But the picture that flashed on the screen wasn’t Daniel. “Meredith?” Lord, was Shanna using poor Meredith to deliver the deathblow?
“Oh, Charlie. I’m so glad I caught you. Now, I don’t want you to worry about a single thing because we are on it. All of us.”
“On it? I’m not sure—”
“I mean that awful story, of course. But we’re hitting them where it hurts. Pow! Right in the advertisers. Check out #htwlies and you’ll see. We’re out-tweeting them.”
Charlie’s throat contracted and tears prickled the corners of her eyes. Meredith and the other women in the group. She never realized they had any more invested in the program—in Charlie herself—than the immediate gratification of the dating pool. But their timing couldn’t have been worse.
“Meredith, listen. Please. I want you to stop. All of you.”
“But…but…what he said—”
“True. All of it.” At least from his point of view. “I’m about to post an apology. Would you retweet? Tell the other women to do the same? I’ll use #htwtruth.”
“You’re tweeting? But Charlie, you don’t even have a Twitter account. You told us—”
“I know. But I’ll set up one now. Promise me?”
“Well…okay. I still think it was a really mean story, but if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. And Meredith? Thank you. You’re awesome. All of you.”
Charlie hurried to the corner and huddled over her cell phone. This might be too little, too late, but it was the right thing to do. Even if Daniel cost her this chance with AGS, she couldn’t be the reason he lost his own job.
As soon as she tweeted the apology, Meredith retweeted, along with a frowny face emoticon. She heaved a sigh and shook back her hair. Done. Her fate and Daniel’s fate were in the hands of the data gods now. If AGS objected, maybe they weren’t the altruistic employer she’d always dreamed of.
Or as Gideon was fond of saying, Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.
She turned off her phone, tucked it into her pocket, and punched the elevator button.
Game on.
When Charlie stepped out of the elevator, she nearly got back on again. If it weren’t for the giant AGS logo on the wall behind the reception desk, she’d have been certain she’d come to the wrong floor. The place looked so…so corporate, indistinguishable from some high-end law firm.
The few pictures on their website didn’t match this vast expanse of glass and wood and brushed steel. They depicted practical, slightly shabby offices in keeping with a company that spent their money on developing-world projects. She’d always loved that—proof that they valued results over appearances.
But this place? It even smelled new. Clearly they needed to update their site.
Unless they’re trying to hide a change in priorities.
Lord, where had that thought come from? This was freaking AGS. With the rest of her life crumbling around her, her commitment to their mission was all she had left. A little late to start second-guessing it now.
She smoothed the lapels on her jacket and marched up to the reception desk.
“Good morning. I’m Charlie Forrester. I have an interview at ten.”
The receptionist pulled a clipboard from under the desk and handed it to Charlie. “Sign this release, please.”
“Release?”
“For the film.”
“Film?” Charlie repeated, like a brain-damaged parrot.
The receptionist heaved a sigh, and heat rushed up Charlie’s throat in her stupid redhead’s blush. “Christopher Smithson is on-site to film a follow-up companion piece to his first AGS documentary. Your interview may be recorded as part of it.”
Charlie clutched the handle of her briefcase in a fist gone suddenly damp. “Another Smithson movie? I don’t—”
The woman behind the desk gave her a thin-lipped smile. “You’re not compelled to sign, of course, but only candidates who sign the release are eligible for hire. We were quite clear with ITS West about it.”
Nice of Shanna to warn me. Charlie glanced at the glass-walled conference room across the lobby where two men, one wearing a headset, conferred next to a video camera. The break dancing centipedes staged a belated encore in her middle.
She’d never heard a whisper of a rumor about a new documentary. They must be keeping an incredibly tight lid on it. Or maybe you were so focused on Daniel that you missed that little tidbit.
She swallowed, mouth dry. “No problem.” She scrawled her name on the papers and returned the clipboard.
