Page 120 of Fractured Future
“You don’t report back to Warner? Or senior management?”
“All I provide is a stamp of approval that clears you for duty. Why I give that approval, or perhaps rescind it, remains my business alone.”
Mistrust curdles inside me, but I can feel it morphing into defeat. I won’t get past him. Not without giving him something to dissect. If I can give just enough to placate him, perhaps I’ll pass his tests.
“So...” Richards picks his tea back up to continue sipping. “We have forty-five minutes. Use them as you see fit.”
Resolving to play along with his charade, I talk a little about my old life. The studio. My regular clients. How close Tom and I were, growing up with a chronically ill parent.
Richards listens intently, opting not to take notes. By the time his cup is empty and my throat aches from talking, we’ve ran over the allotted forty-five minutes.
“Friday morning.” He unfolds his legs then stands. “Nine o’clock every week, Ember. I need prior notice and a damn good reason if you’re going to miss a session.”
“I’m not sure forced therapy is particularly ethical.”
“Who said anything about therapy?” Richards flashes me another cooky smile. “I’m just a listening ear, giving you an outlet for all those pesky feelings. That’s all.”
“Does that mean you’ll clear me to join the team?”
He tucks his stack of files under his arm. “You may commence training.”
“Thank you, doc.”
“Remember the deal, Ember. Weekly meetings. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.” Richards fishes a business card from his jacket to hand over. “You’re to contact me if anything comes up.”
Taking the embossed card with no intention to save the number, I fold it in my hand. “Sure.”
“Then you’re free to leave.”
Richards’s stare follows me out of the interview room. I slam the door closed to escape him, slumping against it and sucking in several gulps of air.
The old man has a way of getting under my skin. I went in anticipating a fight, so his careful words and quiet observation were unexpected. I need to watch myself around him.
“Dimples!”
“Axel?”
Straightening from his perch against the wall, Axel bounces over to me. With his usual ripped jeans in place, he wears a typically colourful t-shirt displaying another crazy slogan.
“Disguised as a responsible adult?” I read aloud.
“Do you like it?”
“Well, it’s better than the pizza shirt at least.”
Yanking me away from the closed door, I’m dragged into a bone-creaking hug. Tattooed muscles smash into me from the force of the collision.
“You’ve been gone for hours!” he whines dramatically.
“You know, evaluations and stuff.”
Axel slowly releases me. “How’d it go?”
“I’ve been cleared to commence training. Clean bill of health.”
Fist pumping the air, he beams brightly. “Then that’s cause for celebration. Wanna get food?”
“Um… sure? What time is it?”
