Page 96 of Even Robots Die
I guess I was right and she didn’t like that he made us wait. Or maybe she just didn’t like the fact that I threatened to stop providing designs for her weapons.
We’re about to find out, either way.
I push the door open and enter.
54
Brice
Looking at Florentine in a business situation is like looking at a whole new person.
With her family, she’s soft and sweet—probably too much for her own sake.
With me, she is taunting, focused, and easy to anger. She isn’t scared of speaking her mind, she’s bold, she’s vibrant.
But here and now?
Her demeanor completely changes and it’s as if I’m seeing another person.
She’s still bold and focused, but it’s like frost developed over her features as she crosses the door. It looks like she’s about to go into battle.
“Quite the entrance, Miss F.,” Christina says by way of greeting.
She’s a beautiful woman in her early forties with strawberry blond hair that reaches the small of her back. Her dark brown eyes look deceptively golden with the ambient light, and her lips are drawn in a tight line. She doesn’t like that we came here unannounced.
“You made me wait,” Florentine answers with what looks like boredom.
“Not everyone can clear their schedule for impromptu visits,” Christina says with poise.
“Not everyone can design your weapons,” Florentine answers.
“We could manage with the ones we already have,” the older woman says.
“And fight birds from the ground?”
Florentine looks less and less impressed. I’ve never seen her like that. She almost looks like … me, without a trace of emotion.
I stay at the back of the room, studying her, studying her interaction with Christina.
The woman is supposed to be the leader ofLibération,she’s supposed to have charisma and a strong hold on people and yet, right this moment, all I can see is Florentine.
Some—Charles most likely—would say I’ve barely seen anything other than her lately though, so I’m not sure if it’s more a testament of her aura today or a testament of my obsession.
“We’ve done it before,” Christina says without any inflection, and I have to wonder if they’re trying to make it a contest to see who will be the first one to crack from that emotionless facade that they both give off.
Because, yes, I can tell, they’re both facades.
Florentine still has her arms crossed under her breasts in an assessing way, but I can see her hands clenching and unclenching under her armpits as if it’s all she can do to control her own body.
Christina hides it better, but I can still see it, too. It’s in the way she keeps arranging her documents in front of her and in the slight twitch of her left eye, as if her nerve is showcasing all the annoyance or urgency at being interrupted in the middle of whatever she was doing before we arrived.
“They’ve built electrical nets,” Florentine says, and I have no idea what she means.
Christina looks to be in the same situation as I am.
“What do you mean?”
I don’t know who says it first between Christina or me, but she snaps her eyes in my direction, the question reminding her of my presence.