“You may wait over there. Dr. Maynard will call you when they’re ready for you.”
Charlie perched on a sofa under the bank of windows, immediately regretting her choice because the sun on her back made sweat pop out on her forehead.
But if she moved to the love seat in the shade, she’d be right next to another woman, who was probably Shanna’s handpicked candidate.
Awkward.
She stayed where she was and consigned herself to perspiration.
But the other woman turned to her, a smile on her face. “Are you here for the interview as well?”
“Yes. But I must have gotten the time wrong if you’re here now, too.”
The woman laughed, a lovely burble that pinged Charlie’s memory circuits. “Oh, no. You are fine. I am simply early. I couldn’t help it, however. I am so…so excited.”
She grinned and Charlie recognized her—the heavy dark braid, cinnamon skin, and the slight disfiguring scar tissue on the corner of her left eye.
Oh my God. “Excuse me, but aren’t you Jyoti? The girl in the first AGS documentary?”
The woman’s smile grew wider. “But yes. So you saw that film?”
“I did. Many times. It made a huge difference to me.”
“To me, also, as you might imagine.” She patted the seat next to her. “Please. Come here out of the sun.”
Charlie nodded and moved to the blessedly shaded love seat.
“I am nervous, a little,” Jyoti confided. “I have my Master’s but have not yet my PhD. But the lady who contacted me about this position said it would not matter as I am so close to finishing.”
Charlie would bet her new gaming rig that “the lady” was Shanna, and she had to give the woman credit. She’d done her due diligence and Jyoti was an excellent candidate. So what if she didn’t meet all the criteria for the job? Neither did Charlie, on one humongous point.
“Dr. Forrester,” the receptionist called. “Dr. Maynard will see you now.”
“Good luck. I hope you do well. But since you are already a doctor, I’m sure you will be brilliant.”
Not exactly a forgone conclusion. “Thanks. You, too.”
Charlie crossed to where three men awaited her at the open conference room door. The shortest, stoutest man stepped forward.
“I’m Dr. Maynard, the hiring committee chair. This is Dr. Sylvester, head of R and D, and Floyd Bolton, our HR director.”
Charlie’s momentary confidence faded. She recognized Dr. Maynard by reputation. He was the AGS corporate wet blanket, always showing up in project reviews to point out the failures rather than the successes.
Dr. Maynard gestured for her to precede him. “This way, please.”
Once inside, the committee members arranged themselves on either side of the table, and Dr. Maynard motioned her to the spot at the end. She smiled uncertainly at the cameraman and the man in the headset, both of whom perched on stools that raised them head and shoulders above the people seated at the table. Dr. Maynard didn’t offer an introduction, but Charlie assumed the one with the headset must be Christopher Smithson.
“So. Ms. Forrester—”
“It’s Dr. Forrester,” Smithson said. “Didn’t you read her resumé?”
Dr. Maynard pressed his thin lips toget
her until they disappeared. “Of course. However—” Floyd passed him a copy of her resumé, his expression so neutral he’d give Toshiko a run for her money. “Yes. Dr. Forrester.” He smoothed his tie and focused on a point over her left shoulder. “Perhaps you could tell us about your recent employment experience.”
“Certainly.”
She glanced furtively at the screen at the far end of the conference table. It displayed the AGS home page—with those out-of-date office pictures—not the HTW story. A dramatic reveal on camera would make better footage. Was that the plan? To showcase how serious AGS was about hiring only those with impeccable credentials?
Well, if humiliation was on the agenda, she’d had plenty of recent experience. Do your worst, gentlemen, but this time, we’ll do it on my timeline.
“If you don’t mind, however, I think we can move through this more efficiently.” She indicated the screen and the keyboard in front of Dr. Sylvester. “May I?”
Dr. Maynard pursed his lips as if he were nursing a lemon. “As you wish.” He gestured for Dr. Sylvester to pass Charlie the controls.
