Chapter 10: The Douchebag Will Rear Its Head at Any Moment

Octavia had found the key to survival. Every new arduous task Mr. Kentworth threw at her became an opportunity to flex her coding skills.

She almost began to look forward to the times his gruff voice ordered her into his office and then gave an extensive list of tasks for her to complete in an impossibly short time frame.

For instance, he wanted her to memorize the names, faces, and business profiles of all the shareholders in time for the regional shareholder meeting in a week.

So she took the information on each person and turned it into a trivia computer game.

If she answered a question right, little pixelated blocklike figures in a window at the bottom of her interface would advance against an army of pixelated trolls.

If she failed a question, some trolls would advance on her army and descend upon the soldiers, turning them into a pixelated pile of flesh and blood.

“Higher stakes make it more likely for me to remember,” Octavia said when she explained the premise of her game to Gracie one evening.

Gracie had raised an eyebrow.

“So in order for your army to not get ripped apart by the troll people, you have to remember what year Donovan Carter of Carter Enterprises purchased twenty-five percent of the stock in the cellular devices?”

Octavia nodded proudly. “That’s the idea.”

“You care more about your Minecraft minions than Carter’s profits, huh?”

“Without question,” was Octavia’s immediate response.

From then on, her job seemed to become easier. Soon, she was working on several programs to automate the most common requests she received from her boss.

The way she was going, she’d soon program herself out of a job. The thought was deeply satisfying.

Octavia mused over this while she stood in front of the small mirror in the shared bathroom of her apartment, staring at her reflection in the steamed surface of the glass.

She tightened the grip of the towel wrapped around her body before grabbing her toothbrush and squeezing a blob of toothpaste onto the green and blue bristles.

She had just started working on her lower left molars when her phone, set on top of the toilet tank a foot away from the sink, buzzed and jingled with an incoming call.

Octavia groaned and wiped her hands on the towel around her body, reaching for the phone. She let out an even deeper groan when she saw the phone number.

She reluctantly pressed the bright-green “answer call” button.

“Hello?” she said, only her mouth was still full of frothy, minty bubbles, so it came out more like, “Huh-fwo?”

“I need you to be at the Regency Hotel in exactly one hour,” Raemon’s brisk voice said through the phone.

Octavia spat the contents of her mouth into the sink as quietly as possible before answering in protest.

“I haven’t even left home. Who knows how long it will take me to get there? Besides, I don’t think any buses go to the Regency Hotel.”

“What the hell was that ungodly sound?” Raemon demanded.

“I’m brushing my teeth,” Octavia explained.

“In the future, spare me the experience of your daily ablutions,” came the curt reply.

“You probably shouldn’t call when I’m brushing my teeth, then. It’s not even seven a.m. yet, so technically, I’m off the clock,” Octavia replied complacently.

“Besides, would you rather I come into the office with the smell of last night’s pineapple pizza on my breath?”

“I also don’t need to know the particulars of your diet. Get to the Regency Hotel in one hour. You will be meeting Johan Schneider Klaus in the Venetian lounge and receiving confidential documents from him.

“You will bring them to my office immediately. I expect you to be here by nine a.m. sharp.”

Octavia frowned. “But, what if there’s traffic—?”

She was cut off by a sudden silence and the beeping of her phone, signaling the call’s end.

She sighed and placed the phone back on the toilet tank cover. “Just when you think the guy’s not so bad,” she grumbled.

Nevertheless, Octavia rushed through the rest of her “ablutions,” dashing out the door in ten minutes with her book bag slung over one arm and the other frantically doing up the last few buttons on the shirt she was wearing.

A white cotton shirt with a stiff collar tucked into her good jeans and her signature Converse was the outfit of the day.

As she climbed onto the creaky city bus that came nearest her house, she shrugged a light, orchid sweater over the shirt and straightened the collar to just peek out over the neckline of the sweater.

She was right—no bus went close enough to the Regency Hotel.

