Paid to Rest: My Lazy Life System

The Job

“Mr. Hale, Ms. Hartwell is ready for you,” Diane Cho announced, holding open a glass door on the thirtieth floor. “Please don’t be nervous. She only bites people who lie to her.”

Evan’s hand went to his shirt cuff, where a small brown spot of syrup from the diner had dried. He tucked the cuff under his sleeve and followed her in.

Three hours ago, Diane had been a name on an email he sent from a diner booth. Now she was walking him into a room with glass walls on three sides and the whole city spread out below. Six people in sharp suits sat around a long table. Tessa had driven him here and was waiting in the lobby with her planner on her knees.

“You’ve survived worse,” Hammock offered. “You survived Gordon’s tie.”

At the head of the table sat a woman in her sixties with a silver bob and reading glasses hanging from a thin chain. Without smiling, she pointed at the empty chair across from her, and Evan sat.

“Margaret Hartwell.” She folded her hands on the table. “Diane tells me you’re the one who wrote the report I paid for.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The words came out smaller than Evan wanted.

The man on her right leaned back in his chair and looked Evan over slowly, from his messy hair down to his scuffed shoes. He wore a gray suit that probably cost more than Evan’s rent.

“This is the accountant?” he asked, his voice dry. “He looks like he slept in a bus station.”

Someone down the table coughed into their fist. Evan’s ears went hot. His shoulders started to curl inward, and his eyes dropped to the table.

“That’s Brent Kowalski, my CFO.” Margaret didn’t even glance at him. “Ignore him. Everyone else does. Brent, show him the files.”

Brent clicked a remote, and two versions of the Hartwell report came up side by side on the big screen. Evan’s was on the left, and the one on the right had Gordon’s changes in it.

“Go ahead.” Brent spread his hands wide. “Explain the difference. Take your time.”

Evan looked at the screen. His mouth had gone dry, but his shoulders loosened as his eyes moved down the columns.

“The freight totals in column D were rounded to the nearest thousand on the right,” he began, his finger tracing the column in the air. “That alone moves the quarter by about forty thousand dollars. Rows twelve through fifteen were also changed to make the projections look better than they are. Cell F22 has the fuel surcharge entered twice. Add the rounding, the changed rows, and the doubled surcharge together, and that’s your two hundred thousand dollars.”

Brent’s eyebrows pulled together as he leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “Our fuel surcharge for the quarter was eighty-four thousand. I approved it myself.”

“It was seventy-nine thousand four hundred,” Evan corrected him, keeping his voice low. “You approved the July estimate. The final invoice came in lower in August.”

Brent opened his mouth, closed it again, and started scrolling fast through his tablet.

At the far end of the table, a young woman in a blue blazer lifted her coffee cup in front of her face, and her shoulders were shaking.

“He’s doing math at you,” Hammock murmured. “Very attractive. Please continue.”

Brent set his tablet down very carefully. “Seventy-nine four,” he muttered.

Margaret took off her reading glasses and let them drop against her chest. She studied Evan for a long moment, and he made himself hold her gaze.

“I started this company with one truck.” Margaret’s voice was low and even. “I drove it myself for eleven years. I can tell when someone is lying to me, Mr. Hale, and you are not lying.” She tapped the table once. “Run my finance department. I’ll pay you three times whatever Gordon Pratt was paying you, and you’ll have the corner office one floor down.”

Evan’s breath caught. There would be a door with his name on it, rent paid a year ahead, and his mother laughing on the phone when he told her.

A gray window slid into view, small and polite.

[FYI: Full-time employment voids the Rest & Reward System. Rewards would drop by 90%. Your call, Host. I’ll be fine either way. (I will not be fine.)]

Evan pressed his palms flat against the cool table while the word yes sat on his tongue. Then he thought about the four-hour nights, the cold noodles, and the dead plant in his cardboard box. He thought about Gordon calling him a liar in front of twenty people while Chloe held on to Gordon’s arm.

The 90% didn’t matter to him as much as the last six years did. He wasn’t going to build himself another cage with a nicer door.

He closed his mouth and swallowed.

“Thank you, Ms. Hartwell.” His voice came out steadier than he expected. “But I can’t take a full-time job.”

Brent let out a short laugh. “You can’t?”

“I’ll review your books once a month,” Evan went on, keeping his eyes on Margaret. “I’ll set the day, and I’ll work from wherever I want. My rate is five thousand dollars per review.”

Diane’s pen stopped moving on her notepad. The young woman in the blue blazer lowered her coffee cup.

Margaret looked at him for a long, long time. Then one corner of her mouth lifted.

“Nobody has turned down my money in thirty years,” she murmured. “Then we have a deal. Diane, write it up.”

Diane was already writing.

Margaret slid her glasses back on and pointed one finger at him. “You remind me of myself at your age, Mr. Hale. The difference is that I was much ruder.”

Brent stared at her with his mouth slightly open.

In the elevator, a soft chime sounded in Evan’s head.

[Mission: Turn down the job and set one boundary. Reward: $500,000 + Skill: Calm Under Pressure.]

Evan stared at it. “I’m already finished with that.”

“I know,” Hammock sighed. “You were halfway through it before I finished typing. I’m paying you anyway, and I’m adding the mission retroactively. I have a reputation.”

[Mission accepted retroactively. $500,000 deposited. Skill acquired: Calm Under Pressure. You’ll still feel everything. You’ll just think clearly while you feel it, even when people in expensive suits are rude to you.]

His shoulders dropped, and his heartbeat slowed to a steady thump. When he checked his bank app, the balance read $750,000.

“Look at you,” Hammock sang. “Unemployed and thriving.”

When the doors opened, Tessa jumped up from her lobby chair. She took one look at his face and her eyebrows climbed. “Are you okay? You’re grinning at nothing.”

“I just turned down the best job I’ve ever been offered.” Evan couldn’t stop grinning. “It’s the best day I’ve had in six years.”

Tessa laughed and shook her head before looking away quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

The sun was setting when Tessa pulled up in front of Evan’s building.

Marcus was sitting on the front steps in his gaming chair. His monitor was balanced on his knees, and three black garbage bags of clothes sat on the curb beside him. Through the open front door came the high whine of a power drill.

Evan was out of the car before Tessa finished parking. “Marcus, what happened?”

“Mr. Petrov happened.” Marcus jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “He says we were late on rent twice this year. He found a guy who’ll pay four hundred more, so he’s changing the locks right now.”

“He can’t just do that!” Evan’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

“He’s doing it, bro.” Marcus pulled his headset down around his neck and gave Evan a long look, his bottom lip pushed out. “And he’s keeping your bed.”

He reached down beside the chair and held up a small clay pot. The plant inside was brown and crispy.

“I saved your plant, though.” He puffed out his chest.

“Marcus, it’s been dead since March,” Evan groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“It’s still family,” Marcus insisted, hugging the pot to his chest.

Behind them, the drill whined again.

A gray window slid open in front of Evan’s eyes.

[Urgent Mission offer: Find a home you actually want to wake up in within 48 hours. Reward: ??? Accept?]

Evan didn’t look at it for long. He was already walking up the steps toward the whining drill.

Accept, he thought, and he pushed through the open door.