Company - Max Barry [112]
Today they are from a whole range of companies, and their name tags glimmer as they press in from three sides. He gets the usual questions—asked while eyes flick over his body for some sign of the injuries—and delivers his standard answers, which elicit mass groans of sympathy and exhalations of disgust. Then a woman at the back says, “Steve, I have a question. How do you sleep at night, knowing you caused all those people to be hurt?”
All eyes swivel to her. When he finds his voice, Jones says, “Hello, Eve.”
“I was going to come up before you went on,” she says, clacking her way down the corridor. She's carrying a long black coat and wearing a thin gray skirt so narrow it's amazing she can walk, yet is somehow having no trouble keeping pace with him. “But then I thought, no, I don't want you changing it because I'm there. I want the full Steve Jones experience.”
“I thought you moved to New York,” he says. They arrive at his little dressing room and he begins packing up his things.
“I flew back just to see this. You must know why.” Her eyes search his. She looks, Jones has to admit, stunning. Her hair bounces; her skin glows; you wouldn't think that four months ago she was in traction.
“I have no idea.”
“I'm on the speaking circuit, too. I'm doing the exact same thing as you, only in Manhattan.” One corner of her mouth curves. “Well, maybe not the exact same thing. There may be certain details we don't agree on. But it's the same basic take-home message: ‘Don't piss your workers off so much that they bust into your office and beat the crap out of you.'” She laughs. “Oh, also, I charge more.”
Jones stops packing. “You are speaking about ethics?”
“At the end of the talk, when I tell them about the riot, we turn the main lights off so it's just me on a stool in a spotlight. It's so quiet, nobody even breathes. Then I'm done and the regular lights come back up, and I see this ocean of shocked faces. It's like their worst nightmare. It's like the most appalling thing they've ever heard.”
After a second, Jones laughs. “I don't know why I'm surprised.”
She's watching him carefully. “Are you pissed?”
He considers. “What you're doing now is not really relevant to me.”
Her lips press together. “How about Blake, then? He's selling cars now. Nice ones,” she adds, to Jones's expression. “If you want a good deal on a Merc, call him.” She tilts her head. “Or maybe not. Then there's Klausman; he retired. Moved to northern California, I think. I haven't heard from him since we beat the class action.”
“How much did that cost? Just out of interest. I heard you had about a dozen lawyers.”
“Look, Alpha did nothing illegal. I kept trying to tell you that. The only thing we were guilty of was giving those people jobs.”
“Fake jobs.”
“There's no requirement that jobs be meaningful, Jones. If there was, half the country would be unemployed. That's why we won the case.”
He zips up his bag. “Well, I'm glad to hear you're all doing so swell. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm meeting Freddy and Holly.”
Eve's eyebrows shoot up. “Don't tell me they forgave you. Wow. I wouldn't have. But then, I guess Freddy and Holly didn't end up in a hospital.” For a moment, her face twists. Then she smiles. “But! I did get a free nose job out of it. What do you think?”
“I was wondering what was different.” He hefts his bag. “Okay, I have to go.”
When he reaches the door, Eve says, “You know, I tried to get in touch with you.”
He looks at her. “I know.”
There's a silence, during which Eve seems to be waiting for Jones to say something. When he doesn't, she lets out a laugh. “To be honest, I had an ulterior motive for coming out here. I wanted to see how I would feel about you.” Her eyes flick between his. “To see whether I wanted to kill you or . . . not.” Again Jones says nothing. “Want to know which it is?”
“Not really.”
“Oh, come on. I know you still think about me. I think about you.”
Jones says,