The Leveller - Julia Durango Page 0,11

he said, turning his attention to me.

I grabbed Hodee, who was curled up underneath my feet, and tried to cover the gravy stain with him.

“Your parents tell me you’re quite a creative beta player,” he continued.

I shrugged, unsure of what to say. Did he know about the levelling? That could be bad.

“In fact, they say you have a talent for finding players in MeaParadisus, whether they want to be found or not.”

Yup. He knew. I glanced at Jill then and she nodded slightly, which I took to mean: The jig is up; go ahead and speak freely.

I cleared my throat. “Well, I don’t know that I can find anybody, but I haven’t failed yet. I’m pretty familiar with the various MEEP templates, which helps.”

“Yes, my Usage Admin shared your stats with me. You’ve spent nearly as much time in the MEEP as my full-time developers . . . lots of late-night hours you’ve racked up over the past few years.”

At that point, both my parents whipped their heads around to look at me. I kept my gaze on the laptop screen and avoided all eye contact with them, glaring instead at Salvador. How many ways could I be ratted out in one day? First, my parents tattle on my levelling business, then Salvador tattles on my nighttime usage? Did personal privacy mean nothing anymore?

“I’d like your help, Phoenix, on a very challenging retrieval mission,” Salvador continued, completely unfazed by my I-can’t-believe-you-people gaze. “May I count on you?” he asked.

“How much does it pay?” I replied without blinking. Jill gave a little gasp beside me while Vic did a slow-motion face palm. I’d obviously just embarrassed the hot heck out of them, but I figured it was time for payback in that department.

Diego Salvador’s eyebrows raised the slightest fraction of a millimeter, but otherwise he matched my poker face steel for steel. “Interesting question. I suppose I should ask how much you charge your other clients when you engage in levelling . . . in direct violation of the beta agreement, may I add.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Salvador put up a hand to stop me. “No need to worry, Phoenix. As I told your parents earlier, I understand that all business enterprises of a grand scope like MeaParadisus will naturally produce an intrepid subclass of entrepreneurs, such as yourself. Which is exactly the kind of guts and initiative I need. Will five thousand dollars plus expenses suffice?”

I pretended to think this over while my mother gave me a swift kick underneath videocamera range. Ah, maternal love. “Fine, but I’d like a 5K bonus if I get him back in an hour,” I said. What the heck? I figured. He’s a billionaire; ten thousand dollars is chump change to him. I have college tuition to think about.

“Done,” he said. “I’ll send my plane for you first thing in the morning. I prefer to discuss the details in person.”

So that’s how Vic and I ended up here, swigging ginger ale and winging our way to Salvador’s place in the Florida Keys. After some discussion, it was decided that Dad would accompany me for tech support, while Mom and Hodee would stay home and hold down the fort. Of course, then Jill had to give me the whole eight-hours-of-sleep lecture and threaten to lock down my MEEP device at night if I couldn’t control myself in the future. To be fair though, she was a champ this morning, getting up at five o’clock to make coffee and drive us to the airfield.

A little bell dings in the plane, and Kora, who’s said very little to us so far except to take our drink orders, unbuckles herself from her seat and leans forward. “Mr. Salvador has instructed me to fill you in on some of the details before we arrive, to save time once we get there,” she says, removing a digital tablet from an expensive-looking leather briefcase.

Kora Lee is dressed in a white silk blouse, a red pencil skirt, and black pointy heels that say “sexy” and “don’t even think about it” at the same time. Her long black hair is parted perfectly down the middle, her makeup so immaculate she almost looks airbrushed. I wonder how she does it, how she achieves this perfection, given that she and the pilot left Florida in the middle of the night to arrive in Illinois by six. I suppose when your boss is Man of the Year, there’s no such thing as