AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Can you stand?” he says.
“Why?” I ask as he pops to his feet, grinning down at me.
“I think a large burger is needed for this story.”
My stomach emits a loud grumbling noise as I look up at him. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. No wonder I’m feeling odd. I hate him paying for me, though—it makes me even more conscious of my self-destructing life—but today I know I’m going to let him feed me.
“How come I don’t give a damn about money?” I mumble into my new cup of coffee.
I can’t be with Janus and not compare his life to mine, and he hates this conversation. Oh, I could make some cash if I put my mind to it. The Russians would pay millions for some of the places I’ve hacked into and the documents I’ve seen. I’d be charged with treason, mind you, but even a little bit of industrial espionage could be extremely profitable. Maybe this South Africa thing I’m working on at the moment will turn up trumps.
Janus squats down again, laughing at my question. “Because you like your freedom?”
“I’m fed up working for the love of doing something.”
“If you want to be a wage slave, come and work for me. I’d employ you like a shot, you know that.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you short of money? You’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I wave my hand. I don’t want Janus to find out how close to the edge of collapse I live all the time. The trouble is I want to do my own interesting projects, not the stuff that pays me well. And he’s right: I do love the freedom of what I do.
3
Fabian
Aweek later, I’m outside Janus’s apartment building. Why was he so insistent that I come around for dinner tonight? I hope he hasn’t invited anyone I’m going to have to talk to: I’m a hermit. I read about tech stuff that no one in their right mind would be interested in. I have no small talk, no views on politics. I don’t even keep up with the news unless hacking reaches the front pages. Janus and Jo’s conversation about companies, however—now that is a joy to listen to, along with their good-natured bickering. The everyday chitchat that’s a million miles from my upbringing.
Maybe the incident at Janus’s office has led to this invite: He has a tendency to step into my life when he’s concerned. I push through the main door of the building, and the doorman lets me up in the elevator and then I’m down the dark-papered hallway, banging my fist on their metal door.
“Fucking trendies with your distressed industrial doors,” I shout. “At least the vandalism on my apartment door is real.”
Silence. Then feet shuffling on the other side. The door opens suddenly, and I take in the wide china-blue eyes and pink mouth of the woman standing there, as her hand flutters up to press against her chest. I shake my head, look at the number on the door, and then back at her, blinking. Her face relaxes as she holds out a hand.
“Hello, Mr. Adramovich,” she says. “You’re still alive.”
She looks amazing out of her doctor’s scrubs. The short blonde bob shines under the hall lights, and her eyes glint with mischief. A soft green dress is wrapped around an incredible body—she looks like a Greek goddess. Why oh why did I grab scruffy Levi’s and a barely clean tee from the pile on my floor? Oh yeah, I was coming to a friend’s house, and it didn’t matter. Fucking Janus—he might have warned me.
Like I summoned him, Janus appears behind her with a small frown, gaze flicking back and forth between us. He holds out a hand for the bottle of wine I’m carrying.
“You two have met?”
I shrug, and she raises an eyebrow at me as if to say, ‘Well?’ So, I turn to him and say, “The lovely doctor here treated me in the ER a few months ago.”
Janus makes a face at me, grabbing my arm as he pulls me into the warm apartment. The smell of spices and roasting meat curls around me, and my mouth waters. Today was another day of hours of coding and forgetting about food.
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me? Is there an ER staff member in New York you haven’t met?”
“Fuck off,” I say.
Janus wraps a friendly arm around my doctor, and I eye his hand on her shoulder. “Tell us how many times you’ve been admitted over the last six months?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Classified information, man.”
This is a terrible joke from college that has worn smooth over time like a pebble; if I’d taken enough illegal substances to be arrested, that was always my response.
She raises an eyebrow as she surveys me as if she’s asking for permission, and when I nod, she folds her arms and says, “The notes on the system said twelve times.”
And something about the slightly sanctimonious tone of her voice and the folded arms gets my back up. Is this woman with a stick up her ass really the same person I met in the ER?
I widen my eyes at her. “Dear God, is that all? That’s less than once every couple of weeks. I’m slipping. Becoming a square. I need to go on a proper bender; I wasn’t sick enough on the last one.”
