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Chapter Text

'Who's that?'

'Delling Rembran, dumbass,' Chuchu chided in a whisper so as to remain undetected, 'he's the CEO of the whole company and we're pretending to listen to his dumb speech.' He stood before a microphone with a posture like her old flight instructor, dressed in a black suit and tie and orating to the crowd.

'Not him,' Suletta motioned to his side, drawing her colleague's attention to the one standing in his shadow. She had a pristine white bob-cut and wore a sleeveless black dress from her ankles to her neckline. Just formal enough for the work gala. 'Who's that?'

'His daughter.' Chuchu rolled her eyes. 'She's the head of the company's arms division.'

'Oh.' As the speech went on and on, the woman's pale eyes glazed over the heads of the crowd into the distance from beneath hooded lashes. 'She looks--'

'Condescending?'

'Lonely.'

'Most rich people are,' Chuchu scoffed. 'All that money and big, stupid empty mansions.'

Even she had tuned out. What was on her mind? Or had she simply shut down? Her eyes widened and snapped back to the present, then the room of black tie executives and staff burst with applause. The speech--whatever it was about--concluded, and now the woman clapped from the back of the stage. Chuchu nudged Suletta in the elbow, prompting her to start clapping, too.

The ovation remained as Delling exited the stage left. His daughter turned and followed down the steps, revealing the backless design of her dress. Suletta followed with her gaze. 'Come on,' Chuchu called, 'let's hit the buffet table before the engineers get there.'

Suletta spared one last glance over her shoulder, but the white-haired woman had vanished into the crowds of suits, gowns, and other finery. Even though every employee was invited to attend the annual gala, executives didn't mingle with the workers like her. She barely met the dress code wearing a hand-me-down from her mother; it was almost enough to make her miss dress uniform.

She trailed behind Chuchu to a buffet table, other pilots already gathered around it and helped themselves. And speaking of barely-meeting-the-dress-code; 'Caliban!' Parker hailed her by call-sign, his scruffy green hair hadn't learnt the concept of a comb and his rent-a-tux was far too wide for his shoulders. 'Heard you finally beat my sim score.'

Suletta averted her eyes. 'It was nothing.'

'Yeah, I told her to stop holding back,' Chuchu scoffed.

'I-it's not like that!' Suletta squeaked. 'Besides you actually get to fly the prototype that's way cooler.'

Parker grinned. 'Come celebrate! Get some punch.' He stepped aside and gestured across the table. A dozen plates of various hors d'oeuvres were arranged in intricate patterns; it'd be a shame to destroy them by eating any. The crystal punch bowl sat at the centrepiece, sliced orange and ice cubes floating on the surface.

She and Chuchu scooped champagne flutes full and moved to the side just in time as a group of aviation engineers arrived, descending on the once-pristine table. 'Some party, huh?' Chuchu said, hooded eyes wandering across the crowds. The punch was overt with ginger, bubbly, and tingled with an alcoholic after taste.

'I never knew the company was so big.' The entire hall had filled with employees, all gathering in different cliques around the tables and filled the air with chatter. She'd spent her entire time surrounded by people from the aviation division, never so much as meeting anyone else.

Separate from most of the company's employees, the executives lingered near the stage. Among them her boss, Guel Jeturk, spoke animately to Delling amongst the others, but that woman was no longer following her father around. Suletta darted her eyes over the crowds and caught a glimpse of her pale skin through that backless dress again.

She now sat on a bar stool, feet perched on the rim half-a-foot off the floor, a glass of wine dangling between her fingers. Beside her sat a tall man with long blond hair pulled neatly into a bun, slouching in her direction and leading whatever conversation they were having. The woman leaned away, impassive and dismissive, shrugging off his persistent touches to her shoulder and elbow, but he never got the picture. Suletta bristled, hairs on the back of her neck sticking up.

'What are you doing?' Chuchu asked as her entire posture tensed.

'I don't know!' Suletta tipped back her glass, polishing off the punch in one go and passed the flute to her colleague, then set herself in motion before she could ask herself that same question.

Suletta hitched the sides of her dress, raising the hem and hurrying across the hall as quick as its limitations allowed. Darting between crowds and offering rushed apologies to those she jostled, she made her way across to the bar. That man was still hanging over the white-haired woman, so Suletta threw herself between them.

'Fancy seeing you here. Hi! It's been a long time.'

Her pale eyes shot open wide, a stunned silence lingering as Suletta split through the tension and stood trembling through her knees, forced smile stretching her cheeks. Then, the woman's features softened. 'So it has,' she played along. 'How have you been?'

'I--Well! Well. I've been well,' she stuttered out. Improvisation was never really Suletta's thing, but thankfully she took the reigns.

Placing a hand on Suletta's arm, she addressed her previous conversation partner. 'Why don't we table this discussion for now, I'd like to catch up with my dear old friend.'

Suletta dared not turn and look behind, certain her bluff would fail if she did. He replied after a pregnant pause, 'Very well. I look forward to our next meeting, Ms. Miorine.'

Suletta repeated the name softly, committing it to memory. She sat back on the stool as the blond man left. Then, Miorine's eyes fell on her and narrowed; Suletta jumped. 'S-sorry!' she squeaked. 'He looked like he was making you uncomfortable so I--' she trailed off, a blush heating up her face beneath her intense gaze.

'I can handle him,' she answered. 'These businessmen are all the same.' Suletta looked at her feet, she shouldn't have made assumptions and gotten involved. 'But, thank you,' Miorine continued. 'Talking about work is not my idea of a party. It was my father's doing.' The affirmation raised her spirits and her chin; but Miorine's eyes were studying her intently from behind the glass of red she sipped.

Suletta averted her gaze again and caught sight of Chuchu amongst the crowd, furiously gesticulating what the hell are you doing. 'I-I should get back to my friends.' She hopped off the stool.

Miorine grabbed her forearm. 'Don't go,' she said. 'If I'm alone he'll come back.'

Suletta chewed her lip, and mouthed an apology at Chuchu who grabbed her head and held back a yell of anguished frustration before stomping back to the buffet table. She sat next to Miorine again, a smile crept along her pale features, drawing Suletta's eyes to her painted lips. 'What do you drink?'

Suletta stuttered for a moment. 'I was drinking punch.'

Miorine chuckled brightly. 'I don't think they have that behind the bar.'

'Then, whatever you're having.'

Miorine held up two fingers on her hand and silently the bartender approached, filling her glass and offering a second to Suletta. 'So, my knight, how are you enjoying the party?' She leaned her cheek against the palm of her hand.

Suletta escaped from her intense gaze behind a sip from her glass. 'It's very impressive,' she said, fumbling over her words. 'You looked good on stage.'

'I'm surprised you noticed me behind my father's ego,' she said, her lips pursing. 'He can't even let me enjoy the evening without making it about his business.' She tipped her glass back, taking in a generous sip. 'Still can't trust me to run the division on my own, making these deals behind my back and expecting me to follow through with them. No matter how perfect I try to be it's never enough.'

For someone that didn't want to think about work, she was certainly talking about it a lot. Suletta didn't even know what to say, but she clearly just needed to vent. 'That's just how parents are,' she said. 'My mum calls and reminds me to do the washing and eat breakfast at least once a week,' she laughed nervously.

Miorine's mood brightened again and conversation moved on to other, lighter topics. One drink turned into two and, before long, they'd talked the whole night away together. By the time she'd thought to check on Chuchu and the others, it seemed they'd all gone home already. In fact, most of the party had vacated--it was a work night after all.

'I was supposed to be the sober driver.' Suletta grimaced.

'I have a limo parked out front,' Miorine offered. 'I'll get my driver to drop you back home.'

'Thank you.' Suletta beamed, and they staggered off to the valet parking, arms linked together.

Chapter Text

Cruel consciousness captured her. A dull throbbing behind her head, queasiness in her stomach, and a sweet taste in her dry mouth. No matter how she clenched her eyes she couldn't crawl back to sleep and delay it.

As her senses collected a strange discomfort overcame her skin. Something was wrong; the texture of her sheets, the weight of the blanket and a foreign warmth radiating from beneath them. An alarm blared--shit. It was Monday, what time was it? As she rose something else stirred under the covers beside her, rolling over, pulling taut the blankets while slapping the snooze button.

