Page 8 of Private Exhibit
Devon checked the user list and found only two of the seven members logged in this time: himself andRogue. He clicked on the latter, opening a private chat window.
Voy(ag)eur: Hi.
Across the table, Oliver chuckled. A moment later, a reply appeared on the screen.
Rogue: Hi.
Devon grinned, minimizing the chat window. It would flash to alert him if Oliver sent him a message. He took another bite of his dinner and glanced at the task list.
Damn. Still nothing. Devon sighed. He desperately needed a distraction. And an income. Until and unless he got a new job,hacking on the side was his only way to make money. Devon eyed the user list again, notingGrimwasn't online.Huh.The mysterious man was almost always there. Maybe, with any luck, the next timeGrimappeared, he'd post a new job for them.
The moment Devon had that thought,Grim's username suddenly lit up as logged in. Devon barely had a second to register that fact before a new private chat window popped up on his screen.
Grim: Good. You're back home.
Devon frowned. That was weird.Grimhad specifically mentionedhome, notonline. How didGrimknow he'd gone out? Before Devon could ask, another message came through.
Grim: Have you checked your email yet?
Voy(ag)eur: No. Why?
Grim: Go check.
“Really weird,” Devon whispered. Still, he turned to another monitor and logged into his email.
He gasped at the sight of a new message from University Hospital. The subject line read,Invitation to interview. Devon moved to click on it so fast, he almost knocked his bowl off the table.
“Whoa there,” Oliver said with a laugh. “What's up?”
Devon didn't answer right away, too busy scanning the message with wide eyes. He jumped back over to the chatroom and sentGrima message.
Voy(ag)eur: How'd you know?
Grim: I know everything. ;)
Devon breathed a laugh. He thought he should be creeped out, but he wasn't. For whatever reason, he trustedGrim. They all did. He looked back at the email and read it again.
“Holy shit,” Devon gasped.
“What?”
Devon tore his gaze away from the screen and looked at Oliver instead. “I got an interview!”
“Yus!” Oliver cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “Where at?”
“U.H.”
“Whoa. Doing what?”
Devon paused. “Morgue Assistant.”
Oliver blinked. “Seriously?” He stared at Devon between their monitors. “You sure you're up for that?”
Devon shrugged. “I needsomething. I'm running out of restaurants to get fired from.”
“Yeah, but…” Oliver trailed off and shuddered.
“It sounds like it's all data entry,” Devon explained. “Like, I wouldn't have to actually work in the morgue itself. Just the office.”
