Learning How to Bend

NaNo - Day 2 (What's a title?)

Few people actually called the company AI; that seemed reserved to employees, so I immediately knew he worked for Andino Incorporated.  The voice was cold and monotone, like an iceberg would have been warmer.  After clicking with my tongue, I set my water bottle down on the edge of the cylindrical cooler and crossed my arms over my chest.  It was very rare for me to speak to anyone from the company outside of email, so this was particularly awkward for me.  I ignored the feelings of unease rumbling in my gut, wishing I hadn't told Chelise to stay by the picnic table.  Tapping a finger against my upper arm, I offered my new companion a smile.  Joe told me to interact, so I was going to interact.  Maybe showing this fellow some of my true personality would convince him to go away.  I did not want to talk to anyone new; I was here for Joe, and that was that.  But now I hardly had a choice, did I?

"You don't sound like much of a socialite, either," I observed.

"I'm not."

"Then...why exactly did you come over here?" I raised a brow. "Clearly not for a conversation."

"You are standing in front of the cooler; I just wanted a water."

Right.  Of course.  I shifted off and away and heard him put his hand in the ice to pull out a water.  He twisted the lid, swallowed what sounded like half the bottle, then placed it on the edge of the table which was on the far side of the cooler.

"So you work at Andino?" I asked, feeling awkward in the silence between me and my unwilling conversation partner.

"Yes."

"Do you like it?  How long have you been there?"

"Since the beginning."

"Ah, so you've been with the company's ambitious leader from day one?" I ran my fingers through my hair and pulled it over one shoulder.

"I have."

"You realize it's possible to...you know...string a sentence together of more than ten words?" Another smile on my part.

"I used thirteen earlier."

The perfunctory, monotone way he said it caused me to snort and roll my eyes.  This guy was something else, counting his words.  He was an even worse conversationalist than I was, and that was a very hard trophy to earn.  With an overdramatic bend at my waist, I held out my hands before me as though holding out the imaginary prize. I matched his tone as I spoke. "Congratulations, you win the award for being the worst conversationalist at this affair. You're up against some tough competition, but you've earned it."

He did not respond.  Of course he did not.  Why would I ever expect that from him.  I dropped my hands against my sides before crossing them in front of me once more.  This was the most awkward discussion I'd had on the face of the planet, and we did not even know each other's names.  Maybe we should keep it that way.  I sighed, squirming a little as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.  He was studying me, I did not doubt that.  It was making me uncomfortable, and I surreptitiously adjusted the strap of the dress to better cover up the scar an inch below my left collarbone.

"I think you might even be a match for what I've heard about Thaddeus Andino," I said, referring to the company's CEO. "Motivated, all-work-and-no-play type of individual who has a closer relationship with his office wall than he does with his employees."  Rumors had spread about the illustrious leader, even to me when I rarely actually went to the office.  One of the best things about the company—one of its only redeeming qualities past the good pay—was that it allowed me to work from home.  I would sporadically take a cab or Uber to the building to brief someone or give a presentation, but I would rather stay at my apartment.  I could stay all day in a pair of sweatpants and a comfortable shirt that way...and I did not have to talk to anyone or try to hold a conversation with a statue.