Miorine shot up, and so did the woman next to her. Her blue eyes went wide like a deer in headlights, peeking out from a fringe of red that curled out in every direction. How did she get into this bed, and who was this woman? Her head pounded as she scraped through hazy memories of last night. She'd never been one to drink heavily--nor sleep around.

Not that the woman across from her wasn't attractive, but a pretty face was never enough before. Even if she had a few too many last night she still had standards. What was it about her that had brought Miorine to her bed?

The initial shock faded from those eyes, replace by a blush blooming across her cheeks until she glowed red. 'I'm sorry!' she squeaked, throwing up the covers and leaping out of bed, 'I have to go!'

Miorine pushed the blanket down, remaining as the woman scurried about the room picking clothes off the floor. 'Wait,' she called. 'Isn't this your apartment?'

'I'm going to be late for work!' She turned, clasping a bundle of clothes over her chest. 'Don't look!'

Miorine rolled her eyes; she'd already seen everything and the woman had nothing to be embarrassed about at all. Even so, she lifted the blanket over her head again, in part to stifle the smile pulling at her lips. That bashful panic had an endearing innocence to it, and thoughts flickered through her mind of what'd happen were she to tease her further.

But, that couldn't be all she was interested in, right? Miorine pulled the covers down, taking a breath of clean air and catching a glimpse of her in a state of half-dress. 'About last night,' she began.

'Don't look!' she squeaked again, throwing the blankets up over Miorine's face once more.

Defeated, she slumped back against the pillow and waited politely for her chance to ask some questions and figure out what happened. The silence dragged on, until the front door closed with a rattle of keys. Miorine sat up again; she left!? In such a rush to escape her embarrassment she actually left her in the apartment alone.

'So much for hospitality.' Miorine ran her fingers through her hair, straightening out the tangles. She got up, found her underwear laying on the floor and put it on before looking around. It was a small studio apartment with a quaint little kitchen bar and one large window overlooking the city. Tidy and spartan, aside from hastily discarded clothes on the floor.

Locating her handbag, Miorine pulled out her phone and rang her personal assistant, Petra. 'Sorry for the early call,' she said. 'I need you to get some clothes from my apartment and pick me up.'

'What's the address?' Petra asked dryly.

'I'll let you know as soon as I know.'

'Great. I'll just hang out until then.'

'And grab my lunch from the fridge.' Miorine hung up. Already late for work and hungover, she might as well make sure she was ready to face the day. She took a shower, leaving her head under the scalding water until her skin turned pink and her fingertips shrivelled. Then, she rifled through the kitchen, finding a near-empty jar of golden coffee roast, making herself a black in the stained mug with a faded air force emblem stamped on the front.

She wandered around the apartment as her hair dried, wrapped in a towel around her head, sipping her coffee. Lingering by the bookcase, she studied a collection of photo frames; the woman's family all had military history by the uniforms on display.

But, she couldn't keep pushing the time. Miorine put on last night's dress along with matching pencil-thin heels and tidied up after herself, hanging towels and rinsing the mug. She collected her bag and locked the door on her way out. Her phone had no reception in the stairwell, so she waited until she reached the sidewalk.

A steady downpour greeted her outside, the sky a light hazy grey. She stayed under the eaves outside the door and checked her phone map, sending the street names on the corner to her PA. 'Be there in 15,' came the quick reply.

Closer to 20 with the morning traffic, Miorine expected. As she waited, she scrolled through her calendar checking her schedule for the day. An overdue sales report and a meeting with her new "business partner" she hadn't recalled pencilling, especially over lunch--likely her father's meddling, again.

A black company sedan with tinted windows pulled up, breaking Miorine's trance on her phone. She dashed across the wet sidewalk and wordlessly slipped inside the rear passenger door. A stack of her folded work clothes sat on the seat beside her. 'Home or office?' her PA asked, peering back at her through the rear view mirror.

'Office.' Miorine sighed, wiping droplets from her face. 'Unless you can clear my morning schedule a little more.'

The car took off noiselessly. 'Not a chance. Delling wants a report on that deal, and there's a stack of procurements to sign off on.'

'Of course.' Her father couldn't give her even one night without expecting immediate results. Why'd he even promote her to the role if he was going to micromanage everything himself anyway? Miorine shrugged off her dress and started getting changed.

Once clothed again in a sensible white blouse and waist-high black trousers, she worked on reapplying makeup. Petra broke the extended silence with a leading question. 'So, how was your evening?'

Miorine perfected the flick of her eyeliner before dignifying a response. 'I didn't know my personal life was a business item now.'

'This is the first time I've seen you do anything other than work. You're not even going to share a little gossip?'

'I don't gossip,' she insisted. She remained mercifully silent after that.

Miorine packed her makeup away and leaned against her hand, peering out the tinted windows. They were still several blocks away from the office, but already the high rise loomed over every other building, a monolith to oblique modern architecture. And that was just the executive office, the entire company occupied a compound the size of several city blocks.

Petra pulled the sedan up to the gates, flashing her company ID to the security guards and drumming her fingers on the wheel as the barrier arm raised. The car glided through a curtain of rain, into the underground garage and parked at the charging station. Miorine bundled up her dress and bag, stepping out of the car and handing them to her PA. She tucked her white blouse into the waist, then slipped on her jacket, buttoning it half up.

Once inside the elevator, Petra pulled out her tablet. 'I have a few order forms waiting your approval first off.' She held the screen up; Miorine scrawled her signature off and swiped to the next document, barely a passing glance at each before she signed off. The elevator chimed and doors opened as she paused on the last form.

'This is the fourth order of raw tungsten this quarter,' she said. Petra's brow pinched together, looking at the screen herself.

'I'll look into it.'

Miorine nodded and they strode past reception to her office, beginning the doldrum of work by sorting through the pages in her inbox, amplified by the lingering regret of last night's drinks. Not just how it grated on her consciousness but how it fogged her memory.

Her father expected a report on the deal and she remembered nothing of the conversation last night, before she met that woman. Worse still, she has no memory of what happened between them. Her name sat perpetually on the tip of her tongue, yet remained fleeting and distant. There had to be a reason that this one had caught her attention. Who was she?

She could hardly focus on the work in front of her, scraping her way through the overdue report and not making more than a dent in the procurement documents before midday rolled around and dread set in. 'How upset do you think my father would be if I rescheduled this meeting?' Miorine asked, rhetorically of course, and Petra merely arched her brow. Being the CEO's daughter and the executive head of the company's prestigious arms division gave her a lot of privileges, but defying her father was not among those.

Miorine stretched out the stiffness in her back as she rose. 'Which boardroom am I meeting this idiot in?'

Petra pulled up the calendar on her monitor. 'It appears to be a booth at Ferdinand's.'

'You're pulling my leg,' she said, but her PA showed the screen, and Miorine made a disgusted noise in her throat. Who did this guy think he was, scheduling meetings over lunch at her company's expense? At an upper class restaurant, no less.

'Do you need a ride?' She offered.

'I think I'll manage.'

Miorine buttoned up her jacket and stopped through the break room, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and painkillers from the cabinet. She'd need it to survive the meeting, not just for the hangover. Then, she departed back down the elevator to the parking garage and checked out one of the company's black sedans.

The restaurant was a few blocks away and Miorine parked up across the road five minutes behind schedule. Her day was already running late and this jerk was only exacerbating the issue by treating himself to lunch. Armed with an umbrella against the persistent weather, she quick marched inside and up to the maître d', her foul mood echoing from the click of her heels as he showed her to the booth.

He lounged there in the corner, long blond hair draped over his shoulders and starched white shirt hanging open at the top buttons. The corner booth was almost comically small for the length of his legs, and he sat sideways to accommodate. Already a lowball glass perched between his fingers and he'd made a presumptuous order of wine waiting her arrival.

Miorine turned to the waiter and gestured at it. 'Remove this.' He took the glass and bottle, and she waited until they were alone. Crossing her arms, she affixed a stern glare. 'Mr. Zenelli. I'd say it's a pleasure, but I don't appreciate being called from the office trivially.'

'My apologies,' he said, his smile undeterred, 'I prefer to do business in a more relaxed environment. And please, you may call me by my first name, Shaddiq.'

'And you may not.'

'Very well, Ms. Rembran.'

Miorine sat on the opposite bench, one leg crossed over the other, and placed her tablet on the table. 'Refresh my memory on where we left off.'

