A Gorgeous, Mysterious Stranger
brYS
Ipinch the bridge of my nose, wincing at the sharp throb of pain lancing through my skull just behind my eyes.
Blue blocking glasses dangling from my hand, I tune out the endless, divisive nattering of the board as they debate the pros and cons of our vice chairman's latest batshit crazy acquisition proposal.
I know he's my brother, but he's a real dumbass.
"Do you have any thoughts, Ms. Bennett?" Chairman Carmichael's voice cuts through the hubbub of cross-chatter.
"Yes, as in point of fact, I do." I toss my frames on the table in front of me with a clatter, pinning a glare on my useless, nepo-hire brother before scanning the now-silent members of my board.
"It's a ridiculous notion. That we have spent any time or thought even debating it at all should annoy each of you as it does me.
We are, primarily, a telecom R pronouncing my name brEEZE. "You don't have to be a bitch about it. It was just an idea. Jesus."
I let my gaze go icy. "You may leave now, Bryan. Thank you."
"But I—"
"You are here as a courtesy, Bryan. If Father's will had not forced my hand, you would not be here.
Bennett Development, Incorporated is my company.
I am the CEO. I am the one with degrees from Yale and MIT.
I am the one who was interning here before I got my first period.
" Several of the old white male board members shift uncomfortably at my statement, and I glare at them.
"Oh dear god, get over it, you crusty old dinosaurs.
Women have periods and I, in case you had not noticed, am a woman.
You will not burst into flames at the mention of my having menses.
" I return my gaze to my brother. "Bryan, you will not disrespect me in my own boardroom.
You will not curse at me. You will not speak to me with such familiarity and informality in this setting.
Here, I am not your sister. Here, Bryan, I am the CEO and president of the company you, nominally speaking, work for—as a junior board member.
Furthermore, and most importantly, you will not waste this body's time with cockamamie proposals which have less than zero merit, even if we were interested in investing in AI—which we are not, and likely never will be.
If you wish to invest in…" I put my glasses back on as I hunt for the name of the company in my notes—they're blue blockers and readers; I'm only thirty-six, but a lifetime spent peering and squinting at computer screens has left its mark on my vision already.
I find the name and look up at Bryan again.
“Acheron AI, Limited…then be my guest. With your own money, on your own time. Are we clear?"
Bryan, seething, only nods.
I arch an eyebrow at him. "You may go."
He shoots to his feet, sending his rolling chair rocketing backward so hard it dents the wall, and storms out, muttering who knows what under his breath.
When he's gone, I let out a breath and toss my glasses down once more. "Now. Do we have any other serious business to discuss before we bring our investors on screen?"
No one does, so I wave at Jeremiah, our techie; he begins looping in the investors and putting the teleconference on the main screen.
Several hours later, I kick the door to my office closed behind me, sighing in relief as I step out of my heels and shuck my blazer. Collapsing heavily into my chair, I cover my eyes with one hand and address the ceiling. "Coactum—reduce lights by sixty percent." Coh-ACT-um.
Coactum is the AI system—ironically enough—that operates the lighting, security, energy usage, phones, and networking in this building.
It's overseen by a team of humans; it's a collaborative effort with another R we merely realized we were better off as friends than lovers, so our romantic split was amicable enough that I do consider him still a friend.
"Anything is better than spending one more minute in this building, I suppose," I grumble. "I'll just pop home and change."
"Wonderful. Pritchard will pick you up outside your building at seven. Is that enough time? You'll have to meet us for drinks."
I glance at the time on the phone screen: 6:07 pm. "Barely, but yes. And Charles?" I pause, and he hums an interrogatory noise. "This is business. As friends. Yes?"
"Of course, Brys.” He pauses. Clears his throat. “As a matter of fact, my date, the one who canceled…we're, ah…actually rather serious. She came down with a stomach bug this afternoon."
"Does she know you've called me to replace her?"
"Of course she does," he says, chuckling. "What kind of an idiot do you take me for?"
"And she’s not jealous? That your ex is going with you instead?”
He sighs. "No, no. She knows your and my relationship is…erm…unique."
"As long as she doesn't show up here accusing me of trying to steal you from her," I say, only half joking.
"Shauna isn't like that, Brys. She's wonderful. You'd hate spending time with her, though. You'd say she lacks motivation and energy. But she balances me out. Keeps me calm. Anchors me."
“Honestly, Charles, she sounds perfect for you. We're far too much alike, you and I. For romantic partners, at least." I'm on my feet as I talk, gathering my things, stepping into my heels, and shrugging into my blazer.
"I think she is. Well, you'd better get going, Brys. And, ah, if I may?" A pause. "The one with the sparkly bits on the shoulder. The one that only has one sleeve, or whatever you call it."
“You're wearing your silver tie, I take it?"
"Indeed. With Grandfather's cufflinks and Father's Patek Philippe.”
"Got it," I answer, already mentally sorting out my shoes and other accessories to go with the dress he mentioned. "I'm off, now. See you shortly."
"Thanks, Brys, you're a real gem, you know?"
"I do, but thanks for telling me. Never hurts to hear it."