s our highest security floor, so don’t be surprised if you get quizzed by security a few times on your way up.”
Highest security. Forest had enemies, then. It shouldn’t have surprised me. I frequently forgot that he was of the same Brock family that got mentioned casually in conversation as an example of wealth, industry, and inequality. And, of course, I’d been initially sent to meet him as a spy for his half-brother.
She suddenly frowned. “You aren’t carrying any weapons, are you? Guns, knives, mace?”
I laughed, but she wasn’t joking. “No, no weapons today.” I hung the pass around my neck. “Best way to the top floor?”
“Elevator. Just around the corner.” She pointed me in the direction and smiled, clearly relieved to not have to lock away weapons, too.
I took the elevator all the way up. It was exciting. I rarely had occasion, in my lifestyle and career, which had primarily been cashier and waitressing work, to attend big corporate buildings like this. And though they were a prime symbol of the evils of capitalism, or whatever, I still enjoyed them. Big shiny buildings full of people with lots and lots of money.
The receptionist was right – on the top floor, I was quizzed as soon as I stepped out of the elevator. They had my name already, so I didn’t need to explain why I was there, just that I really was who I said I was, etcetera. It seemed they’d done some digging to ask the questions they were asking – when my business was registered, my mother’s name, etcetera.
At the last door, and the last security officer, after I passed his checks, he paused and looked at me strangely before allowing me in. “He doesn’t normally have visitors sent directly up here. I’m not sure what the procedure is. I suppose just go in and knock. His office is at the end.”