'Please, there's no need to rush things,' He gestured at the black and gold bound menu sitting on the table. 'I hear the risotto here is exceptional.'

Her eye twitched. 'I'll pass. I have lunch waiting for me. At the office.'

'Suit yourself.' He sighed, raising his hand and clicking his fingers. The waiter reappeared promptly.

Testing her patience must be a negotiating technique. If he was trying to put her on the back foot then she'd have to keep her head cool. Miorine wove her fingers together in her lap and put her mind anywhere but here; not that there was anything wrong with her surroundings. If she had a different dining partner, she might have even enjoyed it--with that redhead perhaps. Miorine bit her lip as she wracked her brain for that elusive name while ruminating over what a dinner with her would look like.

'I must say,' Shaddiq interrupted as the waiter departed with his order, 'you were stunning at the function last night, but this business look--it suits you.'

Of course! They'd met at the work function, so she must be an employee--but of which division? 'Excuse me a moment.' Miorine grabbed her phone and messaged her PA: 'can you pull up employee data from an address?'

'What's the address?' came a prompt reply.

She chewed at her lip further; this wasn't exactly subtle after she had Petra pick her up from there this very morning. Asking her to look up company records on last night's fling wasn't exactly "business". Pulling up the address from the location data on her phone, she forwarded it. Miorine set it down again and sighed to quell the butterflies harassing her stomach.

'The executive life must be a busy one,' Shaddiq observed, he lounged back in the booth, one arm draped over the back of the bench. 'But what I'm curious about is what someone such as yourself does outside of work, to relax.'

'I'm not sure what you mean.' Miorine turned her attention back to her tablet. 'Now, tell me what it is you want from my company.'

'Straight to the point, I see.' He chuckled. 'If our companies are to work together, I would first like to establish a working relationship.'

'I prefer to know you're not wasting my time,' she said through gritted teeth. 'You obviously promised my father something or he'd not be taking an interest in your company. But, unless you start including me in this deal, I walk.'

'The benefits are mutual, I assure you.'

'What assurance?' she snapped.

He merely smiled, keeping his lips sealed on that matter. 'I merely ask that you indulge me a little, relax and unwind before we talk details.'

Miorine packed her tablet into her bag, hoisted it onto her shoulder, and stepped out of the booth. 'Enjoy your lunch.'

'I will,' he called after her as she passed by the waiter delivering his risotto. The urge to spit in it was palpable, but she continued on her way. This was not the end of it, not while her father was still meddling. She stormed across to the parking lot, completely foregoing the umbrella, slammed the door of her work car, and drove back with perhaps a little too much throttle and her hair still wet.

Setting a record for the drive from Ferdinand's to the office, Miorine left the car parked crooked, and had to sit waiting agonisingly for the elevator. She was ready to give Petra an earful of her frustration; her father's oversight, Shaddiq's smugness--it was all too much to bear.

As Miorine returned to the top floor and threw open the office door, she found her PA missing from her desk. However, a labelled folder had found its way onto her own--Petra worked fast. She sat down and ran a finger along the spine like she beheld the holy texts and read aloud: 'Suletta Mercury,' as though her memory clicked back into place and the name had been there all along.

All other objectives and frustrations slipped away as she studied the file. Suletta was a test pilot in the air division's training programme. A former flight officer in the air force with an impressive service record--having flight hours in an active war zone was something of a rarity these days. The only mark on her otherwise impeccable record was her discharge from service, details withheld.

The door swung open and Petra returned, bringing Miorine's lunch. She paused in the door. 'How was the meeting?'

'Brief and frustrating.' Miorine sighed.

'And here I was hoping I'd get the whole thing to myself.' Petra sat across the desk and helped herself to the steaming pile of couscous, eggplant and pepper.

'This is Tuesday's,' Miorine remarked, turning the container and showing the label.

'I didn't fancy the chicken.' Petra grinned.

She sighed and picked up her fork, turning her attention back to the pages on her desk.

Overall, her file painted the picture of competence and composure--a juxtaposition with Miorine's encounter with the flustered woman this morning. Deeper in the company files showed her breaking records on the flight simulators from the moment she was hired, now the highest scoring cadet ever in the division. Maybe she was attracted to over-achievers?

Miorine chewed on her lunch slowly as she ruminated. 'So,' Petra interrupted, 'what's the file for?'

A loaded question, she was far too sharp to not connect the dots. Miorine finished her mouthful before replying; 'Research,' she answered dryly.

'Did you find what you were looking for?'

Her brow pinched. 'No.' There was only so much to glean from paper, if she wanted more then she had to get it from the person. She dropped her fork in the container and pushed it over to Petra. 'The rest is yours.'

She picked it up and shovelled more couscous into her mouth. 'You're the best boss.'

Miorine scooped up her jacket on the way out of her office, slipping it on and buttoning it up without missing a stride. The aviation division's facilities were on the far side of the company compound. If she hurried, she could make it there and back before the meeting with her father.

A two-car monorail connected the main complex to the hangar bays and control tower. From its rain streaked windows the whole runway stretched out before her, extending out to the flat swampland that bordered the east side, far from the city. There were no vehicles out on a day like today, no planes in the sky. Only two minutes after boarding, the monorail halted at the exit platform. Miorine debarked and set off down the stairs and into the front office.

A receptionist sat behind the modest desk within her cubicle, she shot upright. 'Ms. Rembran! What a surprise. What brings you to our facility? How may I help?'

The woman might have climbed over her desk if she got any more excited. Miorine averted her attention around the room, studying the corridors leading away. 'Where do your simulation trials take place?'

'Down the hall there, right this way.' She got up from her chair.

Miorine held her hand up in pause. 'I'll find my own way.' She marched off down the directed corridor.

'Wait! You'll need a visitor badge.'

But Miorine already shoved her way through the double doors and into a hangar. A skeleton of exposed girders curved up to a rounded ceiling, fluorescent lights dotted along them, hardly enough to illuminate the cavernous space beneath. Rhythmic raindrops bounced off the thin rooftop and amplified through it. There were no true planes inside, but along the wall several cockpit-shaped replicas were spaced at even intervals.

She made but one step past the door before a man in white security uniform stepped in front of her. 'ID?' He held out his hand.

Miorine arched her brow. She couldn't expect every staff member to recognise her, despite the initial reception. Drawing the lanyard from her pocket, she dangled it beside her face.

He glanced at it, unphased. 'What's your business here?'

'I'm looking for someone.' Her entrance, however, had caused something of a commotion; an assortment wearing coveralls and flight suits gathered at a distance to watch. From behind them all, a flash of red hair caught her gaze and their eyes locked. Recollection flashed across Suletta's face as she froze in place. 'Never mind, I found her.'

Miorine stepped around the security guard and marched towards Suletta. The woman's face grew visibly red, even across the distance, and her head darted from side to side before she bolted behind one of the simulation cockpits. Why was her skittish flight so endearing?

Her heart went all a flutter as she pursued, keeping to a leisurely pace while the crowd parted before her. They muttered quietly amongst themselves, eyes all tracking her progress, with the same question on all their lips: what was she doing here? But, as she rounded the simulation pod, a woman with pink frizzy hair bound inside a flight cap stood, barring her path with rigid stance and folded arms.

'Can I help you?' she demanded, a keen edge to her voice that disregarded any disparity in the hierarchy.

'You can get out of my way,' she suggested. That, evident by a stubborn refusal to move, was not one of the options. Miorine glanced down at the name stitched in her flight suit. 'Chuatury,' she began, 'I can assure you I'm not here for business. However, if you want to make it an item I can call my father and make it official.'

The glare on her face deepened, and a harsh fricative escaped between her teeth concealing what she might want to say. There was not a chance Delling would ever enable abuse of Miorine's status in the company--but no one had to know that, and as long as they never called her bluff they'd go on believing it. To demonstrate, Miorine strode forward again, unimpeded as Chuatury remained fixed in place with no further attempts to stop her.

Miorine leaned against the simulation cockpit on the tips of her toes, crossing her arms over the open hatch, barely tall enough to see inside. Suletta sat, apparently minding her own business and pretending to work, face shrouded inside her flight helmet. The callsign: 'Caliban' was stamped over the tinted visor. 'Fan of Shakespeare?'

She flipped the visor up. 'My mother is. I guess I followed in her footsteps.'

'It's not exactly a flattering name.'

