Company - Max Barry [45]
“What? Oh, no, no. I'm over that.”
“Why, did you find something out?”
With heroic effort, Jones restrains himself from saying, Why do you say that? “No, not really. I just decided . . . you know, it doesn't really matter what the company does. I have my own job to do.”
“Oh-oh. They got to you, didn't they? Let me check your belly button.”
“What?”
Freddy laughs. “I'm just messing with you, Jones. It's good you're settling down.”
He intends to go directly back to Training Sales, but when the elevator doors open and there's nobody else inside, he decides to duck into level 13 and make some notes about his ideas. He swipes his ID card, presses 12 and 14 together, and watches the screen with his thumb resting on DOOR OPEN. The more he does this, the more fun it is. He jams the button at the right time: ding! Level 13!
The monitoring room contains four computers for agent use, so Jones logs in among the banks of TV monitors and opens up a new project file. Ten minutes later he is so lost in his thoughts that when Eve Jantiss breathes in his ear, “Interesting,” he jumps about a foot out of his chair.
“Whoa.” He laughs. “Don't do that.”
“Look at you,” Eve says. “All full of ideas. Daniel was right about you.”
“Thanks.” A grin surfaces on his face, which he is powerless to suppress.
She slides her butt onto the desk. Eve is dressed relatively formally today, wearing a gray skirt that goes below the knee. “Hey, let me ask you something. Are you free Thursday night?”
“For what?”
“We have a corporate suite at Safeco Field. Do you like baseball?” She smiles. “From that expression, I will assume yes.”
“Are we having a function?”
“No. I just thought you might want to go.”
“Okay. Sure. That'd be awesome.”
“I'll pick you up at six thirty. Barker Street?”
“You know where I live?”
“Jones,” she chides. “We know everything.” She stands and begins to walk away. Jones resists the urge to watch. Then she says, “Oh, Jones, one thing . . .”
He turns.
“Now you're working for Alpha, you can't intervene in Zephyr. You're an observer. That's it.”
“Yeah. I understand that.”
“You understand the concept. You don't understand the implications. When you realize the difference . . . don't do anything stupid, okay?”
On Wednesday Jones, Freddy, and Holly head to the café across the road, Donovan's, for lunch. This is Jones's third month at Zephyr and he's eaten here almost every day; so, too, it seems, has most of Zephyr. Beginning at noon each day a steady stream of suits gushes from the elevators and bubbles across the lobby; it momentarily pools at the sliding doors then bursts across the road, where it stands in line for bagels and sandwiches, and discusses corporate politics. Jones looks around at them, these workers from Communications and Finance and Compliance and Travel Services and Corporate Supplies, who are not exactly his co-workers so much as his test subjects.
“Did you guys notice Megan?” Holly says. “When we left, she was staring at Jones.”
Jones looks at her, unsure if she's joking. Freddy says, “Megan, really? That's weird.” He turns his attention to a row of sandwiches under glass.
“I saw her in the gym again this morning. She's really doing well.”
“You know, ever since they outsourced the morning snacks,” Freddy complains, “I'm hungrier at lunchtime. I think they must be less nutritious.”
“They'd better not be,” Holly says. “I'm on a controlled intake plan.”
“They cut out donuts,” Jones points out. “That's not less nutritious.”
Freddy says, “Oh God, can we not talk about donuts anymore? I get enough of this from Roger.”
“Roger can't still be obsessing over that donut,” Holly says uneasily. Freddy looks at her incredulously. “Anyway, that's done with. Wendell took Roger's donut, Wendell's gone.”
“Roger doesn't think Wendell took it,” Jones says, looking around for a table. “Now he thinks Elizabeth did. Hey, do you guys ever sit with people from other departments?”
Freddy and Holly look at him blankly. Freddy says, “That's not really how it works, Jones.”
“Says who?”
“It's just