“What field work have you done?” Trevor asks.
I realize with excitement that I actually have an answer for him. “In my last year at Stanford, I was working on a project to program imitation learning techniques. We were trying to get our robot,” I lean in and smile, “—we called her Ginger—to learn behaviors by ‘observing’ an end- user performing them, without us having to program each action.
“It was our job to program her how to learn. That was the point of the project. She was just an arm and a hand hooked up to a small computer brain, but what we were really interested in was how quickly and intuitively we could program her to pick up behaviors.”
Mr. Henderson looks impressed. “And how did it turn out?”
I don’t let my disappointment show that I never got to see Ginger’s full potential. It was a two-semester project that was supposed to span my entire senior year. Of course, I wasn’t there for the second semester. I barely managed that first one—I had to arrange to take my fall finals early because Charlie’s due date was in mid-December. He ended up coming even earlier, but thankfully I’d just finished my last test.
But I don’t let any of that show. Instead, I keep my smile bright and inviting. “I had to leave the project early, but I was involved in coding the initial breakthroughs. When I left, Ginger could mirror me sufficiently to high-five me. It was enough to hook me for life, I’m afraid.” I shake my head again with a laugh. “I’m fascinated by programing that directly interacts with hardware that can have immediate real-world applications.” I arch an eyebrow, lean in conspiratorially and shrug in Jackson’s direction. “Whether that’s with the drone systems that Mr. Gentry and Mr. Vale are cooking up or with the future of other advanced machinery, we’ll see.”
When I pull back, I keep my stance tall and I think I’ve finally managed demure. Damn, that feels good.
Trevor’s broad grin tells me I pulled off what I wanted to accomplish. Before I can even dip my lips into a return smile, he’s pulled a card out of his suit coat and has it in my hand. “As I said, whenever you get tired of playing with toys, give me a call.” With that, he winks at me and my fingers close over the card.
I try not to grin too broadly and instead keep my smile coy. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I take the card and pop open my stuffed clutch to slide the card inside. To my relief, after only a brief wrestling match behind my back, it latches closed again.
“Yes, well, darling,” Mrs. Henderson says, looking bored at the conversation, “I’m famished. Let’s go find our seats.” With a lingering glance at Jackson and a dismissive glare my way, she pulls her husband off toward the tables.
I can’t help feeling a small thrill from the whole exchange. I grab a glass of champagne from a passing serving girl and take a large swallow of the fizzy liquid. It makes my eyes water, but at least I don’t choke or cough.
I do, however, hear a low rumble from beside me. I look over in surprise when I realize that it’s the sound of Jackson chuckling.
He’s taken his own glass of champagne and he’s looking at me over the rim of it. He’s barely smiling, but his eyes look… alive as he watches me.
“I should have known that a night out with you would be anything but boring,” he comments in that low gravelly voice of his.
His eyes are so blue and intense. His face is all hard lines, his jaw and cheekbones so sharp they might cut. He looks ferocious in spite of the gentlemanly suit he wears. Again it seems like he doesn’t belong to this era. Like he’d be more at home in leather and maybe a bear skin or two.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul, so what do I see in his? I search, back and forth in those blue depths, but I can’t read a damn thing. He doesn’t look away, though, and holds my gaze so that we’re just staring at each other. Or into each other. I may not be able to read him, but damn if I don’t feel this… intensity burning between us—
But then a flash of someone’s face I recognize catches in the periphery of my vision from across the room. My head swings that way. And all the air in my lungs leaves in one shocked exhale.
It’s David and the Shrew.
CHAPTER 11
What are they doing here? How did—?
“Calliope? What’s wrong?” Jackson’s body goes taut, his hand immediately at the small of my back.
For a second I can’t say anything at all. David looks both relaxed and stylish in a tailored black tux. Even from across the room I can tell it’s far nicer than anything I ever saw him wear when we were together. His wife hangs easily on his arm. Tall and elegant. Perfectly suited to him.