Charlie ignored his cranky attitude and the indifference of the other committee members. She pulled up the job description and walked them through it. With each requirement fulfilled by her resumé, Dr. Maynard’s mouth curled down another notch. The other two men glanced at each other and fidgeted in their chairs.
Yet they still didn’t mention HTW. Could they possibly be that ill-informed about their job candidates? Fine. As long as she still held the floor, she might as well pull out the Big Data guns and kick some butt.
She typed in the web address of her personal site with the AGS data she’d mined over the years. “This dashboard represents an overview of your activities and their benefit for the communities you’ve served. I’m sure you have something similar in-house, yes?”
As she clicked through the charts and graphs, explaining each one, she caught startled glances among the committee and the first glimmering of real interest. Finally. Her prospects for the job might have ticked up a notch.
“Historical perspective is important, of course,” she continued, “but the true reason for studying where you’ve been is to identify where you should go next. That’s the power of predictive analytics. Here.” She clicked on the page she’d configured last night. “This shows the top ten targets for your next initiative. These projects may not be the cheapest, but they’ll result in the maximum quality-of-life impact.”
“Dr. Forrester,” Smithson asked, “where’d you get this information?”
Dr. Cranky Maynard turned and glared at the filmmaker. “Mr. Smithson. You’re supposed to be an impartial observer, not a participant.”
“Then you should ask better questions.”
Charlie allowed herself an internal smirk, but she kept her expression bland. “I’ve been following AGS for years. I was a big fan of your first documentary, Mr. Smithson. It changed my life.”
“Really?” He sat forward in his chair, fairly oozing satisfaction. “Tell me—”
“Mr. Smithson! If you don’t mind.”
“Dr. Maynard, can you honestly say”—he gestured to the camera—“for the record, that Dr. Forrester isn’t a perfect match for this job?”
She had this, hands down. If they refused to hire the person best equipped to achieve their mission, and Smithson’s documentary captured it, the company’s hiring practices would be exposed as suspect. They’d compromise their reputation. Damage their credibility. Endanger their funding stream.
They had no choice but to hire her.
Shouldn’t she be thrilled? If so, why did the dancing centipedes in her belly curl up in a sullen ball?
The committee chair and Smithson continued to glare at each other, playing territorial chicken, but Bolton, the HR guy, tracked Jyoti as she crossed the lobby to the reception desk and shared a surreptitious glance and a tiny head shake with Dr. Sylvester.
With an almost audible internal click, the pieces aligned in Charlie’s mind. The new documentary. Jyoti, the subject of the last documentary, personally scouted by Shanna. The committee’s discomfort when they reviewed her qualifications.
The job posting was nothing but a purple squirrel hunt, purposely written with outrageous requirements that no candidate could meet, all intended to set this up. AGS could present themselves as a humanitarian savior, hiring the underprivileged girl to whom they’d given a start with their own programs. Talk about a PR extravaganza. And Charlie had screwed it up by fitting the profile better.
She watched Jyoti smile in response to a frown and a dismissive wave from the receptionist.
All her life, Charlie had wanted to make a difference in the world. She’d believed working for AGS was the way to do it, but maybe the best difference she could make was not to work for them at all.
“Excuse me, Dr. Maynard, Mr. Smithson, but I believe we have one last item to cover on the job description. The humanitarian credentials. Let me show you what I’ve done in that arena.” She pulled up the HTW website and the Cyber Pimp headline blazoned across the screen in all its screaming red glory.
“Dr. Forrester.” Dr. Maynard’s scandalized tone fit an outraged Victorian maiden auntie better than a jaded modern social scientist. “What is this?”
“This, gentlemen, is my contribution to humanity. Let me introduce you to Studies in Predictive Mating Behaviors Predicated on Social Media and Online Interaction, or, as I like to call it, the Love Program.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Geekronym: BCDR
Translation: Business continuity and disaster recovery
Definition: An organization’s plans and procedures for recovering from a disaster and/or unexpected event and resuming critical business operations.