After reaching the main square and hopping onto the only bus that went near enough to the place, she hopped off thirty minutes later, glanced at her watch, swore, and then broke into a run down one street.

It was early, but there were still plenty of commuters she had to dip through and dash around as she made her way to the hotel.

Thus, even though a semi-put-together Octavia had left her house that morning, it was a sweaty, disheveled Octavia who barreled through the golden revolving doors of the Regency Hotel.

She bolted in the direction of the lounge before the man at the lobby desk could stop her to inquire about her business there.

Once in the lounge, she stood panting and looking around the area.

The dark-colored interior of the lounge was sparsely lit by the few warm-colored lights dotting the area, illuminating circular mahogany tables with ornate chairs perched around them.

The edges of the room were lined with encircled booths with deep-aquamarine upholstery.

Aside from a few of the waitstaff dressed in black uniforms weaving their way between the tables, it seemed like Octavia was the only other person in the lounge under thirty.

The few occupied seats were taken up by mostly older men in suits, hunched over laptops or having hushed conversations with their comrades over fancy breakfast spreads.

It was then that Octavia realized she had no idea who she was looking for.

~Shit!~ She thought. ~What was his name? Johan Schultz…Claude…something? Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? Yell out what I think is his name and see who responds?~

“Can I help you?” a deep voice asked beside her.

Octavia’s head flitted around, and for the second time in her life, she took in the sight of an incredibly gorgeous man.

He was tall and expensively dressed. Dark-black hair was swept over his scalp, cut, combed, and gelled to perfection.

Tanned, olive-toned skin stretched over a perfectly chiseled face with angular cheekbones and a firm, square jaw.

Lips that were curved into a slight smile sat beneath an aquiline nose and arresting eyes of piercing green.

The navy-blue suit he wore graced the broad expanse of his shoulders and fit precisely over his entire tall frame, the hem of his pants stopping just where they should at shiny black Italian leather shoes.

“You look lost,” the man said again when Octavia didn’t reply. The leather briefcase he carried in one hand shifted as he took a small step toward Octavia. “Is there somewhere I can point you to?”

Octavia shook her head. “No. Not somewhere. Someone. I’m supposed to meet someone here,” she said.

“Ah,” the man responded. “I suppose they haven’t arrived yet, then?”

Octavia shrugged. “They might have. I don’t know. I’ve never met the guy before.”

He gave her a questioning look. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m just supposed to meet him here for something. A little…business exchange you might call it,” Octavia replied, looking around the lounge once more.

“I see,” the man replied.

The implied meaning of Octavia’s words struck her, and her eyes shot back to the man’s face. The smile on his gorgeous face had widened.

“An actual business exchange,” she said hurriedly, “like, I’m just supposed to meet with him…and he’s just going to give me something, and then I leave.”

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Octavia realized that she had done nothing to help her case.

“It’s only a document!” she blurted. “That’s all he’s giving me!” Still overcome with mortification, she hastily added, “I’m not a hooker.”

The man let his amused smile transform into one of reassurance. “I figured. Who is he? I might know who he is. I stay at this hotel often and know many of the people here.”

Octavia inwardly sighed in relief, feeling that he was being sincere or hoping that he was.

“Johan…Schultz Claude…something. Or maybe it’s Schmidt?”

“Johan Schneider Klaus?” he said.

Octavia lit up. “Yes! That’s the name. Is he here?”

The man called out to a group of suit-and-ties not far away from where they were standing. One of the men looked up, one with a few straggly sand-colored hairs still clinging to his shiny scalp.

He appeared to recognize the man beside Octavia and quickly got up to walk to where they were.

When he reached the two of them, he gave the mystery man a warm handshake and began chattering away in a language Octavia thought sounded like German.

The gorgeous mystery man responded to Johan Schneider Klaus in the same language, eventually gesturing to Octavia who straightened up and tried to smile in a professional, non-prostitute way.

“Hello,” Octavia said, “I’m…Mr. Kentworth sent me? I’m from Icarus Tech,” she stammered, hoping she would be understood.

