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Risky Business

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There are two elevators, six hundred offices, and fifteen hundred stairs. There's a waterfall in the foyer, and you realise you've never been in such a luxurious building before.

When you signed up to the Disability Employment Services, you didn't expect anything like this. You expected maybe a temp position, if that. Instead, you've got a- well, you don't quite know what you're going to be doing. But if you get to work here everyday – on decent pay, no less! – you don't honestly care.

There's a nice guy behind the counter who gives you your visitor badge. You can see his eyes fall to your legs, to your chair-on-wheels, but you ignore the look. You tell yourself he's appreciating your new shirt (or your rack). He directs you to a floor and an office, and you wheel yourself into the elevator with the other suits.

Most of them ignore you, but there's one kid, probably no older than yourself, who sends you a smile. When everyone else gets off at floor-whatever, he stays, riding with you to the very top. He lets you out first, and he's halfway down a hallway before you realise that you have no idea how to get to where you need to be.

"Um, excuse me?"

Your voice rings out, loud and soft at the same time, and the man turns around.

"I'm um, I'm a little lost," you say, scratching the back of your head. "I mean, I know I'm supposed to be on this floor, but the offices..."

He nods in understanding. "New?" he asks, and you give a self-deprecating smile. "What room are you looking for?" 

You fish around your bag for your phone, pulling up the email. "Miss... Arendelle's," you say. Somehow, it seems like his smile widens further.

"This way."