“Calliope.” Jackson’s voice is a snap in my ear, demanding answers.
“It’s just—no one, someone I used to know,” the words come out in a flood. When I look up into Jackson’s disapproving eyes, I know he knows it’s a lie. I don’t care. It’s all he’s getting right now.
There are two circles in my life, and they must never touch.
They must never touch.
I pull away from Jackson’s hand. “Did someone say that dinner was about to be served?”
I walk in the direction of the dinner tables. After a moment, Jackson follows. I know he’s watching me and I try to keep my gaze straight ahead, but I can’t help it. My eyes involuntarily shoot behind me to the ballroom where I just saw them. They’re gone and I feel panicky. Where did they go? Shit.
I don’t know why I’m so shocked that they’re here. The Red Cross isn’t a charity that only tech gurus would frequent. God, I’m such an idiot for not seeing this coming. The Shrew’s family is loaded. Of course she’d be here.
It’ll be fine. Just stop thinking about it. Pretend they’re not here. It’s good that I’ve lost sight of them. This is a big enough event. I probably won’t even come across them again tonight.
Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Ignore, ignore, ignore.
Having a plan makes me feel slightly better and meanwhile, Jackson has led me to one of the many long tables that runs the length of the dining room. A name card sits on the table in front of each of our chairs, penned in beautiful calligraphy. I pick up the delicate card and run my finger over my name before looking up at Jackson.
Three chimes sound out over the room and everyone makes their way en masse toward the dining area. I reach for my champagne glass.
But then I startle when I notice people start to sit at the table around us. To be more exact, when I see David and the Shrew take their seats not two feet away from where we’re sitting, on the opposite side of the long table.
Fuck my life.
There goes my plan for ignoring they’re here. They’ve seen me. I can tell by the way the Shrew is so obviously not looking in my direction. David, too, is doing the pretend-Callie-doesn’t-exist thing. I mean, it was my plan originally, but that was before we were seated so close together they could sneeze and it would be in my air space. Seriously. David sees me twice a week. We share a freaking child together.
Who he’s suing you for full custody of.
Right.
I set the champagne down abruptly. The last thing I need is them claiming they saw me getting drunk in public.
Maybe ignoring each other in public is the thing to do after all. I crane my neck in the opposite direction.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Fine.” I answer distractedly, giving up and looking forward again so I can observe the Shrew out of my periphery. I’ve never really seen her this close up. I mean, she was there at the first hearing, but I obviously had a million other things on my mind. Since then, she’s always waiting in the van when David comes to pick up Charlie. Well, other than that time with the doorbell, but even then, the bitch was walking away by the time I actually got outside.
I can’t help but stare now. I try to do it unobtrusively so it’s not too obvious. Where I feel like I’m playing at dress up, she looks like the real deal. Elegant. Refined. Her long dark hair is down with a slight curl in it. It looks so shin
y and healthy, like in the shampoo ads. Flawless makeup. Pearls at her ears and neck. She’s wearing a black off-the-shoulder gown that hugs her small, toned frame. She’s not much younger than David, but she wears her late thirties well and it only adds to her sense of sophistication.
Fine. So what? I’ve come to terms with the fact that I was just a cheap fling to David. Lots of people have their hearts broken by their first loves. It wasn’t real. It was hard seeing him at the first hearing and when he initially started picking Charlie up for his visits. It would have been difficult on anyone in my position. I’m over it now. But being forced to sit here all through dinner with these people who are actively trying to take my son away from me? This is some bullshit.
Christ, it’s hot in here. Would it look weird if I took the cloth napkin and dabbed at my forehead like I’m some southern belle? Great, I bet my face is getting red. That always happens when I’m hot. Damn it, do they not have fucking air-conditioning in this place?
“I really can’t help but feel like something’s bothering you.” Jackson says, angling his body toward me.
