When I asked Steven what was inside the room he shrugged non-committedly and said, “Data storage.”
Because of the intimate office environment, with only eighteen co-workers, I met almost everyone by my second day. I counted Quinn in the total even though I didn’t know what his role was as of yet and even though I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the Saturday before I was hired. Eight of the eighteen were accountants and either had my title of Senior Fiscal Project Coordinator or were titled just plain Fiscal Project Coordinator.
In addition to Carlos there was only one other director in the office, Director of Human Resources, and she didn’t seem to have any staff other than her administrative assistant. The rest of the group comprised of Keira- the receptionist and something of a telephone operator- one desktop support guy named Joe, two computer programmers, and another administrative assistant named Betty who I never spoke to but did see every so often when she walked by my office.
Betty worked for the company CEO, who also happened to be the CIO, CFO, and COO but everyone just called him ‘the Boss’.
It became clear to me that Betty and the Boss- or, as Steven called them, B&B- didn’t interact much with the rest of the staff. The Boss, it seemed, didn’t come into the office much. No one appeared to be surprised by his absence the entire first week or the second week of my employment so I didn’t actually meet him.
Betty was very stylish; maybe in her mid-sixties. She had steel grey hair, black eyes, and wore Barbara Bush pearls every day with a tailored skirt-suit. She didn’t come across as unfriendly; she just seemed really, really busy.
My Quinn-happenstance occurred on the Wednesday of my second week at Cypher Systems.
I noticed that I’d never seen Betty leave the office. She was there when I arrived, no matter how early, and she was still there when I left, no matter how late. Betty’s perpetual busyness prompted me to offer to pick her up lunch. I think I confused her at first because she repeated the word ‘lunch’ several times, as though it were a mythical thing she’d heard of in a bedtime story long ago.
Finally, with a plainly grateful smile she accepted the offer, requesting a vegetable soup, side salad, and giant oatmeal cookie from a deli called ‘Smith’s Take-Away and Grocery.’ It was a well-known deli, minimal grocery, and sandwich shop just one street over from our building.
I left early so I could eat out and still return before noon. The deli had a few tables, all along a far wall. I was sitting at the corner table re-reading one of my favorite comics, an anthology of a series, a bound paperback of an entire story.
When most people think of comic books they recall the small pamphlet style where there are only a few pages and, at the beginning of each pamphlet, the story picks up where it left off and ends with a to be continued. The larger, paperback bound anthologies are like watching an entire season of a TV show via Netflix or Amazon watch instantly. You get the entire series and can gorge yourself on the graphic novel in one epic sitting.
I loaned the anthology to one of the kids I tutored and he’d just returned it to me last week. Over the past two years tutoring I’d become something of a comic book lending library for the kids. I didn’t mind; they took excellent care of them and loved to discuss the story after they were done.
My thumb moved back and forth over the place where I’d torn the cover several years ago, my legs were curled under me, and I was just getting to the part where the really bad guy is just about to kidnap the good guy’s best girl when I heard a voice immediately to my left.
“What are you reading?”
I stiffened, my heart leaping, and automatically turned toward the voice; I found Quinn looking down at me, his expression guarded and neutral except his eyes. His eyes always seemed to be a shade of up-to-no-good blue. I struggled to make sense of his presence and blinked at him several times.
Acutely, I became aware my mouth was hanging open. I snapped it shut and looked away, habitually running a hand over my hair. It was pulled into a severe bun and seemed to be on its best behavior, which was more than I could say for any other part of my body.
I cleared my throat and showed him the cover of my book, glancing at him again. I noted that he wasn’t wearing a security guard uniform. Rather, he was dressed in a very nice wool grey suit, white shirt, and grey tie with threads of blue silk. If we were in Victorian England I would have called him dashing; but, since we lived in the 21st century I would have to settle for the wordier GQ model hot.
“Hm…” He craned his neck and leaned closer to read the cover then straightened, his expression impassive. His eyes skimmed over my face, “You read comics?”