'Well, you see, my sister got assigned Aerial when she graduated flight school. I got what was left. But, I don't mind it, we're all a family,' she trailed off, into silence, gaze darting away.

'If you don't want to see me again I get it,' Miorine began.

'It's not like that!' she squeaked. 'I'm sorry I--when I can't think straight I have to escape to clear my head.'

'So, if I asked you to dinner would that be a no?'

Suletta stammered, eyes darting about the cockpit as if searching for another way out. But, thoroughly cornered and with no reprieve, she eventually turned back. Miorine couldn't help the smile across her face; there was a strange thrill to watching the girl overcome her panic.

'Is that even allowed?' she eventually stuttered out.

'I'm not your boss,' Miorine said, 'we work in completely different divisions. I don't see a problem.'

'Then--?' she posed the question she was too shy to voice.

'Also not a problem,' Miorine assured her and a tense trepidation released from Suletta's shoulders. 'No one will reprimand you at work, but do you think you can just bed me and not take me out for dinner?' she teased.

The vocal acknowledgement of last night's foray sent her into full blown fluster. If there was another way out, Miorine was confident she'd take it, but delightfully cornered, Suletta had to face her again. 'Why me?'

The question, so articulated despite her fluster, dared Miorine to confront the uncomfortable truths she'd hidden even from herself. 'I'm trying to figure that out.'

Suletta's eyes flit to the perched fingers in her lap. 'I'll--think about it.'

'Reservation is at seven at the Rocks.' She hopped down from the tips of her toes and bit her lip as she left. Things were supposed to go better than that, now she wasn't sure if she'd be dining alone.

She crossed paths with that pink-haired menace, who glared at her as she stamped by to go check on Suletta in wake of their encounter. Miorine dared not look back. If Suletta wanted nothing further to do with her, then that was it.

The pager in her pocket buzzed and sudden recollection stalled a beat in her heart. She didn't even need to check the screen to know it was her father's stupid meeting. Miorine double-timed it back to the monorail car, regretting she didn't ask her PA to pick up flats from her apartment that morning.

Chapter Text

No amount of mental preparation was ever adequate for what waited beyond the grand double doors. Miorine permitted not a crease in her clothes, or a hair out of place before she entered; her father, Delling Rembran, was judge, jury, and executioner of his own kingdom. And she was the image of his dutiful daughter, waiting on his call in silent compliance.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched into his office. The white walls and floors ostensibly evoked opulence, like marble empires of old. However, the sterile and vacuous space served only to make her feel small. Insignificant before the pulpit that was her father's over-sized desk.

He regarded her over the documents on his desk and spoke: 'What do you have to report?'

'Mr. Zenelli is tight-lipped on any real details,' she began. 'I suspect he might be wasting my time.' Delling's brow pinched. He was forming judgement, but his silence indicated her to continue. 'He has so far brushed aside all my queries and insisted on informalities.'

'And what course would you recommend?' he said at last. She knew that tone of voice, this was another damn lesson. It never ended with him. Even after he elevated her to the head of his most lucrative division he still treated her like a child and student.

She knew better than to let it show. Miorine held her tongue and took a practised breath, masking her emotion. 'I would cease further negotiations. If he won't talk business then I won't entertain him.'

'Understand that I gave you this assignment for a reason,' he said, knitting his fingers together, elbows perched up on the desk. 'If it were a waste of time I'd have dismissed it already.'

'Might I know what he promised to gain so much interest?'

'Nothing,' he said. 'His company is a new player in the arms industry, already they're picking up government contracts.'

'We have the best R&D team in the world, we don't need them,' she countered.

'You're still too young, so trust in my lead,' he said. 'They may not be a threat, but this presents an opportunity. Insights into their development and, if they were ever to pose a threat, leverage to acquire them. If we slip into complacency we'll wake up one day to find we're no longer on the top.'

It took everything in her toolkit to retain a calm and placid visage, despite the frustration prickling beneath her skin. Everything was a lesson with him, and never a rubric provided. Pass, or fail, it didn't even matter; Miorine was forever in his shadow.

'What do you expect of me?' she acquiesced.

'Entertain his eccentricity if it gets him to divulge information. Use your best judgement going forward.'

His judgement. Be at the whims of a layabout without decorum. All her effort went toward keeping her eye from twitching; she bowed at the waist. 'Yes, father.'

'I expect regular updates as you progress.' His attention went back to the documents on his desk, enough of an excuse for her to dismiss herself.

She passed through the reception beyond his sight and decompressed; shoulders slacked and hands unclenched. Miorine could fill a book with the things she'd say if she was ever brave enough to stand up to him. The faint throbbing of the morning's headache receded as she took a left down the hall and went straight back to the office. Ordinarily such an encounter would leave her reeling for the rest of the evening, but she had other things to look forward to.

Only three hours left until dinner. She still didn't know if Suletta would show up, but that didn't dampen the excitement thrumming through her chest. Miorine fetched her bag and an umbrella from the office; her PA had already left for the day and the rest of the floor was already a ghost town. As she rode the elevator out, she ordered a taxi home.

The downpour outside went unabated. Miorine popped open the compact umbrella and stepped out onto the sidewalk under a curtain of rain. The wait and the cab ride home left plenty of time to plan ahead for the evening. She'd find an outfit that stunned, enough to elicit a blush from her dining partner, but not so much to make her flee. She booked a company limousine for a pick up at 6:30, by the time she got home she'd have two hours to get ready.

The taxi dropped her off out the front of her apartment building, and underneath the sheltered alcove she shook out her umbrella. The doorman buzzed her in and called the elevator up to the eighth floor, her apartment opening to the scan of the card on her lanyard.

The entirety of Suletta's place could fit in the living room here; leaving her bag on the kitchen counter top, she went straight for the shower, but didn't allow herself any introspective soak under the hot water. She had a deadline.

Out of the shower, she blow-dried her hair and brushed her teeth before making her way to the walk-in wardrobe. Miorine flicked through the racks, pulling out dresses and holding them over her front, testing in the wall mirror. A picture of class, but she wasn't going to a gala or a work party. She wanted something to make her feel enticing and irresistible, but nothing she owned fit those specifications.

Going dress shopping just for this evening was reaching absurd levels of excess. However, the idea planted in her head refused to be uprooted. If she was to get one night with Suletta, she wanted it to be perfect. Miorine returned to her living room, flipping open the laptop resting on her coffee table, she perused the online catalogues. Most were too formal, or too salacious for her tastes; she was going to dinner, not clubbing.

She eyed a black mid-length dress with a plunging neck line from a local retailer, but driving out to collect it would cut severely into her prep time. Miorine grabbed her phone and opened Petra's messages, pausing with her thumbs perched over the request and chewing her lip; she should just wear something from her own wardrobe and be satisfied, but she couldn't shake the image from her mind.

Miorine sent it to her PA, including a link to the chosen dress and her size, and asked if she could bring a jar of golden roast coffee on the way. Petra responded with only a thumbs up.

While waiting for her dress to arrive, Miorine went to her makeup table filled with a giddy energy, fixing herself up in the back lit mirror. Primer, foundation, concealer, contouring. As she opened her eye shadow pallet her phone pinged; Petra had arrived. Miorine buzzed her into the building by the intercom and waited by the door for the knock.

Petra stood in the door, presenting her shopping. 'I didn't know your business now included your personal life,' she quipped.

Miorine unfolded and inspected the dress was what she'd ordered. 'How is this any different from a coffee run?'

'Usually I don't deliver coffee that'll get you laid.'

'I don't recall hiring you for your wit,' Miorine snapped back.

'Good luck, I'll clear your morning schedule.' She returned down the hall towards the elevator.

Miorine closed the door and went back to the bedroom. She selected from her drawers a matching set of underwear, including a push-up to emphasise what little assets she did possess, and stepped into the dress, pulling it up to her shoulders. Standing in front of the mirror, she examined her work thus far; she still needed accessories to emphasise the outfit but a satisfactory result.

Returning to the makeup table, she finished off her look. Then, armed with hairbrush and hair spray, she set about perfecting her hair. Lastly, Miorine selected heels and a handbag to match her sleek black dress. There was nothing in her shoe racks with a heel to match their height difference, but she settled for halving it.

Miorine sat back down in the living room and checked the time on her phone. She was ready in record time; preparing for the gala had taken her almost twice as long. She drummed her fingers together, for fear of ruining her hard work there was little else she could do.

