Chapter 5
More boxes rolled in Nala’s direction. With deft hands, she grabbed them before they piled into a mess. She plucked a pen out of her mouth and marked the arrival on her clipboard.
Great. More baby clothes. Granted, the donation center always needed more baby clothes to ferry out to the stores, but they were so gross to sift through, especially for minimum wage!
Most days, Nala didn’t have the patience to pick up used bibs and onesies, inspecting them for poop and spittle.
Half of them were like that. For some reason, frazzled parents thought it a great idea to donate their child’s soiled clothing.
“Soiled. Soiled. Clean.” She had to mutter under her breath, otherwise she would go insane.
She often worked all alone in the receiving room.
Two coworkers ran the donation counter and went through the bins in the neighborhood, but it was Nala who processed it all.
Some days that meant standing around and twiddling her thumbs.
Other days that meant working so fast that she wanted to pass out dead.
Yet it was Thursday. The day she was going downtown after work, to see Ms. Varen Lake in her techy office. They were going to discuss the business of faking a relationship to access Xan Ravenwood’s den of sin and spanking. Lots of spanking.
Nala didn’t dwell on that fact. They would discuss it that evening. First, she had to make it through another round of “Is this dirt or feces?”
Working at the donation center was better than the restaurant, if only because she didn’t have to deal with people.
Nala had never been a social girl. In grade school, she often got in trouble for not playing with other children.
In high school, she fucked off from group projects.
She didn’t even bother with college. Got a job doing clerical work for an auto parts store in the middle of Carson City.
That worked fine until she got the notice that her sister was dead.
Now she was in Portland, the land of a million baristas with Masters. Nala had to hustle her ass off to get twenty hours a week at minimum wage. No wonder she lived in an overpriced closet and lived off crackers and coffee. At least she didn’t have any debt!
Maybe that gal will buy me dinner. Varen wasn’t haughty, but she stank of money.
Tech money. Wasn’t that where all the money was now?
Nala didn’t care that Varen was mega-rich, but she did care that the woman might pay for things here and there.
Even at Nala’s angriest, there was a lot to be said for a full stomach and a free ride home.
“Hey, Nala.” One of her coworkers appeared in the doorway. “We’ve got a big truck coming in. Hope you wore your wrist braces.”
She glared at him. “Do I even want to know…”
“Looks like practice jerseys and cleats and shit. One of the community outreach programs got new ones and is donating these. Have fun.”
Nala dropped her clipboard on the rolling rack with a sigh. First baby shit, now the stank of athletes who forgot their deodorant. She really, really hoped Ms. App Lady bought her some dinner.
Still dressed in her jeans and blue work shirt, Nala ambled up a downtown sidewalk long after the sun began to set.
She looked at the address on the business card for Lake Technological Solutions and crosschecked it with a transit map standing firm in the commercial district.
The names of dead presidents went by with every block until she came to the guy whose wife saved some portrait of George Washington or something. That’s literally all I know about him.
The greeter behind the front counter looked at her with a stern face.
No wonder. Everyone else milling about the lobby was dressed in their Sunday best and chatting about stocks and Ducks and Timbers and mergers.
All the same around here. Nala slapped her handwritten appointment on the counter and hoped that her hair wasn’t too greasy.
She had washed it that morning, but sweaty athlete jerseys…
“Can I help you?” the elderly gentleman asked.
Yeah, kill Xan Ravenwood for me. “I’m here to see Varen Lake of the tech… thing.” Oops. “What floor is that on?”
The grizzly glare she received would unnerve the average woman.
She, however, was anything but average in that regard.
I once had a neighbor who could’ve been this guy’s brother.
Glared at everyone as if they had personally affronted him.
Nala’s mother said it had to do with families and KGB and some asshole named Gorbachev.
Come on, guy, tear down this wall between us and tell me what floor to go to!
Nala was about to turn to the video monitor displaying floor information when the man said, “Sixteenth floor.” He kept a careful eye on her as she walked toward the elevator. Dare you to call security. Yup. He was reaching for a phone.
No surprise when the elevator doors opened on the sixteenth floor and Nala was greeted by a young intern-y-looking guy in a department store suit. Although behind his desk, he looked as if he were expecting the young Miss Nazarov to announce she was there searching for a baby daddy.
“Hi. I have an appointment with your boss.”
Nala slapped the business card down again, Varen’s handwriting up.
“See? That’s her handwriting.” She looked up at the Lake Technological Solutions logo hanging on a wood wall.
