Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
The woman next to me leans in. “I know what you’re thinking.” Her accent is Old American, i.e. fake British.
I look at her. She’s much older than me. Not old, exactly. But late forties, at least. If I assume that all new recruits are new PhD graduates, then that means she’s been here for a very long time.
I didn’t meet her earlier in the day. But she’s acting like she’s very familiar with me. So I respond in kind. “What am I thinking?”
“That we eat like a bunch of rich assholes every night.”
I chuckle. “I was kinda thinking that.”
“We don’t. But Mercer was adamant that we put on airs for you.”
I look around again, squirm a little. “This is all for me?”
“Are you surprised?” the woman asks.
“Yeah. I mean, I’m no one special.”
“Oh, I love it.” She picks up her wine glass, holds it out in the direction of Mercer across the table, and says, “Well done, sir. Well done.”
People start clapping. Just those nearby who heard the woman’s toast. It’s nothing big, just a small clap. But it’s weird.
“What’s well done?” I ask.
The woman leans in to me. “Mercer is a picky fuck.” I huff out a little laugh at her crude language. “You have no idea how long he’s been planning this.”
“This?”
“Your recruitment, dear. It’s been…” She raises her voice. “How long, Mercer? How long did it take you to get her here?”
“Be nice, Beatrice. It’s her first day.” Then he directs his attention to me. “I apologize. She’s an acquired taste, but she’s also in charge of the seating chart. It’s better to get this particular introduction over early.” He chuckles a little. So do the people around us, and I label Beatrice the ‘crazy aunt’ of the Institute.
There are other older people. Mostly men. Stuffy-looking men in tuxedos. But none of the women are as old as Beatrice. So not only is she the crazy aunt, she appears to be the resident matron.
The dinner is delicious. Seven courses. A lobster soup. Some potato thing served in a tin dish. The pre-main course—fish. The main course—lamb. And then I just lose track of the courses until we get to dessert. Vanilla custard with one fresh strawberry on top.
I pick at most of the food—it’s a little bit fancy for me. But I eat all the dessert, licking the round spoon and feeding myself the strawberry like it’s the cherry on top.
I catch Mercer watching me do this, then blush profusely because maybe it came off as erotic?
But he simply smiles and directs his attention to the man next to him without comment.
And then all the dishes are cleared away and Mercer is getting to his feet and buttoning his suit coat. I notice that he did not change for dinner. But his suit was very nice to begin with, so I guess he didn’t feel the need.
He walks up the steps to the podium and raises both hands without saying a word, asking for everyone’s attention. Though it was a silent ask, it is taken seriously and the hum of low-level conversation dulls, then stops completely.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming tonight. I’m sure most of you have already met Ryan, but for those of you who haven’t—” He extends his hand in my direction, beckoning me with his fingers.
I hastily place my napkin on my plate and stand up, self-conscious and embarrassed that I’m being called out. I blink, then pull myself together and walk over to him, accepting his hand as he helps me up to the podium. Which is technically large enough for two people, but only just technically.
We are very close together. And perhaps he is afraid that I will fall off, because his hand slides around my waist, resting on my hip. Gripping it a little to steady me.
“This is Ryan,” he says. “My new recruit.”
The whole room hums, “Hi, Ryan!” Or something along those lines. My name—my new name—sliding off the tongues of everyone in the room.
I want to feel embarrassed.
But I realize I don’t feel embarrassed.
I feel… at home.
There is some mingling after dinner, but it’s short. And after only a few minutes Mercer takes my hand, places it on his arm, and starts leading me down the path towards the rest of the island.
“How was your day?” he asks.
“Good.” It’s an automatic response and I revise. He deserves a real answer. “It was amazing, actually. I really, really had a good time today. And you know what’s funny?”
When I look up at Mercer, he’s staring down at me with a wide grin. “What’s funny, Nova?”
I tsk my tongue. “Why are you calling me Nova? You’re supposed to be calling me Ryan. You’re the one who insisted on it, in fact.”
“Sorry.” He’s still grinning. “What’s funny, Ryan?”
“I was not thrilled when you told me that I had to meet everyone today.”