I follow Max and Anderson over to a crescent-shaped desk that looks more like a command center. Papers are stacked on one side of the steel top, screens flickering above. More pens are stuffed into a chipped coffee mug sitting atop a thick book.
A book.
I haven’t seen a relic like that in a long time.
Max takes his seat. He gestures at a stool tucked under a nearby table, and Anderson shakes his head.
I continue to stand.
“All right, then, go on,” Max says, his eyes flickering in my direction. “You said there was a problem.”
Anderson looks suddenly uncomfortable. He says nothing for so long that, eventually, Max smiles.
“Out with it,” Max says, gesturing with his pen. “What did you do wrong this time?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Anderson says sharply.
Then he frowns. “I don’t think so, anyway.”
“Then what is it?”
Anderson takes a deep breath. Finally: “She says that she’s . . . attracted to me.”
Max’s eyes widen. He glances from Anderson to me and then back again. And then, suddenly—
He laughs.
My face heats. I stare straight ahead, studying the strange equipment stacked on shelves against the far wall.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Max scribbling in a notepad. All this modern technology, but he still seems to enjoy writing by hand. The observation strikes me as odd. I file the information away, not really understanding why.
“Fascinating,” Max says, still smiling. He gives his head a quick shake. “Makes perfect sense, of course.”
“I’m glad you think this is funny,” Anderson says, visibly irritated. “But I don’t like it.”
Max laughs again. He leans back in his chair, his legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles. He’s clearly intrigued—excited, even—by the development, and it’s causing his earlier iciness to thaw. He bites down on the pen cap, considering Anderson. There’s a glint in his eye.
“Do mine eyes deceive me,” he says, “or does the great Paris Anderson admit to having a conscience? Or perhaps: a sense of morality?”
“You know better than anyone that I’ve never owned either, so I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what it feels like.”
“Touché.”
“Anyway—”
“I’m sorry,” Max says, his smile widening. “But I need another moment with this revelation. Can you blame me for being fascinated? Considering the uncontested fact of your being one of the most depraved human beings I’ve ever known—and among our social circles, that’s saying a lot—”
“Ha ha,” Anderson says flatly.
“—I think I’m just surprised. Why is this too much? Why is this the line you won’t cross? Of all the things . . .”
“Max, be serious.”
“I am being serious.”
“Aside from the obvious reasons why this situation should be disturbing to anyone— The girl’s not even eighteen. Even I am not as depraved as that.”
Max shakes his head. Holds up his pen. “Actually, she’s been eighteen for four months.”
Anderson seems about to argue, and then—
“Of course,” he says. “I was remembering the wrong paperwork.” He glances at me as he says it, and I feel my face grow hotter.
I am simultaneously confused and mortified.
Curious.
Horrified.
“Either way,” Anderson says sharply, “I don’t like it. Can you fix it?”
Max sits forward, crosses his arms. “Can I fix it? Can I fix the fact that she can’t help but be attracted to the man who spawned the two faces she’s known most intimately?” He shakes his head. Laughs again. “That kind of wiring isn’t undone without incurring serious repercussions. Repercussions that would set us back.”
“What kind of repercussions? Set us back how?”
Max glances at me. Glances at Anderson.
Anderson sighs. “Juliette,” he barks.
“Yes, sir.”
“Leave us.”
“Yes, sir.”
I pivot sharply and head for the exit. The door slides open in anticipation of my approach, but I hesitate, just a few feet away, when I hear Max laugh again.
I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop. I know it’s wrong. I know I’d be punished if I were caught. I know this.
Still, I can’t seem to move.
My body is revolting, screaming at me to cross the threshold, but a pervasive heat has begun to seep into my mind, dulling the compulsion. I’m still frozen in front of the open door, trying to decide what to do, when their voices carry over.