Johan Schneider Klaus’s eyes brightened, and he clasped Octavia’s hand, shaking it just as vigorously as he had the man next to her.

A string of German was coming out of his mouth, and Octavia could only keep her nervous smile plastered on her face.

Suddenly Johan patted Octavia’s hand and walked back to where he had been seated, picked something up from his seat, and returned to them.

He handed her a thick, large white envelope and once again reached for her hand, shook it vigorously three times while speaking more German, then turned to the man beside her to speak to him.

Eventually, Octavia realized he was preparing to leave as the group he had been sitting with had risen and were starting for the exit of the lounge.

He seemed to be saying his final goodbyes. He patted the man next to Octavia on the arm, gave Octavia a friendly nod, and walked away.

“Awfully friendly guy, especially to a perfect stranger,” Octavia said, slowly exhaling once he left.

“Generally not,” the man observed, “at least not in my experience. But Johan is an old client of mine.

“I helped him acquire the perfect luxury villa on the coasts of Spain a few months ago. It was an anniversary present for his wife.”

“He seemed nice to me. I don’t know him,” Octavia countered.

“I introduced you as my friend,” the man explained.

“Oh,” Octavia answered. She looked up into the mystery person’s electric green eyes. “So…that’s what you do? Buy villas for affluent businessmen to give to their wives as anniversary presents?”

He gave a short, soft laugh. “More or less. I’m in luxury real estate.”

“Well, thanks, luxury-real-estate guy. You saved me from having to make a scene by jumping on one of the tables and yelling, ‘Anyone here called Johan Schultz-something?’”

“I’m happy to save anyone in need of a rescue. And you can call me Lucas. Lucas Marino,” he answered. “Less of a mouthful than ‘luxury-real-estate guy.’”

“Lucas,” Octavia repeated, smiling. A thought crossed her mind and her smile faded. “Shit, I have no idea what Johan said. I hope it wasn’t anything important.”

“He asked you to tell your boss it’s been a pleasure working with him and he’d hopefully see him at the next robotics conference,” Lucas supplied.

“Damn, Mr. Marino,” Octavia replied with a grin. “If you weren’t already gainfully employed, I’d hire you as my assistant. You’re not looking to change fields, are you?”

Lucas gave her one of his heart-stopping smiles. Yes, his smile was heart-stopping. He was that gorgeous. Luckily, Octavia’s heart continued to beat, oblivious to the assault.

His reply did not reflect Octavia’s humorous tone. “Aren’t you?” Lucas Marino said slowly. “You said your boss is Mr. Kentworth. You must be Raemon’s assistant.”

A dark cloud descended on Octavia’s face. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

Lucas nodded understandingly. “Not the easiest man in the world to get along with.”

“You know him?” Octavia asked.

Lucas stared off past her as if remembering something from a long time ago. “I did. We were…friends once. Practically brothers.”

“I’m guessing that’s not the case anymore.”

Lucas gave her a strained smile. “No. But that’s all over now. How is he? Is he doing well?”

“Um…well, he’s alive,” Octavia answered slowly.

“Still tormenting everyone he comes across, I see,” Lucas observed.

Octavia shrugged and sighed. “What can I say? The man is trying to give Satan a run for his money.”

Lucas smirked. “He’s the same as he was back then. Just like in the old times.”

Octavia jolted. “Time!” she exclaimed, frantically whipping her head to look at her watch. She had a little less than a half an hour till 9 a.m.

“I gotta go,” she said hurriedly. “Thanks again, real-estate guy!”

Before Lucas Marino could reply, Octavia had darted away and was already running toward the hotel lobby entrance.

He watched her go, the same amused expression still lingering on his face. He was intrigued by the sweaty, disheveled assistant to Raemon Kentworth.

She was not the sort of person he’d expect to find at Raemon’s side. She hadn’t told him her name, but he vowed to find out. He wanted to know everything there was to know about this woman.