“What is the point of working here if we can’t do anything?”
“James, listen.” She paused; the eye above needed misdirection. Her hand found his knee, fingers tracing small circles. He froze. Was a banked fantasy in play? If Tom from accounts walked in, he’d die.
“You know we can’t talk like that in the office.” Her gaze locked in his, pupils narrowing to pinpoints drilling through his skull. “But do you know what I would like?” She leaned in, teeth grazing her lower lip, fingertips tracing a deliberate path north.
“What?” He stammered, blood rushing south, jeans tightening.
Her eyes flickered as he inadvertently directed them with his. The corner of her mouth curling her tongue into a whisper. "Easy there, tiger. How about you buy me a drink first?" Lips moving promisingly into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He logged it. “Maybe we should invite Tom?” Her eyes rolled toward accounting, and her head remained perfectly still. Abruptly, she swivelled back to her keyboard, pounding furiously, leaving him conspicuously staring at the back of her head, missing the smile that started to take root as his mind slipped into a trance of fantasization of workplace fraternisation with her and Tom.
Had she read him so easily? He wouldn’t have put it past the agency to hire empaths. Anything for an edge. Psychic PsyOps was a growing field. Like paranoia. Had she been dream scraping him?
James froze, lost in space, his body betraying him. Trance broken only by the shrill of the phone on his desk. He fumbled for the receiver. "Hello?" He croaked; his throat was sandpaper.
“Mr Wilcock, can you come to the Human Resources office right away, please?”
Fuck, shit, fuck, he thought.
“Yeah, sure, erm.” He stumbled. What the fuck did that mean? Heart pounding in his throat.
“Unless you’re too busy staring at the back of Miss Chambers’ neck?”
Fuck. What? He couldn’t think. Fuck, shit, fuck, what? He could feel the heat rising in his torso. Thoughts jammed and crumpled on the floor.
“Erm, no, no. Sorry, what?” Came his breathless reply.
“Just come into the office, please Mr. Wilcock. If you can walk.”
The voice carried an undercurrent of amusement, savouring a joke at his expense. The satisfaction of a predator having fun knowing its prey has nowhere to run.
“What?”
“We will see you in 5.” The line went dead. He stared at the receiver. Stomach clenching. What did they know? His mind traced through every infraction. Could they also read desire in daydreams? Or were the vultures circling the hack?
James felt eyes burrowing into the back of his neck as he snuck in plain sight into the bathroom.
His pores sucked in the cold water like they were dying of thirst. Droplets clinging for life in two days' shadow before being consumed by their vacuum.
Fingers numb, fumbling with his tie, tugging the noose tighter in self-deprecating anger. The mirror only confirms panic—the hollow-eyed shadows pooling beneath bloodshot spheres.
He tapped the door to Human Resources with a lightness that indicated trepidation, bringing with it the utility of a thousand excuses no answer would afford him. That was until he realised himself in the reflection of the smart glass, providing anonymity for the occupants to calibrate for their coming interaction. A privilege for him it did not afford.
“Come in Mr. Wilcock.” A disembodied voice called from within. The door swung open before his hand could retreat. James stepped gingerly inside, feeling the presence at his back. His peripheral cataloging the giant in charcoal, closing the door, who took a seat behind him, blocking the exit. James tensed up as he slowly took a seat opposite the head of HR. Hyper aware of eyes tracking every micro movement, causing them to become less than natural, altered by observation and nervousness.
Davernport's gaze lingered just below James' belt buckle. "Bathroom visits must be quite the challenge in your... current state." They tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, tongue briefly moistening their lower lip. A soft chuckle behind James prompted Davernport's mouth to curl at one corner. James fought the urge to turn to this shadow as the hair on his neck stood to attention.
“Sorry, Davernport, but what is this about?”
“James, James. Why does it need to be about anything?”
The room began to shrink.
“Well, I have work to do..and..”
“And what, James? You need to go back to fantasising more like it. James. We just want to have a chat. You know.” They paused, a slight glance to the person behind him followed by a wry smile. “Just touch base with our employees. Make sure everything is okay.”
James squirmed in the chair, his collar grew damp, and each heartbeat sent a shock wave of anxiety through his limbs. The room's edge blurring as thoughts scattered like sand birds.
“Everything’s fine, why wouldn’t it be?” Was all he could muster.
“You tell me, James. You’ve seemed rather distracted lately.”
His body coiled tighter in the chair, tendons straining against his skin like wires about to snap. “Have I. How so? Has Lionel said anything?”
“Lionel?” Davernport's expression clouded with momentary confusion. From behind James, a deliberate throat-clearing—the unmistakable sound of someone sending a signal.
The weighted silence that followed told all. “Oh yes, sorry. Your line manager, well, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.” Lips curling into a smile that didn't quite reach the predatory gleam in their eye. James felt his throat collapse.
“What happened to Lionel?”
“Let’s not worry about Lionel, shall we. As every door closes and all that. And James, we will be looking for his replacement.”
“Replacement?”
“Yes, James. Please try to keep up. Your IPC scores suggested you would be quicker than this.”
“Sorry?”
“Don’t be, it’s a personality flaw.”
“Are you asking me to replace Lionel?”
