Friday was upon them far too quickly and Oliver was going to go bald if he continued tugging at his hair as often as he was.
“I don’t do well with deadlines,” he admitted as Nif calmly gathered her laptop for the coordinators meeting.
“How you published so many novels is beyond me,” Nif teased. She handed him a paper cup full of tea and he scrunched up his nose at the smell. “Drink, it’s a herbal tea. The last thing you need is more caffeine. We’re ready for the presentation. Leon and I will take the lead and all you’ll do is answer any questions that we can’t answer. Just pretend to be a snobby author. Trust me, the coordinators are used to handling the fragile egos of creatives.”
“Fragile egos!” Oliver huffed, but he was smiling and his shoulders relaxed enough they were no longer tucked up by his ears.
“Ready?” Leon asked, head popping into the office. He didn’t wait for an answer, ushering them both towards the elevator and humming cheerfully along to the music as they headed to floor 8: the Management Level.
Nif hadn’t had many opportunities to visit the 8th floor. The last time was for the previous year’s Winter Solstice celebration in the company’s main function room, wall to ceiling windows providing crisp views of the city and harbour. Most of the higher ups had offices up here and there were a half dozen large meeting rooms that could be booked by the different units, but Leon preferred to have their own staff meetings in their office space.
“We’re in meeting room 14A. We should be the first ones there so we can set up.” Leon said as he confidently led them through the thickly carpeted hallways. “Are you prepared to face the dragons, Jennifer?”
This was her first presentation to management and she’d been doing well pushing down her own anxiety to do battle with Oliver’s. Now her stomach gave a little lurch.
“I’d hardly call us dragons, Leon,” a middle-aged woman spoke up from behind them. Nif would recognise her anywhere. Laura Dalton was a walking contradiction. Her hair was a riot of colours – teals and pinks and purples and blues – against the monochrome background of her neatly pressed black suit and grey jewellery. She was lean and her smile was sharp and Nif would’ve believed it if someone had told her the woman’s shift was a dragon and not a snake.
Well the woman was a liar. Every single one of them was a dragon. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that they all had a reptile shift, their countenance ranging from icy stern to cool unimpressed. They all sat in a semicircle, basking in the sunshine that streamed through the windows and facing the presentation displayed on a massive wall screen. Leon and Nif stood on either side of the display like bookends while Oliver had gratefully sunk into a chair provided for him by the exit. Nif kept checking he was still there and hadn’t taken the opportunity to escape.
Nif was left flustered as she outlined their progress, skipping through slides and relying heavily on her notes despite having every word memorised. She made the mistake of making eye contact with Drey Heart, head of marketing, who blinked at her slowly with his translucent third eyelids, and after that she either focussed on the back of the room or the notes in her hands.
Leon smoothly stepped in to elaborate or guide her back on track in a way that somehow felt more like they were a team facing off against monsters than a parent ensuring their toddler didn’t catapult themselves off a cliff. Even with Leon’s charm and wit, the presentation was met with misgivings.
Stolen novel; please report.
“This project is taking a big risk…” Greg Turtledove hawed nasally, bald as the shell of his shift.
“Our company’s expertise is in books,” Oceania Link argued, her words emphasised by a sharp crack of her glossy red fingernails on the desk. “By all means, we should ensure we manage our client’s portfolios but do we really want to be moving into script writing when there are professionals far more capable?”
“No disrespect to Mr Salem, but surely it’s in everyone’s best interests that he instead focuses on what he’s good at? Writing novels?” Isabella Siu offered Oliver a pinched smile before turning her attention back to Leon. Nif felt invisible but since she was hoping the ground would swallow her up as they talked, she didn’t mind. “The Thornton Awards will be looking for nominations for next year soon and…”
Laura Dalton cleared her throat and the other’s fell silent. “While the success of this project would bring new direction and revenue to our company and I believe this is a risk worth taking, what I doubt is your team’s ability to manage it. Leon, while I have full faith in your ability to polish the most unlikely of hunches into gold, I must insist that we expand your team to include script writers and editors that have more experience in preparing novels for the screen.”
Nif glanced over to Oliver and winced. He looked like the higher-ups had pissed on his shoe. Leon had moved next to her to deflect their full attention and she could feel frustration radiating from him despite the confident smile he wore.
“No need to be so hasty,” Leon replied. “This is Salem’s first draft and I assure you he has a natural gift for screenwriting that we’d be remiss to ignore. I’ve prepared copies of our documents for you to have a closer inspection over the coming week and we can then reconvene to further discuss what steps still need to be taken, if any.” His grin had even Greg Turtledove returning his smile. “I’ve not been wrong about one of my ‘hunches’ yet.”
When Nif, Leon and Oliver left, leaving thick folders for each manager to review, Nif felt like an overcooked noodle.
“Well, that went swimmingly,” Leon said dryly.
Nif snorted and then started to giggle, the stress leading up to the meeting melting away. Oliver huffed and then cracked his own smile.
“I’m glad it’s over. For now anyway. Can only hope I impress them with the script.”
“Oh you’ll blow their socks off,” Leon assured. “Anyway, I need to catch up with someone while I’m here. You two go ahead. I plan to take you both out for lunch so don’t disappear.”
“We won’t,” Nif promised, waving him off.
Nif’s phone rang as they reached the elevator. It was Clint, but when Nif answered, Thea was the one who responded. Thea had been seconded to the murder investigation team to help liaise with the non-shifter community, mostly in charge of keeping everyone informed.
“Is everything okay?” Nif demanded, dragging Oliver in close and putting the phone on speaker. Her heart pounded as if she’d just legged it to catch the last bus home. “Is Clinton alright?”
“Clint’s fine,” Thea reassured. “I’ve some information I wanted to share before it hits the news in the next half hour. Moira said Oliver’s with you…?”
“Yeah, he’s here.”
“Good. We’ve found the link between the victims. You were right, Nif. They were targeted through various dating apps.”
“Morris too?” Nif asked in a tiny voice.
“I’m afraid so. Looks like this Hound of Baskerville that’s been contacting you through Tender also has similar profiles on LoveLink, Match Mate, and Heartbeat Hub. The other victims all have similar messages to the ones sent to you.”
“Should I delete my profile now?” Nif was tempted to trash her entire phone if it meant she wouldn’t have to see that name on her screen ever again.
“I’m asking you a lot, but it would be best if you still kept it. Don’t reply, but I need you to forward me any new messages. Think you can do that?”
“Anything to catch Morris’s killer.”
Oliver squeezed Nif’s hand and the tightness in her chest eased. She wasn’t alone.