“Cyber Pimp? Are you fucking kidding me?” Daniel slammed his hands on Nelson’s desk. “You son of a bitch. I didn’t file that story. You stole it off my computer.”
Nelson shrugged. “My computer, Shawn. My journal, remember?”
“I filed the science fiction tech story. You were supposed to run that one.” Daniel’s rage threatened to burst a vessel in his throbbing temple.
“I told you I needed sensational. Not touchy-feely crap. This one’s exactly what the backers ordered. Have you seen the Twitter stream?” His piggy eyes gleamed, and his jowls quivered in the throes of his tech-gasm. “We’re trending. We’ve never trended before.”
“Trending isn’t necessarily positive.”
He waived the caution away. “We need a follow-up. Can you interview one of the men she victimized?”
“Damn it, this isn’t like the Argonne case. The men weren’t victims. No personal data leaked. No identity theft. No financial scams or ponzi schemes. They just had a chance to meet women who were on the same page as they were relationship-wise.”
Nelson rocked back in his chair. “Sounds very…benign. And boring.”
“I wanted people to know what was possible with their data. A wake-up call. I didn’t want to crucify her.” Daniel ran shaking hands through his hair, unable to imagine how devastated Charlie would be. She’d never forgive him. Did he want her to?
“Don’t know why you’re shitting on me. They’re your words. I didn’t change a single comma.”
Yes, but… “If you were going to print a story about her program, why didn’t you pick the other one? The positive one?”
“Grow up, Shawn.” Nelson pulled a Red Vine out of the package on his desk, chomping on it as if it were a limp red cigar. “Say you’re driving down the road. On one side is a car wreck. Flashing lights. Broken glass. Crumpled metal. The other side, a litter of puppies frolicking through a field of wildflowers with a couple of unicorns thrown in for shits and giggles; 99.9 percent of the adult population will stare at the wreck. It’s human nature. We’re hard-wired for the adrenaline rush.”
&nb
sp; Daniel’s adrenaline was rushing all right, but his anger at Nelson drained the last trace of resentment over Charlie’s deception. “We have a responsibility as journalists to—”
“Save it. She apologized.”
His breath stuttered to a halt. “She what?”
“On Twitter. Corroborated your story. The retweets sent our stats through the roof. Congratulations, Shawn. You’re back on the A-list.”
A week ago, Daniel would have punched the air in victory. Today, he forced himself to turn away and walk out of Nelson’s office before he jammed the damn Red Vine down the bastard’s throat.
Fuming, he stalked to his desk and dropped down into his uncomfortable chair. Yeah, she’d made him part of a bet, but on her side, the stakes were enormous. He’d always teased her about her AGS obsession when they were kids, even though he’d gone along with it. He’d watched that damn documentary with her more times than he could count. Listened to her plan her whole life so she’d be worthy to work for them.
Could he really blame her for taking the shot when she had it?
If she’d asked him, he’d have told her to go for it, no question. But you threw her under the fucking bus because you were hacked off that she didn’t trust you enough to ask.
What reason did she have to trust him, though? When she’d wagered her life’s dream against connecting with him, as far as she knew, he was still the guy who turned his back on her when they were teenagers.
Damn it, he should have trusted her. He should have known she was nothing like Argonne, who manipulated people and data behind the scenes, his targets carefully chosen to achieve his own specific goals. He’d subverted the most intimate feelings, without regard for the men whose lives he’d trashed.
Charlie didn’t do anything close to the same thing. She’d facilitated meetings that might otherwise never have taken place, brought together couples who might never have found each other.
Because, Christ, in a world this populated, where most interpersonal interaction took place on a screen no bigger than the palm of your hand, what were the chances you’d accidentally run across your soul mate? Wasn’t anything that helped cut through the noise a good thing?
Lost in Geeklandia Page 16