“I said I was fine.” It comes off more snappish than I mean. But damn it, I’m so thirsty and my glass of champagne is just sitting there, taunting me. I’m desperate for a glass of water. There’s a water glass at my setting, but naturally, it’s empty. Where the hell are the waiters who come around and fill those up? I pick up the name card and try fanning myself with it. “Does it feel warm in here to you?”
Jackson shakes his head and eyes me with more than curiosity.
Shit. What am I doing? I’m blowing it big time, that’s what I’m doing. Seeing David’s totally thrown me off my game. Tonight’s too important to let my stupid ex distract me. Time to get my shit back together.
“So I was talking with Gentry this week and he was explaining more about the algorithmic—design,” I pause to swallow because my voice is all croaky. I swear it’s like the goddammed Mojave Desert in my mouth. I cough and there’s nothing to do but grab the glass of lukewarm champagne and take a sip.
Except that it goes down the wrong pipe, which makes me cough and sputter. Jackson pounds me on my back a couple times. Liquid from the nearly full glass of champagne sloshes over the rim of the glass into my lap.
Christ. I jump out of my chair at the same second Jackson apologizes and reaches for some napkins. And that’s when I feel it. I look up, and sure enough, every eye near us is on me. Including David and the Shrew. Who is smirking none too subtly, a glint of smug superiority in her eyes.
“Excuse me,” I choke out, turning away from all of them, David, Jackson, the Shrew, and every other prying eye. I hurry away from the table as fast as I can in these goddamned heels. Water. I need some fucking water and a moment to just—I don’t know, pull myself to-fucking-gether.
I have no clue where the bathrooms are, but I head in the direction I think they might be. I’m getting out of the ballroom anyway. Sometimes a girl just needs a fucking minute.
A waiter passes by with another tray of champagne flutes.
“Bathroom?” The desperation must be clear in my face. He expertly balances the tray on one hand and then points to the back corner of the room. “There’s one just there, Miss.”
I grab a glass of champagne and then hurry off. It’s not until I’m through the door of the restroom—well, two doors, it’s one of those fancy ones that has a sitting room before you get to the actual room with toilet stalls—that I’m finally able to take in several deep breaths.
I pour the champagne down the sink and then fill the flute up with water. Then I down the glass of cool water in one long swig. Oh my God, has pure, sweet water ever tasted so good?
I refill it and then drink down another glassful before I finally leave the glass on the counter and head into one of the stalls.
It’s only then I notice one door is already closed. Eeek, I hope I wasn’t huffing like an overworked cow when I stomped in here like I think I was. I always find it awkward sharing bathrooms with strangers, no matter the partitioning stalls that supposedly give privacy.
I sit on the toilet with the lid down, just using it as a chair, and hope the other woman leaves soon. Then I lean my head back and look at the ceiling. I’m being ridiculous. If she leaves, three more people will probably take her place. The ball is packed out there. I should be glad I’m getting as much privacy as I am.
It’s quiet in here. I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Oh my God, what a shitshow that just was out there. I grab some toilet paper and dab at the wet spot on the front of my dress. It’s not too visible against the dark red of the dress. It’s not as much as I initially thought, either. I put the toilet paper in the little garbage on the wall and take another couple minutes to gather myself.
All right, I’m going to go back out there and focus, give Jackson my best pitch. I will salvage the night. I will be calm, cool, and collected.
I use the restroom, then step out of the stall to wash my hands, examining my face to see what needs fixing.
I’m astonished that my makeup looks pretty much just like it did when I left the apartment. I thought I’d be a sweaty mess. Then I remember that Breanna did spritz some kind of makeup fixative all over my face when she was done. I was coughing from the fumes at the time, but it has kept everything perfectly in place.
I smile and am gratified to see there’s not even any lipstick on my teeth. Breanna would be so proud.
The door opens as I take a towelette to dry my hands.
