GoodReadDorothy nodded with a hint of resolve, "Alright, I'll be back in a jiffy." She slipped into something more comfortable and headed out, making her way to Quincy's office. She found the door ajar, yet the room was devoid of life.
"She’s probably using the bathroom or got caught up in some urgent matter before coming back," she figured.
Dorothy didn't leave. She stood by the door, waiting, when her phone began to buzz.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtShe expected it was Karen, but instead, it was an unfamiliar number.
A call from back home.
Worried it might be the kids in some kind of trouble, she answered promptly.
The voice on the other end was tinged with impatience and a youthful edge, sounding like a high school student, "Hey, how old is this surveillance footage on your flash drive?" It was Byte 7.
"Quite old," Dorothy whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was listening, "Are you having trouble with the restoration?" The last thing she wanted was for Byte 7 to hit a dead end.
"Of course, it's a royal pain. You didn't think to mention that earlier?" Byte 7's tone carried the eternal irritability of someone who's perpetually sleep-deprived, "You round up the rest of my fee yet?" His sudden pivot to money caught Dorothy off-guard, "I'm working on it! Can you recover the data sooner?" "Nope! It's a real headache!" Then what's the point of this call? She was confused.
"Stop trying to scrape together the cash. Just be my girl for a week, and we're even.” He wouldn't lay his fingers on any girls, so being chosen by him was a privilege.
Byte 7 could sense she was hell-bent on gathering the funds, and his pride was taking a hit. He thought any girl in her right mind would jump at such an offer, even pretend to be short on cash if they weren't! But this girl was actually trying.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏm"I can get the money," Dorothy assured him earnestly.
She had done the math; selling all her stocks, bonds, and maybe a piece of real estate would get her close enough. And for the shortfall, a bank loan or a few credit cards would cover the rest.
"Suit yourself," Byte 7 grumbled and hung up.
Dorothy stared at her phone, conjuring up an image of Byte 7 on the other end: brows furrowed, exuding an air of indifference to the world.
A pale, prideful, brash teen — that was all she knew of Byte 7.
"Ms. Sanchez?" Quincy's voice pulled Dorothy from her thoughts. She saw Dorothy standing there when she came back.
Dorothy looked up and smiled, "Dr. Quincy, you're back." "Yeah, come in," Quincy gestured while she put her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. The high ponytail she tied gave her a youthful, innocent look, "What's up?" "Everett sent me to ask when he can take a shower.” "Oh, him... He can't shower just yet. Keep wiping him down for now," Quincy paused, then glanced at her, "I forgot that Mr. Lopez is a bit of a neat freak. He didn't refuse your help, did he?" "No, I'm allowed," Dorothy was aware of Everett's peculiarities, but he hadn't resisted her assistance, "He just wants to shower on his own, feels better that way." Quincy smirked, recalling Everett's expression when she wanted to give him a helping hand. He acted as if touching any other woman would be the end of him.
"So Mr. Lopez's neat freak is selective!" Noticing Quincy's slightly furrowed brow, Dorothy quickly added, "Did he do something to upset you? Don't hold it against him, | swear his neat freak is quite severe!" Dorothy knew Everett all too well; she anticipated that upon regaining consciousness, he would indeed coldly decline any other woman's touch.
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