Davernport's face contorted with mirth, a harsh bark of laughter escaping their guts before dissolving into an undignified snort. Behind James, a low chuckle rippled through the tension like distant thunder hanging around in smokeless bars. James felt uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” Davernport said, pressing their knuckles against their nostrils for composure. “Sorry, how unprofessional of me.” They struggled in their attempt to regain it.. “No, James, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re not quite there yet.”
“But I am in the running?” Despite his mind spinning in a cartwheel of neuropeptides screaming out for relevance in a field of despondent receptors, he was riddled with guilt for desiring his mentor's life.
“You’re not out of it, James, that is all I can say. For now, you will be reporting to me.”
“To you?” He blurted involuntarily.
“Yes, James, is that a problem?” They responded sharply.
“No, no sorry. I was just a little surprised. You just don’t really know what we do..” he regretted the words as they shot out of his mouth.
“I know enough.” Came the sharp reply. “But of course” their tone softened with patronising playfulness “it will only be temporary. We can’t have the head of HR in control of digital influence now, can we?” A flirtatious face of fake innocence flashed their truth.
“Well..so I should consider applying….”
"James. James." His name drips with condescension in their mouth. He bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing the acid of irritation as the realisation of his entrapment set in. “As I say, we are not there yet. What I need from you is a little bit more focus on your work and a little less office fraternisation.”
“What?” He felt their invasion shoot right up his spine. “I am sorry. What do you mean?” Anger flashing in his teeth.
“James is flirting with young Davina there and fantasising about some wild threesome with her and Tom…”
“I beg your pardon, what? What are you saying?”
“James, what I am saying is.” They straightened and shifted to a position indicating authority, uncrossing their legs in the process. James' eyes darted downward involuntarily. When he looked up, Davernport was watching him with a thin smile that made his face burn. “What I am saying is, is that you need to keep your mind on the work, and not the bodies in the office.” He could have sworn they gave a little wink as they wet their bottom lip.”Let me remind you that any fraternisation between colleagues outside the office is highly frowned upon and discouraged.”
‘What about in the office?’ James thought, but opted for “Discouraged but not illegal?” Regretting the words even as they slipped past his lips.
“No, James, not illegal, not yet.” They let the silence hang in the air like a guillotine, watching James' brow furrow and his eyes dart nervously from side to side. Were they pursing their lips? “James, as I said, fraternisation outside the office is highly frowned upon, and if you are to be considered for this management position, we would consider that you understand that when we say frowned upon, we mean, we expect it not to happen.” Their tone was firm and final. “In or out of the office.”
“Okay, okay. I understand, I don’t get it. But I understand, I need to not have any work friends out of the office.” Was everyone a fricken mind reader?
“Or fantasies of what you would like to do with them in the office. James, with power comes responsibility. But like I say, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
He reeled at the invasion. Could they possibly know what he'd imagined? The question must have shown on his face because Davernport's eyes narrowed slightly before cutting him off. “Now, James. I will be keeping an eye on you. You have great potential, but you need some work. I won’t rush into a decision here. For now, you can leave and get on with your job.”
Confused, James just sat there. “James. That means get up and go back to your desk. I am sure you have a lot to catch up on.”
James stood, legs unsteady. Tinnitus is screaming for attention. Damp rising from within. He glanced into the darkness behind at the large figure sitting by the door, face obscured in shadow, only lit up by the drag of an e-cigarette. James smelled strawberries and had a craving for doughnuts. Sugar sounded good, punch-drunk, he moved to the door. Warily keeping the man in his periphery. His hands are slipping on the handle.
Davenport's voice cut through the silence. “Oh, and James, I may ask you to carry out some tasks above your current pay grade in the next few weeks. A kind of test if you will. Don’t disappoint.” They said while looking at their monitor.
Davina’s face wore a question mark as he returned. His head gave an almost imperceptible shake as she turned back to her computer. Transfixed as she gave nervous glances towards HR, something about the smart opaque barrier made a chill crawl down her spine like a black widow. Static energy made it hard to type. She would cleave it out of him later, after a couple of pints. That family feeling of the past seemed lost forever, leaving the old bitter taste of divorce. She hated it. She hated that Smart ‘stupid’ HR Office; its doors were “always open” while its blinds were permanently closed.
It wasn't The Nudge Factory. The logo might still emblazon the building, but vultures had torn out its soul. The carcasses of old office relationships were pecked through to leave the skeleton of a supporting cast. Hollowed out and crawling with maggots. Nostalgia turned to nausea as she remembered Marco’s Friday flirting with staff while talking about making the world a better place “one nudge at a time”, and secretly aligning himself with the current government’s right-wing propaganda machine. She hated what it had become. She hated herself because of it. They were the best at what they did, and now every headline and policy change had their fingerprints all over it. Nudge turning to shove as the country leaned precariously over the precipice.
James’ skin crawled as the hair on his neck stood as a signal of observation from an outside source. He moved quickly to the coffee machine and, with speed of familiarity, took out cups and chatted idly about nothing with Tom from accounts as he moved through the motions. Blushing as he remembered his image from the morning's shower, he lost himself in the flow of the moment. Turning quickly with the cups but by luck without spilling, he returned to the cubicle, expertly placing a note under Davina’s cup with the subtlety of a true mentalist. His pulse bulged out through his shirt collar despite the innocence of the interaction.