She returned twice to the mirrors and ensured not a strand of hair was out of place and brushed a touch of gloss to her lips, then spent time pacing in front of her door. She'd faced down rival CEOs and government auditors without ever breaking a sweat, but now found herself filled with an unfamiliar nervous energy.

She was like a giddy teenager on a date with her school crush. That's what this was, a crush. How had she not reached that epiphany until now? A notification on her phone flushed any introspection with another rush of excitement; she shouldered her bag and went downstairs to meet her ride.

The doorman held the front door open and the driver had an umbrella to shield her into the awaiting back seat. The raindrops pelted deafeningly against the roof outside, muffling any attempts at conversation the driver might make.

He knew the destination, however. So, Miorine leaned against her palm and gazed out the streaked glass. She'd put so much thought into herself the past couple hours and not much into her dining partner. What would Suletta be wearing? Would she be anticipating this as much as she was? That is, if she even showed up; Miorine had seen how skittish she could be.

If she dined alone tonight, then life would go on as usual. Back to her day job beneath her father's thumb; it wouldn't be less than what she deserved. The anxious thrumming in her chest grew to a crescendo as the limo grew nearer to their destination. She wanted so desperately to see Suletta waiting there for her. Despite how she braced to handle the possibility of rejection, she couldn't lie, it would sting.

The driver pulled up outside the waterside restaurant; large front windows lit up the footpath, their orange light replacing the fading daylight in the midst of the rainstorm. Back lit against the glass, Suletta gazed off into the rain, fingers drumming against the over-sized handbag clutched to her midriff. A flutter shot from her stomach straight up to Miorine's heart and seized it, erasing all the anxiety and pessimism in an instant.

Suletta's military background was evident in the way she dressed. Aside from the casual cropped jacket worn over the top, she'd not be surprised to learn it was a re-purposed dress uniform. Her curly hair was pulled back in a harsh braid and coiled into a bun, but her features were washed by the back light

The driver opened the door, bringing her private surveillance to an end. Suletta jumped as she emerged from the back seat and onto the sidewalk in front of her, eyes widening as they darted down before averting her gaze, a red flush creeping over her features. Miorine couldn't help the triumphant smile pulling at her lips as she crossed over the path.

'Did you put in all this effort to look good for me?' Miorine looked her up and down. Suletta stiffened, eyes front and forward like she was getting dressed down by her drill sergeant; she gaped and swallowed, but words failed her. Miorine provided her an out, 'Shall we head inside before I catch a chill?'

Suletta took to task, even escorting her up the three steps to the door; the narrow hem of her dress and pencil thin heels might have presented a mild inconvenience, but not one she couldn't overcome. Still, she let her hand linger in Suletta's soft grasp as long as she could before the girl pulled away at the top stair.

Miorine held her tongue from teasing and settled with a: 'Thank you,' earning a renewed blush and a wavering smile. Once inside, the maître d' showed them to their table, two seats by the glass walls overlooking the rocky shore by the river mouth. She hadn't considered the weather while making this booking, the usual view obscured by a hazy grey downpour.

'Any drinks for this evening?' their waiter asked as they sat.

Just the thought of more wine made her stomach curl in on itself. 'Just water.' She glanced over to Suletta with a smile. 'It's a work night.'

As they were left alone with their menus, Miorine leaned against her hand, revelling in the small darting glances her dining partner shot her way. There wouldn't be any conversation without her taking the lead. 'So, what changed your mind about dinner?'

'You said it was wrong to--without taking you out to dinner, so,' she trailed off.

Miorine smiled as she finally spoke. 'Actually I'm taking you out,' she teased, 'unless you were intending to pay.' Suletta glanced at the menu and gulped. 'I shouldn't be surprised an A-grade military student has a chivalrous streak.' Suletta's eyes went wide and Miorine winced. She shouldn't know that except for looking at her file. 'I--saw the photos in your apartment,' she lied. It wasn't enough.

She sighed. Not even five minutes into this date and she'd already screwed it up. 'I also looked up your company records--but I didn't know how else to find you again.'

The following silence ground down any semblance of excitement for the evening. How could she be so stupid? The sparing glances her way were no longer cute, but judging. Miorine's eyes fell down to her handbag. There was one thing to be done before her date inevitably abandoned her; she retrieved the jar of coffee stashed inside and placed it on the table, her hands retreating to her lap. 'I used the last of it this morning to survive my hangover, so--'

Suletta gave the first genuine smile she'd seen in her presence. 'I'd have missed it in the morning.' Her whole posture eased and softened, giving Miorine a fleeting hope she'd get to see more of that. 'I'm sorry for not being a better host. I panicked, but there's no excuse for running the way I did.'

'I don't know everything from those records, you know,' Miorine said, keeping the conversation moving. 'Why'd you want to be a test pilot? Don't most ex-air force fly commercial?'

Suletta's nose scrunched up at the mere mentioned of it. 'I always wanted to go to space,' she said. 'I hoped to get into the government program. But, after getting discharged, flying for a private corporation seemed the only way.'

'Didn't the air division shut down its space project, though?'

'About a year ago. Since then, I've kind of been coasting.' Her eyes fixed downcast into her lap.

'I'm sorry about that.' But condolences couldn't ease the urgent ache in her chest; it was the kind of pain that preceded action. Like reaching the deadline of a report, or undertaking one of her father's assignments. However, she acquiesced to know little about the space project's closure, it being outside of her division she'd paid little attention.

The waiter arrived, offering reprieve. Suletta snatched up the menu and read hastily while muttering about vegetarian options, so Miorine went first, ordering the salmon. Suletta settled on a chickpea and cauliflower curry.

'Even if I can't go to space yet, I'll still be able to fly the prototype once I finish my training hours,' Suletta continued.

'You're not even flying yet?' Miorine balked and Suletta shook her head. 'But, I've seen your simulator scores, you're good. The best in the whole program.'

Suletta blushed to the tips of her ears. 'It's protocol. I still need twenty more sim hours before I'm even allowed to touch the prototype, one-hundred before I'm qualified to fly.'

'That's bullshit,' Miorine snapped. 'You've broken every sim record and you're the only pilot in the program with real combat hours under the belt.'

'It's not like that.' Suletta looked down at her lap. 'They were only patrols and I never encountered any bandits.'

'You flew recon missions in an active war zone,' she corrected. 'That gives you more experience than some of the qualified test pilots as far as I'm concerned. I should talk to your boss about that.'

'You can't!' Suletta blurted. 'I mean--isn't that inappropriate considering this?'

'I'm not looking for any quid pro quo. I just think if the system was fair you'd be promoted based on merit, not because you checked all the boxes.'

'It wouldn't feel earned if I got to skip hours and the others got left behind.'

'Suit yourself,' Miorine said nonchalantly. Even so, she couldn't put that injustice aside in her mind. 'What's the big deal with this prototype that requires so much training anyway?'

'She's not a conventional aircraft,' Suletta sat up straight. 'We have to retrain everything because no one really builds high performance prop planes any more. She's an inline turbo prop, push configuration, 37-litre V-12, centrifugal supercharger--' Miorine smiled as Suletta listed off the specifications with infectious enthusiasm. She didn't know a gull wing from a high wing, but she didn't need to. Experience dealing with the technical details of weapons so often finally came in handy, her precisely timed enquiries encouraged Suletta to keep talking--and she could listen all evening.

However, dinner arrived and interrupted Suletta's disquisition, which had somewhere along the line transformed into a lecture on high-altitude versus low-altitude flight characteristics. She dipped her head and fidgeted in her lap as realisation of her own unclad exposition weighed on her.

Suletta's plate of chickpeas swimming in a vibrant gravy wafted with an alluring aroma. Her salmon and sautéed vegetables left her with food envy, and it must have been evident on her face. Suletta pushed her plate closer to the centre, 'Want to try?'

Miorine eagerly accepted a fork full of rice and chickpea, the gravy so rich and smooth she gave an involuntary sigh of delight. 'I have to know their spice blend. Want to swap?'

'I--don't eat meat.'

She masked a pout and tucked into her own meal; not that there was anything wrong with it except by comparison. The salmon was soft and herbaceous in a way she'd never been able to master in her own kitchen. After a few bites, she noticed Suletta was staring. Odd, she typically kept her gaze averted.