Bold. White. Red asterisk behind the L. Nala sniffed and checked for her wallet out of habit.
Still in the back pocket. Aggressive panhandlers hadn’t whisked away with it yet. It’s the chain. She liked chains.
The man picked up the card. “Well…”
“It’s okay, Andrew.”
Nala looked to her left. There, standing in a nondescript doorway, was Varen. A very different-looking Varen from Tuesday night.
That Varen wore a suit meant for forty-year-old stockbrokers showing off their wares.
This Varen wore slender trousers, comfortable black shoes, and a burgundy button-down untucked over her pants.
A slim black belt with a simple gold buckle hugged her waist.
No tie. No perfect posture. She was the epitome of a laid-back tech professional.
Would be straight out of the Bay Area, but instead, she had those PNW sensibilities that made her dress dark and probably carry a huge black umbrella.
Nala’s eyes went straight to the delicate but bold silver watch on her wrist.
Mostly because Varen absentmindedly fussed with the clasp, like she had adjusted her cufflinks a dozen times the other night.
Every person has their tic. If that was the worst of them with Varen, then Nala considered herself lucky.
“Come on in, Nala. Andrew, hold any calls. I don’t want to be disturbed.”
Andrew looked between his finely dressed boss and the girl who looked like she had stepped out of a big box store staff room. Nala grinned at him before following Varen.
For a woman of many apparent means, Varen did not have grand tastes.
Quite subtle. Her desk had no drawers. Only a black, sturdy table boasting a powerful graphics machine, printer, and telephone.
The grandest piece of furniture was the office chair that looked like it hardly had any use.
Two leather chairs sat before the desk, one of which Nala sat in while taking in the stark cream-colored walls and the few photographs around.
There was one frame on the windowsill behind Varen.
Four pictures were sectioned off. One was a middle-aged woman who looked enough like Varen to be her mother.
A college graduation photo. An old, worn photo from Ellis Island.
A recent picture of a woman with big, frizzy hair and a smile that could light up the night sky. Sister? Varen said she didn’t have a girlfriend but, well, people lied.
“Sorry about the trouble.” Varen slumped into her chair and pushed the paperwork aside.
“I hate this building. Lots of old-style types. Even the interns who canvas here are… well, never mind. It’s convenient to the other offices we deal with, though, and the restaurant downstairs is pretty great. Do you want some coffee? I could get Andrew to bring us some.”
Nala shook her head. Her stomach growled, and she hoped to God Varen didn’t hear. She hadn’t eaten since her half of a turkey sandwich at lunch. I’ve lost ten pounds since moving here. Food was expensive.
“Anyway, I appreciate you taking the time to meet me. I honestly wasn’t sure if you would after Tuesday night.”
Nala suppressed an amused snort. “Why?” Like she had anything better to do?
Varen’s expression remained firm. God, you’re kinda scary. Like a robot. Or was that an android? Cyborg. “You seemed very put off by what happened at the club. I know what you said in the restaurant, but I thought maybe you would have second thoughts. About everything.”
Nala crossed her legs, dangling one foot in the air as she sucked in her cheeks and stared at her dirty fingernails. Dirt or feces? “I told you, Ms. Lake…”
“Call me Ven.”
She stopped mid-thought. “Fine. Ven.”
“Anyway…”
Nala fought to keep her eyebrows up. “Anyway, I recall telling you that I like that bastard about as much as I like passing a kidney stone. He and I have some serious unfinished business. Not that he knows me. I doubt he would even recognize my name. Look, I don’t want to get you in trouble,
but I’m telling you right now… you take me with you as your pretend girlfriend, and I may do something that reflects poorly on you.”
Palms turned inward into fists. Varen took a deep breath, her composure remaining, but the wheels turning so hard in her head that Nala heard those gears screaming. “Funny. I was going to tell you the same thing about me.”
They fell silent yet again. Secrets, secrets.
They were both keeping them from each other.
Nala preferred it that way. She didn’t want to share her conspiracies with a woman she barely trusted, and she sure as hell didn’t want to know her opinion on things.
As far as she was concerned, she was entering a type of non-romantic partnership, regardless of what they had to do to play up a fake romance.
“Seems like we both want to do something brash around that man.”
“Seems that way.”
Varen held Nala’s gaze for a few seconds before resolutely turning to a drawer.
She opened it, fished out a piece of paper, and slid it across the table to Nala.