Chapter 4

On the elevator ride down to the basement, I bite my cuticles, wondering how earning a bachelor's degree in mechanical engineering, a master's in mechatronics, and a PhD in applied robotics has led me to becoming a glorified babysitter.

Once I reach my floor, I storm through the lab without talking to anyone and shut myself inside my office.

I sit at my desk, staring at the black screen of my computer, still nibbling at my poor fingers until a knock distracts me.

"Yeah?" I call out.

Maria pokes her head in. "Hey, boss, just checking how the meeting with the almighty went?"

"Terrible," I say.

"Oh." She shuffles in followed by K-2P. "What happened?"

"We're being invaded!"

Maria rounds my desk and sits next to my turned-off computer. "Barbarians? Oh, no, wait. Vikings?"

"Worse," I say. "Suits!"

"No!"

"Yep."

"How? Why? Who?"

"I'll have to make an announcement later anyway, but the gist of it is that Emmet Proctor is retiring at the end of next year and our president thinks his son would make a qualified replacement."

"Wait, doesn't Thomas Mercer work in HR?"

"Communications, I think."

"What else is on his CV? Major in college?"

With a shudder, I say, "I suspect business."

An equally appalled shiver runs down Maria's spine. "Pull up his resume on the company directory."

I turn on my computer and navigate the company's organizational chart until I locate his name under Head of Communications. I click on it.

A picture of Thomas Mercer pops up on my screen, and I find myself staring into the hazel-green eyes of an annoyingly handsome man with light-brown hair pulled back in an expensive haircut and a jawline so sharp it should be patented as replacement tooling for our lathes.

His qualifications read: Thomas Mercer, Bachelor's in Business Administration, MBA.

His work accomplishments are summarized in two single lines. Deputy group spokesperson and then straight to Head of Corporate Communications.

That's all he's done in the past seven years.

"Are you serious?" Maria gapes at the screen. "This will be our new boss?"

She must be as horrified as I am.

"It appears so."

Maria chews on her lower lip. "Well, I wouldn't mind working under him for a late-night session."

"Maria!" Apparently, her mind was on a totally different page than mine.

"What?"

"You can't say stuff like that about the new boss—or any of our co-workers, for that matter."

"Why not? I mean, look at him, he's almost too handsome," Maria muses. "You don't think he's hot?"

I press my lips into a thin line. "I care more about how unqualified for the job he is."

"No, you're right, he probably has a small pecker to compensate for the chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and that cute little dimple in his right cheek."

"Ma-ri-a! We won't discuss the new boss's alleged small willy."

"Yeah, forget about it, Mercer Junior is probably not worth it," Maria continues unperturbed. "Even if he had a normal-sized penis, he's too good-looking to be any good in bed. The handsome ones never put enough effort into it."

That's when K-2P gives his two cents. "The chances of the new boss having a micropenis are very slim. The condition affects only 0.6per cent of the male population worldwide. In the United States, only approximately 1.5 in 10,000 infants are born with micropenises."

Maria chuckles. "You think the new boss is well endowed, K-2P?"

"Up to 90per cent of male penises are within an inch of the average size. While only 1per cent of men have a larger penis between seven?—"

"All right, that's it." I interrupt K-2P before he can deliver even more disturbing statistics. "Out! Both of you."

I shove Maria off my desk and herd her and K-2P out of the office.

Alone once again, I close Thomas Mercer's skimpy resume and pull up the remote diagnostic protocol for cyber-physical systems I was working on last Friday before the email of doom landed in my inbox.

I open the log file where I left off and start reading through my notes from the weekend, which I spent mostly working. I popped into the lab on both Saturday and Sunday, so I don't see why K-2P should act so offended. Maybe he knows I re-watched The Force Awakens trilogy without him.

Soon, I get lost in the improving of the feedback loop, losing sense of time and forgetting all about the hazel-eyed, dimpled, presumably brainless calamity that's about to rain down on me.

Three hours later, I'm so engrossed in my work, that I don't notice when the lab door opens.

"Hey, Reese."

I jump, startled by my colleague's voice. "Garrett, what's up?"

"Sorry for bothering you." The process technology team leader steps into my office, scratching the back of his head. "Everyone is heading out for lunch, and I was wondering if you wanted to join us." He blushes tomato red.

Garrett seems always over-nervous around me. Like now. Besides his flushed cheeks, his hands are trembling as he brushes a strand of hair away from his face. And all just for a simple invite to lunch?

"Sure," I tell him. "Where are we going?"

"TGIF."

On a Monday. Isn't it ironic?

I stand up and immediately get reminded how moving comfortably and wearing a suit are mutually exclusive. "Let me change into human clothes and I'll catch up with you at the restaurant."

"I can wait for you if you want."

"No need," I say.

"All right, see you there, then."

As he exits, K-2P rolls in. "That guy has a major crush on you," the droid announces.

"Shhh. At least close the door before you start gossiping."

K-2P fumbles with the handle, his flat fingers gaining a clumsy hold, and shuts the door.

"Just because he asked me to lunch and was a little flustered around me, it doesn't mean he likes me."

"Please. I bet the only reason he hasn't asked you out is that he's your direct report."

I join K-2P by the door and pull the blinds down. "Just because my ex dumped me the moment I got promoted to a better job than his, it doesn't mean all men aren't supportive of their partners' careers."

"I was talking more about the anti-fraternization company policy, forbidding romantic relationships between executives and their subordinates."

"Oh, that." I nod, glad the policy exists. Garrett might be an excellent engineer, but he's always given me the creeps. "But I'm not sure he's into me; he's weird around everyone."

"But he's only obsessed with you."

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

Condescending beep. "I'm your droid and he tried to alter my speech drive to only say positive things about him."

I gasp. "He. Did. Not."

"Did too." K-2P swirls indignantly, his previous grudge toward me forgotten now that he has found a new enemy. "Here's a list of the catchphrases I had to self-scrub from my system: Garrett is a good listener, Garrett is a great problem solver, Garrett is the most reliable and hard-working person I know."

Laughter bubbles out of me. "You seriously had catchphrases about Garrett stored in your memory?"

"My operating system was violated and you laugh about it!"

"Violated? Now you're being dramatic, as always."

"I'd like to see how you'd feel if someone tried to force-imprint the following phrases in your brain: Garrett is an outstanding leader who inspires his team; Garrett is incredibly smart and has a great sense of humor."

"Okay, I get it. Please stop."

"No, I have several more to recite. Garrett is always on top of things, Garrett is reliable, Garrett is an inspiration, Garrett has a magnetic personality…"

Since K-2P doesn't seem intent on quitting his disclosing of all of Garrett's unique traits, I put in my earbuds and blast R.E.M. at top volume before I have to listen to a single other of Garrett's alleged admirable qualities. Swaying in time to the notes of "Losing My Religion," I begin unbuttoning my pants getting into the groove and shaking off the morning's worries.