Meeting her eyes sparked whatever was running through her head to words: 'What's your goals?' she blurted out her unpolished question. 'You already asked about what I want already, so,' she added.

'That's a difficult question,' Miorine said after a moment pondering. She'd come prepared with many questions, but not answers. 'I've already achieved everything I worked for. The arms division is our biggest revenue driver and it's a great honour to be entrusted to manage it.' The words came out too corporate; she took a deep breath. 'I just hate the idea that I'm in charge of manufacturing new ways to kill people, but my father trusts only me.'

'If you hate it, how can you make yourself get up for work each day?'

'I've learnt to just distance myself and not think about it too deeply.'

Suletta's soft smile was almost piteous. 'I hope you'll be able to pursue something that makes you happy.'

Hope like that was worthless--she'd never escape her father's designs for her. 'Maybe one day,' she said, a small lie to keep the mood pleasant.

'What would you do?' she persisted, 'if you could choose?'

Miorine portioned another mouthful, buying herself time as she chewed. 'I'm not sure, I've never known anything else.'

'But, didn't you have any dreams?'

'When I was sixteen I learnt a hard lesson that I'd never be able to deviate from the path my father laid out before me,' she said, surprising herself.

'Oh--' Suletta stuttered as she realised she'd stumbled into a sensitive topic, her hands coming up defensively.

'Don't pity me,' she snapped with more bite than intended. 'I've lived a successful, privileged life.' Miorine retreated her gaze to the window; the night had consumed the view and only the patterns of raindrops on glass remained layered atop her reflection. This wasn't how the night was supposed to go, it should be flirting and teasing Suletta into a hot mess, not delving into dark introspection.

She was exposed, like Suletta had undressed her, and not in the way she'd hoped. Did she come here just to interrogate her? Not that Miorine could complain, she'd been beaten at her own game.

'How's your food?' Miorine said, a vain attempt to salvage the conversation.

Suletta snapped out of her stupor. 'It's good.' The way she'd polished her plate said she was downplaying her praise. Miorine set her cutlery down on the plate and leaned back and pondered an inappropriate remark to make Suletta blush, or anything to get the night back under her control, but her action summoned a prompt waiter, enquiring if she'd enjoyed her meal with an offer of the dessert menu.

'Would you like any?' Miorine offered, but Suletta shook her head. 'Just the cheque then.' She handed her credit card over. Just like that, she'd signed away the end of her night.

'Thank you for indulging me this evening.' Miorine got up, wishing she'd brought along a coat to cover herself. Defying expectation, Suletta remained by her side as they left out the front entrance.

A chill wind and the damp air put bumps all the way up her legs and raised the hairs on her arms. She'd have plenty of time later to give herself a miserable debrief of the evening and cover in great detail how she'd screwed this up once she'd said goodbyes and gone separate ways.

'How are you getting home?' Suletta interrupted.

'I'll call a ride.'

'I can drop you home,' she offered. Miorine turned, puzzled. 'I'm already here and it's getting pretty cold.'

Whether it was pity or her chivalry speaking, Miorine wouldn't object to a little more indulgence before facing the bleak solitude of her apartment. Suletta fished a compact umbrella from her over-sized handbag, holding it over their heads as they huddled for shelter. Splashes tormented her shins as Suletta spirited her across the car park, pausing to retrieve keys.

The headlights of a boxy four-wheel drive flashed as she unlocked it and escorted Miorine to the passenger door. Suletta opened it graciously and even offered a hand for support as she stepped up into the lit cabin. It was an older model, maybe a decade or two, but not in shabby condition. Thick drops pelted the roof, ringing through the inside.

A moment later a lightly drenched Suletta hopped up the driver's side and the cabin plunged into darkness, only the lights of the instruments remaining. The starter motor turned over for a good ten seconds before her engine came to life; Suletta reduced the radio's volume and flipped on the headlights, the yellow beams filled with speckled light reflecting off the downpour and old wipers squeaked against the glass.

Suletta mounted her phone in the centre console, open on the map. Miorine needed no further prompt; the act of inputting her address into the other woman's phone was oddly exciting, like leaving a piece of herself behind. Maybe she'd remember this night each time she opened the app and looked through the history. The car eased out of the park and onto the empty road.

Miorine wished she'd left the radio on, anything to fill her head other than her own thoughts. Street lights washed over the car in regular intervals, catching glimpses of the woman driving next to her. 'I'm sorry for the way I've acted,' she said, breaking the silence. 'Coercing you into dinner, prying into your private life. I know it's wrong, I've never been very good at asking.'

Suletta tapped on the steering wheel. 'You seem to mean well, despite your eccentricities.'

'My eccentricities?' Miorine said aghast and Suletta laughed, her soft melody assuaged her anxious thoughts. 'I hope I made a better impression when we first met.'

'I don't really remember,' Suletta admitted. 'I don't drink often, nor sleep around.'

A pang of guilt lanced her stomach, she was probably responsible for both of those. 'It's not something I've done before, either. That's probably why I've been so--eccentric. I was trying to figure out what it was about you that got me into your bed.' Just a mention of last night was enough to make Suletta tense and hunch up. Miorine glanced back out the window. 'I'll understand if you don't want to see me again.'

Suletta relapsed into painful silence. In the irregular light she had no assurances or confirmations; did she keep quiet because she didn't want to refuse while Miorine was still in her car? Or too shy to claim what she wanted. Not knowing was killing her.

'I'm not sure yet,' she said at last. 'I do want to, but I--it's difficult being around you.' That hit her right in the heart, the confirmation of all her worst anxieties. 'But, I l--like a lot about you, too,' she continued, making Miorine's heart do confused cartwheels. 'And, also this job means everything to me.'

'I wouldn't do anything to jeopardise that.' A fragile hope squeezed her chest and she dared not speak lest it shatter.

Suletta made a left turn and familiarity jolted her system as they arrived on her street. She pulled up outside the apartment and turned off the car, the cab light turning on. 'I was half-expecting a big mansion.'

'Just because my father is filthy rich, doesn't mean I am. I live off my own income,' she said. 'No handouts in my family.'

'Except the job,' Suletta jabbed.

Miorine pouted. 'I worked for that, too. Earned every one of my qualifications and studied hard.' With any failure punished harshly, but she kept that note to herself. 'But, I've had opportunity that others won't.' She may have conceded the point, but she wasn't about to lose the battle. She grasped that hope and threw it all on the line.

Miorine leaned towards her; Suletta's eyes darted down towards the overt display down her neckline. 'So, would you like to come in and see?'

Suletta darted back, head banging against the roof as she sought to escape her flirtations. 'I--have work in the morning.'

'I'll get you the day off if you like.'

Her face went red, failed replies stuttered on her lips until she simply stopped making sound. Miorine clicked off her seatbelt and sat back. 'Help me to the door and I'll let you off, this time.'

Suletta flew out the door and around to the passenger side, opening the door and giving her a hand to lean on as she stepped out of the cabin. Umbrella overhead, they walked to the door. 'I won't make you ride up with me,' she said, stopping and facing her. 'But is this where I get my goodnight kiss?'

Suletta's face went bright red to the tips of her ears; she turned and ran through the rain back to the car. Miorine restrained a smile; how could she be so drawn to that woman?

This time of night she had to buzz herself into the lobby, not until she was inside did she hear the car engine start and Suletta pulled away. This date was supposed to answer all her questions, but it only left her wanting more. Miorine winced; she'd had Suletta's phone in her hand and never thought to get her number. How was she supposed to contact her again, or know if Suletta even wanted to?

Of all her blunders this evening, that was the one she'd be losing the most sleep over. Even so, there was one thing to carry her spirits; Suletta liked her, not all of her, but that was enough to have her floating in the clouds as she rode the elevator home.

Chapter Text

'You're early,' Petra said dryly as Miorine strode into the office, ignoring her PA's studious gaze while she unbuttoned her jacket and slung it over her chair. 'So, the dress didn't work.'

'If you're quite finished, I'd like to see my schedule for the day.' Pulling up her seat she opened her laptop, but Petra rotated in her seat, staring in puzzlement.

'And yet, you're happy.'

The night may not have gone exactly as planned, but, Suletta liked her. She stopped herself voicing that excitement and suppressed the smile pulling at the corners of her lips, adopting her office affectation. Such talk was inappropriate during work hours.

