Urban God of Rebate: Infinite Returns Of Women And Powers

He looked at her through the window.

”I’ll watch for it,” he said.

She looked at him for one more moment.

Then she smiled. Small and specific and entirely genuine, the one that belonged to her rather than the professional version.

The taxi pulled away.

He stood on the pavement and watched it go.

Then his phone buzzed.

The system.

[Clara Weston — Favorability: 52]

[Note: Fourth slot parameters are still being calculated.]

[The system is observing.]

He looked at the notification.

Then he put his phone in his pocket and called James.

In the car he texted Olivia.

Done. The vote and the conversation after. How’s the formation.

She replied in thirty seconds.

Kwon said almost there which means two more days. I’ve been sitting with my phone since ten. A pause. How do you feel.

He thought about the corridor outside the conference suite and Rachel’s hug and Thomas’s real smile and Helen Park’s hand on his arm and Clara at the corner table saying I keep looking forward to the next room.

Like something that was supposed to happen happened, he said.

That’s exactly right, said Olivia. Saturday. Regular evening number two. I’m sending the location in the morning. Wear something comfortable.

He looked at that phrase.

You’re the second person to say that to me today, he said.

A pause.

Who was the first, said Olivia.

Clara, he said.

A longer pause.

I already like her, said Olivia. Go home Sean.

He put his phone in his pocket.

James pulled up to the building.

The lights were on downstairs.

He went inside.

Makima opened her door before he reached it.

She looked at his face and read whatever she read in it and stepped back to let him in.

The kitchen smelled like food she’d made because she’d known he was coming home to something that needed to be come home to properly.

He sat at her kitchen table.

She sat across from him with her tea and didn’t say anything yet. Just gave him the moment before the conversation started.

”Sixty-eight point six,” he said.

”Thomas texted me,” she said. ”Two words. It’s done.” She held his gaze. ”That man texted me two words and I understood everything.”

”That’s Thomas,” he said.

”Helen’s statement,” she said.

”She said his name and the room went still,” he said. ”Everything she’d built in thirty years was in that one word.”

”Some things only work because of who says them,” said Makima.

”Yes,” he said.

She looked at him.

”The conversation after,” she said. ”Clara.”

”She told me she keeps looking forward to the next room,” he said.

Makima held her tea with both hands.

”She said that,” said Makima.

”Yes,” he said.

”To you directly,” said Makima.

”Across a corner table,” he said. ”While eating food she hadn’t eaten since six in the morning.”

Makima looked at him for a long moment with the expression she had when something had confirmed what she’d already understood.

”She scheduled dinner,” he said. ”Three weeks. Calendar invite pending. She said it’s already in her calendar on her side.”

”She already put it in,” said Makima.

”Before she sent the invite,” he said.

Makima set her tea down.

”She schedules what matters to her,” said Makima. ”Immediately. So it doesn’t get replaced by work.”

”Yes,” he said.

”That tells you everything,” said Makima.

”Yes,” he said.

She stood and brought food to the table without saying anything else about it because some things had been said completely enough and didn’t need adding to.

They ate.

The building settled around them. The city outside. The flowers on the counter. The specific warmth of a kitchen that had been a kitchen long enough to know what it was for.

”What comes next,” said Makima.

”Fischer call Monday,” he said. ”Cap table analysis. Product roadmap. The round properly starting.”

”And Olivia Saturday,” said Makima.

”Regular evening number two,” he said. ”She’s planning something.”

”Something ordinary,” said Makima.

”Yes,” he said.

”Good,” she said. ”That’s the right next thing after a week like this.”

He looked at her.

”Makima,” he said.

”Yes.”

”First,” he said.

She held his gaze.

”Always,” she said.

He helped with the dishes and went upstairs and sat at his desk.

His balance notification was waiting.

[$68,647,597]

He looked at it.

Then at the whiteboard.

He erased it.

Stood in front of it for a moment.

Wrote three things.

Fischer — Monday.

Round parameters — Clara.

Thursday — club.

Then his phone buzzed.

A calendar invite.

From Clara Weston.

Sent at nine fifty-one PM.

Dinner.

Date: Three weeks from Saturday.

Location: Unknown

Dress code: Something comfortable. Not impressive.

Note: It’s already blocked on my calendar. I don’t schedule things I don’t mean.

He looked at the invite for a long moment.

He accepted it.

He looked at the whiteboard.

Uncapped the marker.

Added a fourth line below the other three.

Three weeks.

He capped the marker.

Turned off the desk lamp and went to bed.

—--------------------------

The Next Day

The message came at eight forty-seven in the morning.

Good morning. Today is the day. Dress comfortably. Meet me outside your building at ten. Don’t be late. Also don’t look up where we’re going. I want to see your face when you figure it out.

Sean read it twice.

Then: I’m already curious.

Olivia: Good. That’s the point. Ten o’clock. Don’t be late.

I’m never late, he said.

You were seven minutes late to the showcase afterparty, she said.

I was held up, he said.

Seven minutes, she said. I timed it. I had nothing else to do because I was waiting for you.

I’ll be outside at nine fifty-five, he said.

Good, she said. See you soon.

He put his phone down and looked at the Saturday morning city outside his window.

He’d already sent the cap table analysis to Clara at seven fifteen, which was earlier than Saturday morning probably required but was when he’d finished refining the last section and sending it immediately felt more accurate than waiting for a more reasonable hour.