Chapter 19: It’s Possible to be on Civil Terms with a Deplorable Ass

“Mr. Kentworth asked you to meet him at the Sylvan Grove in an hour,” Adelaide said to Octavia.

Octavia looked up from her computer.

“What for?” she asked.

Adelaide sighed in exasperation. “I’m sure you’ll find out once you get there. It’s probably a meeting with a new client.”

“The Sylvan Grove, you said?” Octavia asked. “Isn’t that some bougie restaurant in the mega-rich-people part of town?”

Adelaide turned her nose up at Octavia. “It’s an upscale dining experience for people with sophisticated, cultured tastes.”

Octavia made a face. “Meaning it’s probably some pretentious establishment with meager servings of under-seasoned, exorbitantly priced, poor excuses for food.”

Adelaide sneered at her. “Just get there in an hour.” She turned away and walked off, the sound of her clicking heels following her out of the suite.

Octavia grinned to herself once Adelaide had left. She’d found a strange sort of satisfaction from annoying her boss’s secretary. Octavia didn’t hate Adelaide.

She couldn’t help but feel respect for anyone who had survived working for Raemon Kentworth as long as Adelaide had without resorting to alcoholism or something.

In all seriousness, Octavia admired Adelaide’s fortitude. But it was still fun to push the woman’s buttons.

The request was strange, though. For the past few weeks, she and Raemon had continued to work together as they always had. He gave her a command; she completed it.

He had refrained from the constant insults, and she had likewise put a halt on her countering sarcasm. Both of their behaviors were nothing but professional.

Still, she could tell there was a strain between them. She’d dealt her cards after he dealt his. Now they were at something of an impasse.

It was as if both of them were waiting to see what the other would do. Octavia was on the alert for his retaliation.

But from the look of things, he might have been looking out to see if she would act too. It was as if he suspected her of secretly cooking up some other outlandish scheme to hit him with.

She wondered if that was what he thought. How silly. She had only done what she had to do to protect herself. She wasn’t interested in ruining him.

Still, she was proud of herself. When she’d left work that day of their confrontation, she immediately went to Gracie’s store where she found her just closing up the shop for the night.

“It worked!” she exclaimed triumphantly, giving Gracie a high five.

“Of course, it did,” Gracie said coolly.

Without words, they had made a pact to not say anything about the previous night’s activities.

Gracie and Octavia had met up after they both got off work and taken the train downtown, traveling past the busy metropolitan area to the dirtier, littered, cramped, and dilapidated part of the city.

An hour later, they’d arrived at a decaying game arcade called The Stinker. The place was filled with all kinds of dusty equipment alight with flashing bulbs and blurry screens.

Gracie had led Octavia through the crowd of twenty-something-year-olds, all looking like they were trying to find themselves, to the very back of the building where she introduced her to a heavily tattooed guy dressed in black.

Gracie introduced him as Razor Eye.

After a short, hushed conversation with Gracie, Razor Eye (whose eyes were actually lined with black eyeliner not razors) led them to yet another room.

The room was dark except for the light coming from rows of blinking servers and several computer screens.

Razor Eye pointed them toward the screens, stuck his hands into the pockets of his leather pants, and walked off. Octavia made a comment about Razor Eye’s stellar customer service.

Then Octavia sat down at one of the screens and put her fingers to the smudged keyboard before it. As soon as her fingertips touched the keys, she was gone.

She fell into a wormhole of coding while Gracie sat beside her, occasionally offering advice. It was nearly five a.m. before they were done.

They left The Stinker, and Gracie said a quick goodbye to Razor Eye.

They walked out of the place, leaving the last few straggling gamers still hunched over the archaic gaming equipment, no sign of planning to stop or any indication that they were closer to claiming their lost identities.

After the hacking debacle, Octavia and Gracie rewarded themselves with milkshakes, and Octavia went about her work life as usual.

All was calm between Octavia and Raemon, or so it seemed.

The order to meet Raemon at the restaurant was the first of its kind in the past few days.

Octavia grumbled to herself as she got out of the taxi, struggling to keep the laptop and several folders she had piled in her hands from tumbling to the ground.

The seating host at the ostentatious entrance of the restaurant looked Octavia up and down and made the smallest effort at disguising his disdain as he politely requested her name.

“Octavia Wilde,” she said while readjusting the strap of her book bag that was sliding down her arm. “I’m here to meet with my boss—Kentworth. Raemon Kentworth.”

The host exchanged some of his disdain for surprise. “Oh. It’s you. This way please.”

Octavia wondered what he meant by that but followed him in anyway. To her surprise, once she stepped through the closeted foyer into the restaurant interior, the entire place was empty.

Chairs were arranged around tables in a precise fashion, and the soft lights from the wall sconces were infecting the air with a romantic atmosphere.

The host led her through the maze of tables to a secluded area in the back where a large table enclosed by vine-shaped sculptures was set. Then she saw him.

“Ms. Octavia Wilde, sir,” the host said as if it were his greatest pleasure to present her to Mr. Raemon Kentworth.

“Yeah, duh. He knows who I am,” Octavia said, slightly irritated by his pretentiousness and still struggling under the weight of all the things she was carrying.

“Is it too much to ask you to relieve the young woman of what she carries?” Raemon Kentworth asked, an implied command hidden in his question.

“Of course!” the host said, nearly tripping over himself in a mad dash to snatch everything from Octavia’s arms.

Raemon, who was standing then, gestured to a seat on one side of the table.

Octavia approached the chair, and as she did, a waiter dressed in black and dark-red velvet came forward and pulled the chair out for her.

Raemon waved a hand to the waiter. “We’ll start with the appetizers,” he said.