However, the fleeting memory of those words at the end of last night left her drifting dream-like through Petra's rundown of her day. She really had cleared the morning from her calendar. Miorine assumed it was a joke; she'd never expected the date to end in another night over.

'Let's spend the morning on background,' Miorine said. The meeting with Shaddiq Zenelli was the first item of the day and going into another blind was as unappealing as his smug face. 'I want everything there is to know about Grassley Defence Systems, from their products to their cafeteria menu.'

They had until lunch to work out a plan. If her father insisted in her making a deal, then she'd ensure Mr. Zenelli had no more leverage to waste her time. Petra got to work on company records while she focused on his history.

Her research quickly revealed Shaddiq wasn't just a sales representative, but the adoptive son of Grassley's CEO. He even attended Asticassia's School of Business, graduating the year before Miorine. Did Shaddiq live under the same weight of his father's shadow? There could be some kinship in a shared history, but instead their commonality made her skin crawl. If he was a reflection of herself, she didn't like what she saw.

Miorine ran her fingers through her hair, clutching her forehead. 'I could really use a coffee.'

'You got it, boss.' Petra got up, still tapping on her tablet screen as she went off to the break room.

If even going over Shaddiq's history was this frustrating, how was she going to stomach another meeting? But, she had to do it and prove to her lousy father she didn't need his constant oversight, then maybe, just maybe, she'd have a little peace to do things her way. 'So, what do you have to prove?' she said, glossing over the pages.

Text wasn't enough to get everything she needed. But, from her experience with the man, he was vapid and played the part of a charming businessman. Except, he revelled in mooching off her company's time and expense, instead of trying to butter her up with lavish gifts as so often occurred. Or, perhaps that was his own kind of affectation.

Her PA's return was a mercy, she set a mug of black coffee down and Miorine took a deep sip. Petra wrinkled her nose. 'That's boiling hot.'

'I know. Found anything so far?' She cupped her mug close to her face, letting its fragrance fill the air in front of her.

'Well, there was this.' She turned her screen over, displaying an obituary for Sarius Zenelli, former CEO of Grassley Defence Systems. Miorine pinched her brow as she studied it.

'If he's dead, then, Grassley's CEO has to be--'

'I haven't been able to confirm it yet,' Petra cautioned. 'But, if Delling died and the board didn't vote you as the new CEO, then you'd certainly get the boot, to put it politely.'

She scanned over the tablet. 'The timing of their push into the arms industry plus the government contracts immediately after his death means there had to be some kind of shake up, if not in hierarchy then at least in vision.'

'So, we know they're advertising personal defence weapons and other small arms. We know they're picking up valuable government contracts. And we know they have a new CEO,' Petra said.

'They're probably trying to boost their valuation before seeking an acquisition,' Miorine mused. 'Even if we're not buying he'll probably use the faintest of Delling's interest as an advertisement.'

Her PA turned back to her desk; not convinced of that conclusion even if she wouldn't voice it. But what else could Shaddiq be after? He'd made no formal proposals, not even a hint of a plan. Under that paradigm all his theatrics made sense, but her father would never accept any judgement other than his own. Even Petra thought there was something more to this, but what was she missing?

She continued browsing over short sips of her coffee. The stress of this stupid meeting had already unravelled all the good feelings carried over from last night. Her stomach twisted to remember she still didn't have Suletta's number, no chance of a reprieve in the comfort of her distraction.

Her mind wandered transient through the morning, unable to fixate entirely on research. Suletta persisted in the periphery of her thoughts, tugging for her attention. The date last night hadn't sated her questions, only deepened them.

It was midday before she knew it. Petra reheated Monday's meal--rosemary chicken with rice and green beans--and they shared it while collating their research in a document folder. Most of it was Petra's work. After lunch, they headed out to the meeting room down the hall. A narrow space behind a glass door, dominated by the long table down the centre and black plastic chairs either side.

Shaddiq already lounged back corner, shoulders against the projector wall with his hands tucked into his pockets. His long hair pulled back into a tidy knot at the back and his shirt buttoned all the way up, for once. Petra held the door open for her, clutching their documents to her chest in the other.

'Mr. Zenelli.' Miorine approached with a proffered hand. 'It's good to finally meet you,' she said dryly. He chuffed, untucking his hands and shaking hers. Now, he was in her domain and she'd be the one leading. 'Have a seat and let's not waste any time.'

He seated himself at the gestured spot and rested his hands on the tabletop with his fingers weaved together, the affectation of a polite businessman today. His gaze passed over Miorine to her assistant. 'Would you mind terribly fetching me a coffee?'

'You got it,' her PA replied promptly. She handed off the documents and vacated the meeting room.

Miorine scowled; how dare he order Petra around in that tone? But then, was it any different to the way she treated her? Not a please or thank you, only the expectation of obedience to her whims and demands. She held back any reprimand, it'd only ever be hypocritical from her tongue.

'Last time we left off,' she began, tersely, 'you were about to tell me the details of this proposal you've offered my father.'

Shaddiq shrugged, bemused. 'Impressive, as always, to be expected of Delling's daughter.' Her nose wrinkled involuntarily at the comparison. 'My company has a long history in the private defence industry, supplying security and corporations equipment and supplies.'

'So what's changed?' she asked.

'The times.' His smile broadened. 'I saw our company stagnating and capitalised on an opportunity to take it in a new direction. Those who refuse to innovate are doomed to be left behind.'

'I hope you're bringing more than platitudes to the table.'

'I'm bringing an offer for an equal opportunity venture,' he said. 'We've picked up a contract supplying Personal Defence Weapons to the national guard, but our factories lack the capability to meet the demand.'

Her hunch might have been right after all. 'And what would we get in return for fulfilling your contract?'

'Access to some of our most valuable patents and technology, but it's not a deal we'd make lightly.'

If it wasn't for her father's oversight, she'd tell him to get lost right there. 'I'd have to see these designs before any meaningful negotiations take place.'

'And therein lies the problem.' His smile widened as he gestured up with this hands. 'I can't be giving away corporate secrets to a competitor.'

At this rate she might be out of here before Petra even returned. She pushed her chair back and rose. 'Then it's been a pleasure--'

'Unless,' he interrupted, 'we had some kind of mutual assurances. Remember what I said about an equal opportunity partnership?' She wished she hadn't so that she could leave. 'Negotiations are all about trust. So I propose an exchange, your company invests stock into mine, and we invest stock into yours.'

'I can't trade or sell shares without board approval,' she snapped back; a proposal like that would require more meetings with her father.

'Then, I could perhaps be persuaded to show you some of our documents,' he said, weaving his fingers together, 'meet me for dinner off the books and I can make it happen.'

Miorine scoffed, but before a retort could form on her tongue Petra pushed the door open. Miorine grabbed the door from her and held it open. 'Ah, right on time.' Shaddiq said. 'We were just concluding.'

Her PA frowned and Miorine motioned her out with a nod. 'I'll tell you about it after.' She shot a glare back at Shaddiq as he reached across the table, dragging over the coffee cup, already detached from their presence. She shut the door and stomped down the hall, Petra hustling in her wake.

'I'm going to need you to schedule another meeting with my father,' she said, and added a: 'please,' after a pause, to which Petra quirked her eyebrows. 'He wants fucking shares. And, since Delling really wants this deal, I can't tell him where to shove it without board approval.'

'I'll pencil it in right away.'

'You know what, don't bother. I'll catch up with you after.' She turned around and headed up the hall the other way to Delling's office. She passed by the tall reception desk outside his stupidly opulent doors.

'Is my father in?' she asked the short woman on the other side.

'You'll have to wait your turn,' a different voice answered. Miorine spun around at the offence; in the waiting room, Guel Jeturk, head of the aviation division, sat on a leather sofa regarding her beneath a cold gaze. He sighed and ran a hand through his flamboyant fringe.

She shouldn't say a thing. But, she was never good at keeping quiet. 'Why are you keeping your best pilots grounded?'

'What did you say?' he snapped back.

Miorine strode over. At least while he was seated she could peer down at him. 'I had a look at some of your trainee's simulator scores.'

'That's private data.'

'Why do you have Suletta Mercury running sims?'

He grit his teeth, showing restraint before her despite his outburst. The twitch of his eye betrayed him. 'It's protocol, all pilots complete the training hours before they touch the hardware.'

