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Page 6 of Small Sacrifices

There's that snort again. "Well, you don't need to go quite that far. I just thought I'd save you from Beth's wrath. That was you yesterday, right? The guy who fell in the parking lot? I thought I recognized the curls. Do they usually keep you that late?"

Oh. Immediately, Reid tenses up. Is this a test?

Do they do that? Sic the boss’s son on people to see what they say about their working conditions?

That could work. Maybe people just like to talk to him.

He's certainly attractive enough, and Reid could see how someone might think he's charming.

He's also quite tall. Reid himself isn't particularly short, but now that they're standing closer to each other, he has to look up to meet Everett's eyes.

"No," he croaks, winces, and then clears his throat to try again. "No. This was a special circumstance. We have a meeting about the… situation at the elementary school today. I was asked to prepare a proposal, so I had to stay late."

"Situation, huh? Is that what they're calling it now?"

Reid can feel a smile twitch across his lips.

No, they don't. Scandal, they call it, or debacle.

He's heard it referred to as a shitstorm, even.

But he's not supposed to talk like that, is he?

Especially not in front of the governor's son, who knows better than anyone else how wrong these accusations are.

"Mr. Mackenzie—" he starts, but is quickly interrupted by a hard scoff.

"Everett, please. Mr. Mackenzie is my father. I'd rather not invite the comparison."

"Right. Everett. It's not my place to label what's happening. I'm just trying to open communication and help resolve the issues caused."

Everett's brown eyes widen. "Oh God, you sound like a politician. Please tell me you're not a politician?"

What's that supposed to mean? "I work for the Department of Public Relations."

"Thank fuck." Everett lets his head loll back, but quickly reassembles himself into something at least adjacent to good posture. "I just thought I recognized you and wanted to make sure you were okay. You look a bit out of it. And I agree that the ID system is shit, so…"

"Oh." Reid is at a loss. How did Everett even recognize him? The parking lot isn't exactly close to the building. And why was Everett there so late?

"Thank you," Reid finally says, and he's proud when it doesn't sound like a question.

It gets him a grin. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"I prefer the written word. It's more precise."

Everett raises an eyebrow. "Then why are you in politics?"

This again. Reid really needs to get to the office. Mr. Wright is going to arrive soon. "What do you mean?"

Somewhere down the hallway, a light flickers. It makes Reid cast a look around—they're still alone. Usually, he's glad to be able to make his way to work in solitude, but it's inconvenient. He wishes that someone would walk by, to remind Everett of where they are.

"Just… Precision can be dangerous in politics. I would think that if you're hired to be precise, you'd need to pick words to very precisely not make a definite statement."

Reid can feel his eyebrows drawing together.

What? Everett remembers his father is a politician, right?

A politician who has to be more careful in his statements than most. Does he really think Reid would fall for that?

But the look on Everett's face is open, as though he expects Reid to believe him and just answer. Well. Alright. He can do that.

"Your father is a man of integrity. Yes, he needs to be careful with what he says, but that's what we're here for. I believe in his policies and his values. If working towards that means we have to pick our words wisely, then so be it."

As he speaks, he can see Everett's face pinch like he's tasting something sour. His eyebrows draw together, his eyes squint, and even his mouth is slightly pursed. It sends a frisson of panic down Reid's spine. He doesn't like that answer.

"You really believe all that?" Everett asks. There's some sort of undertone to his words, dark and flat, but Reid doesn't know what it means.

"Of course."

Everett drags a hand through his hair and, for just a moment, the sight of it running between his fingers like ink mesmerizes Reid. But then he sees the man shake his head.

"Right, of course." Brown eyes look down at him. "You know, if you really do, you should be careful. People like that tend to get chewed up and spit out by this place."

"Excuse me?"

Everett chuckles. "It's nothing. Just don't let them run you into the ground, 'kay? I need to be somewhere." He pats Reid's shoulder with a heavy hand. Then, without waiting for a response, he turns and walks away.

Reid wants to shout after him, demand an explanation. The presumption of it burns. People like that. How flattering to hear that someone who doesn't even know him also thinks this job will overwhelm him. Just like his parents do.

It takes a while for Reid to rip himself out of his thoughts. But even when he finally reaches his desk, moments before Mr. Wright swaggers through the room and into his own office, he's still preoccupied.

Marisol notices. And she makes sure that he notices she noticed. There's an inordinate amount of eyebrow-waggling before she finally gives up on nonverbal communication. "What crawled up your ass and died?"

"The governor's son." It's not the best way to phrase an answer to that question, but he doesn't have the energy for nuance right now.

She laughs. "What, did you get pranked? I thought he'd grown out of that. Isn't he a teenager now?"

"No," Reid groans and rubs his hands across his face. "I meant the older one. He basically told me I needed to find a different job."

"What, why?"

"That’s what I’d like to know. Is he always that… difficult?" The idea of calling him an asshole is uncomfortable somehow, even though he wasn't very nice.

A furrow forms between Marisol's brows. "What are you talking about? He's cool."

"He wasn't being very cool a few moments ago," Reid grumps.

His hands are in his hair again, and that's not good.

He wants to look presentable for the meeting, so he shouldn't be messing it up now.

For someone who's had his curls his entire life, he's remarkably bad at taking care of them and styling them properly.

Marisol laughs. "Maybe he's not a morning person."

Reid grunts, mostly to keep himself from mentioning the good mood Everett had seemed to be in before it so suddenly changed.

The issue must've been something else. Maybe it was just Reid.

He has that effect on people sometimes. Whatever it was, he has to stop thinking about it.

If he's going to make a positive impression in this meeting, he can't be distracted, and he can't be grumpy.

He's not nearly old enough to command respect with a bad mood.

He's unsuccessful. At some point, he just gives up and flees.

On his third day, he discovered a small restroom off the beaten path, down a corridor that seems to be used for storage.

It's clean, and not too outdated, but the light is always off when Reid enters.

He's never met another person here. Which is excellent for his purposes.

He locks himself into the stall furthest from the door, sits down on the lid of the toilet, and attempts to meditate.

It's difficult to concentrate in his office on a good day. The open space layout may be modern, but whatever they saved by not building dividing walls cannot possibly be worth the loss of productivity caused by how difficult the presence of other people makes it to focus. Or maybe that's just Reid?

It's a bit better in here. He can still occasionally hear someone walk by, heels clicking or leather soles slipping on the granite.

Expensive shoes are a health hazard, he thinks, and then reprimands himself and tries to clear his head again.

He times his breaths and listens to the whirring of the light affixed to the ceiling.

In, two, three, out, two, three. In, two, three, out, two, three.