His Cybernetic Secretary

4. Dante

Dante had never understood why people thought being first in line meant you had to want the throne.

It sounded exhausting.

There were meetings. Speeches. Handshakes with men who smelled like expensive cologne and women who laughed too loudly at jokes that weren't funny. There were quarterly reports and board members and shareholders and endless conversations about legacy.

Legacy.

Dante had always thought that was a rather grand word for something that mostly involved other people telling you what you were supposed to do with your life.

Xavier had wanted it.

Or, at least, he had wanted the work.

Dante had watched his younger brother slowly take over the responsibilities that had technically belonged to him and had never once stopped him. If anything, he'd encouraged it.

Dante would take the family company job that didn't require him to be the face of it. He'd show up, do the work, charm whoever needed charming, disappear before anyone could put him on another committee, and leave the serious business to Xavier.

In exchange, he got freedom.

And freedom, Dante had discovered, was considerably more interesting than power.

Especially when freedom came with a good jawline. He knew women wanted him, there was no point pretending otherwise, and he enjoyed it. Thoroughly.

He enjoyed the lingering looks across restaurants. The smiles from women who had no idea what he did but had decided they wanted to find out. He enjoyed arriving at parties alone and leaving with company.

Xavier, naturally, hated every second of it.

That’s why he loved teasing Xav’s secretaries. But now he had gone too far and was responsible for finding him a new one.

Dante is halfway through the folder of candidates when he realizes he’s started reading the same résumé for the third time.

He drops it onto the desk.

“Jesus Christ.”

The stack in front of him is a graveyard of bad candidates. Too much experience in the wrong places. Not enough experience where it matters. One woman has changed jobs every six months for the last four years. Another has listed “proficient in email” as a technical skill.

Dante leans back and rubs both hands over his face. This is going nowhere.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen.

Xav:

Come up to my office.

No explanation. No pleasantries. True Xav fashion. Dante closes the folder, pushes himself out of the tiny chair in the cramped file room and heads upstairs.

Dante lets himself in, not quietly like the other staff that walk on eggshells around his brother, but the way he always does, door flying open nearly smacking the wall behind it, steps heavy from the weight of his stature in a clean cut suit.

Xav is standing behind his desk, but he isn't looking at his computer. He's staring out the window at the city holding a single sheet of paper between two fingers in one hand at his hip, and a half-filled glass of whiskey in the other.

The letterhead catches Dante's eye immediately. But he doesn’t let on and instead pours himself a glass similar to that of his brother.

ALUMICORP.

He takes a big sip, letting it slide down slow, savouring the taste.

“What did you do?” Dante asks quietly.

Xav gives him a look that says it’s not worth arguing. But today is no different than any other.

“Nothing.”

“That answer has never meant nothing.”

Xav lays the paper flat on his desk and taps it.

“I called in a chit.”

Dante walks closer. The document is formal, full of corporate jargon and other legal language. The sort of language designed to make something outrageous sound routine.

His eyes move down the page, then back up to Xav. His brother’s eyes look darker than before.

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

“You're cashing in a favor with Alumicorp for a secretary?”

“Not a secretary.”

Xav's finger comes down on a particular paragraph.

“A cybernetically enhanced executive aide.”

Dante stares at him. Xav continues before he can ask. “I want someone who can keep up. Long hours. High-volume scheduling. Research. Communications. Logistics. No complaints about working late. No disappearing for three hours because they have a dentist appointment.”

“So you want a machine.”

“No.” Xav's expression hardens further. “I want a person who has been made capable of doing the job.”

Dante looks back at the paper. “And the catch?”

“There isn't one.”

“That is definitely a lie.”

Xav almost laughs. “There's always a catch. But not one that concerns you.”

Dante studies him. “What exactly did you ask for?”

Xav folds his arms. “Someone intelligent. Adaptable. Cybernetically enhanced. Reliable.”

“That narrows it down to half the city.”

“I also specified that they work for me.”

Dante's eyes flick toward him.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they take orders from me.”

“Only you?”

“Only me.”

There is something in the way Xav says it that makes Dante stop joking. Xav picks up the paper again. “I don't need someone who thinks this is a career opportunity. I don't need someone looking for a mentor, a friend, or a boss they can negotiate with.” He looks directly at Dante. “I need someone who gets an instruction and executes it.”

Dante exhales slowly. “And Alumicorp agreed?”

“They owe me.”

“That wasn't my question.”

Xav smiles. “Yes.” He slides the document across the desk.

“They'll have her ready.”

Dante looks down at the page again.

“Her?”

“I specified female.”

“Of course you did.”

“And before you ask—yes. She’ll still be human, just physically and cognitively enhanced. Increased processing capacity, extended wakefulness, memory augmentation. The usual package.”

“The usual package,” Dante repeats as if they were talking about the next sports car or yacht being added to the collection of extravagant toys they enjoyed in their ever-vanishing downtime.

Xav ignores him.

“She'll work long hours without the performance degradation you'd get from an unmodified employee. She'll learn quickly. She'll retain everything. And she won't need to be babysat.”

Dante looks at him.

“You've thought about everything, it seems.”

Xavier looks pleased. “This time, you’re not wrong, brother” he says, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he walks him to the door, handing him the paper. “Now, go fetch her for me.” His face returning to its cold demeanour, he waves Dante off and the doors close between them.