'Delling will see you now,' the receptionist interrupted and Guel rose, towering over her.

But she refused to budge, jostling his elbow as he pushed past her. 'She's the best pilot you have, holding her back is a detriment to your whole division.'

'What do you know of it?' He spun on her. 'Those protocols are to keep my pilots safe. I can't put any of them in harms way at the whims of the company's nepo baby.'

Miorine huffed, putting her hands on her hips. 'Weren't you the one promoted after your daddy's accident?' The fire behind Guel's glare was held back only by the barest thread of decorum between them. 'I'm not only the head of the arms division, I'm the daughter of Delling Rembran and therefore the entire company is my concern. So, why don't we step into his office together and discuss how your division's quarterly profits are down six-point-three-percent, while your best pilots are all playing glorified video games.'

'What do you want from me?' he snapped.

That was better. 'Give her a test flight.'

'Fine.' He looked away. 'I'll give your pilot a shot only if you accept all liability for any incidents.'

'I accept.' She held out her hand. 'Send me the details, I do enjoy watching myself proved correct.'

He said nothing and whirled away, entering Delling's office. Miorine dropped her hand and went her own way; the victory somewhat soured knowing that Suletta may never even know about it. She should just be satisfied knowing she'd done a nice thing, but a little acknowledgement would be nice. But, it was her fault she still had no way to contact her.

Miorine threw open the door to her office, unbuttoning her jacket and throwing it across the back of her chair. 'I take it the meeting went well,' Petra said dryly and without removing her eyes from her screen or pausing her typing.

'Seems nothing is going my way.' She sighed. 'Shaddiq is obstinate as ever. My father's a jerk. And I can't even get a girl's number.'

'Ah,' Petra said. 'So that date didn't go well.'

Miorine winced at the slip of her tongue. Frustration was getting the better of her. 'It went well enough, I just--forgot.'

'Say no more.' She picked up her tablet and went for the files.

'No!' Miorine pushed the screen down. 'I--already overstepped that boundary. I can't do it again.' Petra stared, stunned and quipless. She couldn't possibly voice the way it hurt when Suletta found out about her snooping, she couldn't go through that again. 'I'm going to the gym, send the rest of my appointments to my phone.'

She escaped her embarrassment, heading down the hall to the executive break room. A workout would clear her head, there was too much going on up there and she still had work to do. Crossing the empty kitchen and lounge area inside the break room, she slipped through a door in the back to the changing rooms.

She stopped at her locker, swapping from her work attire into the active wear she kept stored there. The company gym on the other side was unused by anyone else but her. Miorine put in her ear piece, set up her phone and tablet on stands over the treadmill displays and got to work.

Starting at a slow walking pace, Miorine went through the items on her calendar remaining for the day. She pencilled herself in for a meeting with Delling at the earliest available time the following morning.

Petra's investigation into the tungsten orders turned out to be a storage error. Incorrectly stored material was overlooked during stock take and now the company had a severe surplus. No one's fault directly, but still something that she'd have to clean up.

As she crossed the items off her list, Miorine's pace increased. Her heart thudded with each footstep, lungs aching, while sweat beaded on her face. The less on her plate the more time she had to stew in her thoughts. She was so tired of the dance, treading on eggshells around her father. It would always be this way with him, hovering over her, judging her every move.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her focus to the screen. She swiped across to her messages; Petra sent that someone from Aviation was insisting on a personal meeting. Miorine stumbled, grabbing the support rails and regaining her footing before sliding off the back of the treadmill. She slowed back to a walking pace; there wasn't a chance that it was Suletta, she'd never be so bold. Perhaps it was Guel, calling her bluff and telling her to stop interfering. Or, anyone else.

Miorine enquired if they were a man or woman and her PA replied simply: 'if it were anyone else I'd have sent them away already.'

She stepped off the treadmill as an electric flutter hit her stomach. She quashed it immediately; surely it was only because she was be upset at Miorine's meddling. She paced the gym floor; should she go back to the office and get changed first?

She examined herself in the mirror wall. What would Suletta's reaction be if she saw her in a sports bra and waist-high bike shorts? If she could hardly think straight when Miorine was fully dressed then maybe she could have a little fun showing a bit more skin. 'Send her in,; she replied to her PA at last.

Miorine threw a towel over her shoulders, mopping her forehead and armpits. She fluffed her hair in the mirror, running fingers through until it stopped sticking to her skin, then slouched against the mirror's handrail and took a long drink from her water bottle. Even off the treadmill her skin flushed hot, her heart felt like it was spinning in her chest.

Despite her excitement to see Suletta again, what if it wasn't for the reasons she wanted? After all, this was the woman that couldn't make her mind up last night. Now she was so bold to insist upon a personal meeting? Something had to be wrong.

She'd already ruined her chances, then went ahead and meddled with Suletta's career and threatened her boss. What was she thinking? She deserved a restraining order more than her number. Miorine wrapped the towel tighter around her shoulders and continued draining her bottle.

The gym's door half opened and Suletta stopped in the door frame. She wore her flight suit, but had ditched the helmet this time. Her long curly hair had been tamed back into a bun at the base of her head, but errant strands stuck out adorably in every which way. But the way her eyes widened and cheeks flushed after glancing Miorine up and down enveloped her heart.

Whatever words she had were frozen on her tongue inside her agape mouth. Was she lost in thought, or unable to think? The consideration of fleeing flashed across her blue eyes, but still she remained fixed in the doorway. 'Come in,' Miorine invited, relieving Suletta of the burden of choice. She took a single step forward, enough to let the door swing closed behind her, but remained mute.

Without her heels on, Miorine was at least a head shorter. Even so, with Suletta focused intently on her feet; she looked down on the girl fidgeting, delight pulling at the corners of her lips as she imagined pinning her with an arm against the wall.

'My boss just briefed me on a live test of the prototype,' she stuttered out.

'Congratulations,' Miorine answered nonchalantly.

'He seemed pretty mad about it, though,' she added. 'Did you do something?'

'I may have run into Guel in the office and expressed my admiration for your talents.' She diverted her gaze and took a drink from her bottle.

Suletta's hands tensed into fists. 'I don't want to seem ungrateful, but I also don't want to make my boss mad--I can't accept preferential treatment just because you find me attractive.'

Miorine coughed on her water at the bold accusation. She could hardly believe those words came out of that girl's mouth. 'Nothing was done because I find you so--' she dragged her eyes down the form concealed in the grey jumpsuit and tried to elicit memories of what lay underneath. Suletta squirmed under the scrutiny of her pregnant pause. '--I just thought your boss was stupid keeping someone of your calibre grounded. I'll tell him to walk back on the test if that's what you want, but only if you tell me you think you're not ready.'

Suletta bumbled over her words. 'It's not right.'

'That wasn't what I asked.' Miorine said, exasperated. 'So, are you ready?'

She nodded vigorously. 'I am.'

'Then you deserve it.' All this sickly sincerity threatened a blush on her own face. That wouldn't do. Miorine flicked the towel off her shoulders and strode towards the exit behind Suletta. 'I have to go shower. Care to join me?'

Suletta, contrary to expectation, remained fixed in place as though the comment bounced right off her forehead. Miorine stopped in her tracks, quirking her head. Was there anything going on behind those eyes?

Then, she stepped forward and threw her arms around Miorine's middle, squeezing; she tensed up, going rigid at her sudden touch. Suletta released her again before she could even comprehend the embrace. 'Thank you, you're a nice person,' her words came without spaces as she fled out the way she came.

Miorine remained stunned in place as the door swung closed. What the hell was that and what was it doing to her heart? She didn't need to spend all that time on the treadmill with how her blood was pumping now.

That girl had cracked her composure and left her gasping like she'd finished another set, left her wanting more. The realisation crashed and her stomach plummeted; she'd forgotten to ask for her number, again. Why was doing things the right way so difficult? She clicked her tongue, frustrated, and headed for the changing room showers.

She floated into the shower stall, peeling out of the damp clothes and blasting herself with cold water. Did that really just happen? A phantom feeling persisted around her middle where Suletta had embraced her, but it still didn't seem real, defying all her expectations.

Shit. She thumped her hand against the white tiled wall. This crush wasn't going to go away on its own, was it? Worse, without an outlet she was stuck stewing in her own thoughts. Unless she broke the rules again, she was trapped waiting on Suletta's initiative.