“Whoring yourself out to another older man, really? You just don’t have any imagination, do you?”
I look up in surprise and see her reflection in the mirror. It’s the Shrew. All five foot nine, polished head-to-toe inch of her.
“Jackson Vale.” She clucks her tongue and her pointy-toed shoes click, click, click on the marble floor as she walks toward me. “You sure are moving up in the world.” She glances at me out of the side of her eye as she opens up a small clutch bag and pulls out some lipstick. “At least until he realizes what a crazy bitch whore you are.”
I step back from her. “Excuse me?”
She starts to casually reapply her lipstick. She smacks her lips together with a pop before turning to look at me. Or I should say, look down her nose at me.
“Look at you.” She smirks. “Cheap bottle blonde.” She reaches over and tugs at my hair, pulling a chunk out of the pins.
I can only stare at her, shocked. What the fuck? Did this bitch actually just do that?
“Flashing those double D’s in men’s faces so they don’t see the crazy in your eyes.” She smacks at my cleavage with her rectangular silver clutch purse. Hard enough to sting. She rears back to swing again.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” I shove her. If she thinks she can assault me like that and I’ll just take it, she’s got another thing coming.
“What’s wrong with you?” she shrieks, her voice suddenly different. She topples backwards to the floor even though I didn’t push her that hard. “I just wanted to talk to you, woman to woman, about David getting to see his son more,” her voice sounds pleading now, as if she’s afraid of me.
What the hell’s going on? I shuffle forward and she holds her hands up defensively. “Please stop! I won’t approach you again, just don’t hurt me!”
I throw up my hands. “What the hell are you talking about?”
But before my eyes, she seems to undergo another complete personality change. She’s grinning as she gets up off the floor. “Did you get all that, Manny?”
The stall that had been closed when I came in pushes open and a medium-build guy in what looks like a chauffer’s uniform steps out holding up a camera phone. “Got it, Mrs. K.”
I look back at David’s wife, a horrible sort of realization dawning. She’s happy enough to fill in any remaining gaps. She’s not grinning now. There’s only a lethal sort of determination on her face. “You have kept David away from his son long enough. He belongs with
his father. With us. I knew I could catch your true colors on video.”
I want to launch at her and claw her eyes out, but I see that Manny has the camera up and recording again. “This footage is all manipulated,” I say into the camera before turning back to the Shrew. “You’re the one who assaulted me first.”
She shrugs. “That’s not what it’s going to look like in the edited version.”
“He’s my son,” I grit my teeth, hands fisting at my side.
“He’s David’s son.”
“David sure didn’t think so when he told me to abort him,” I struggle and fail to hold my temper. “I’m the one,” I stab my thumb into my chest, “who’s loved Charlie and been there for him for his first words and steps. I’m the one who sacrificed. Who gave up school and postponed the other things I wanted because he’s my number one priority. He’s everything to me. You’ll never take him away.” It takes everything in me to keep my rage from boiling over. “I have a lawyer who knows what he’s doing this time.”
“You don’t deserve a baby,” she steps up to me, anger flashing in her eyes. “You’re a coked- up whore. We have pictures. What do you think the judge will say when he sees that? You think they’ll find you a fit mother when they see you snorting the rent money up your nose?”
My insides drop to my feet. How could—? It was just that one time and David brought it. He told me it would be so hot if we both did it and then had sex. I hated the way it made me feel so out of control. And David took pictures? I don’t remember that. But then, that night became extremely hazy after the drugs.
I look up and glare at the Shrew, then at the guy who has the camera trained back on me. Or is this bitch just lying to try to get me to say something on camera she can twist around?
“If you want a baby so bad, why don’t you just have one of your own?” Then I see it, the flash of pain on her face.
“You can’t, can you? That’s what all this is about.” I take a step back in realization. So my guess was right. She can’t have kids. For a second, I feel sorry for her. I can’t imagine what it would feel like not to be able to have my Charlie.
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