by Jenn Hughes
Maybe. Probably not.
Something told him Lillian needed a lot more than him buying her a drink and shaking her hand like a jackhammer to seal the deal. She insisted on being thoroughly unimpressed by him. Tossed back every flirty volley with a forehand return straight in his face. She wasn’t only different—she was fun. Real. Something he sure as hell didn’t know much about anymore.
It took a lot of time and effort to keep up with the illusion of the Sam Owens, and both wore his patience into the ground. But Lillian Walker saw through him like she had x-ray vision, and didn’t seem to have a problem with what she saw. Sam rubbed his forehead, a tension headache on the horizon. He wondered if he should pull a cape across his face and slink back into the night . . .
No. No Phantom of The Electric tonight. Lillian couldn’t see anything other than what he showed her, and so all he had to do was show her Sam Owens, CEO. Commander in chief of the most successful software firm in the United States. Three-time Atanasoff-Berry Award winner for innovation in technological development. Two-hundred and seventy-five-pound bench press. Eyes the color of an Antarctic crevasse . . .
Sam lost his train of thought. All that came to mind was how much he enjoyed Lillian’s ballsy little move with the ticket. Maybe she commanded as coolly in some other areas . . .
Nope. Off-limits, remember? Christmas. Rik. Preston. Just say no. Keep it in your pants.
Sam wandered into the auditorium and found Lillian seated in the middle of the back row of armchairs, sipping on her beer and studying her phone. An Origin Seven. The woman had taste. Sam smiled and glanced at his watch. Eight minutes before the show started. Plenty of time for a little more general conversation. He made his way down the aisle, and then sat down in the armchair next to her.
“Won’t be too unbearable if I join you, will it?” he asked.
Lillian grinned with her eyes glued to her phone and replied, “The movie’s only an hour and twenty minutes. I think I can stand you that long.”
After a few seconds, she turned off her phone and slipped it into the pocket of her coat resting on the back of the chair. “You do know I’m kidding, right?” she asked, her expression serious. “Sometimes people don’t get my sarcasm.”
“I get it.” He pointed to his chest. “I get it right here, right in my poor, wounded heart.”
She rolled her eyes. “We’ll get along fine then.”
“While it lasts, I guess. This place is for sale, and in a prime location for new retail construction. The city council is foaming at the mouth to get a developer in here, and the only thing saving it is the owner’s asking about a million too much.”
“Seriously? Would someone really bulldoze The Electric and turn it into department stores and coffee shops? There are way too many of those, and not nearly enough places like this.”
“It’s worth more as retail space than a theater. People don’t go to the movies much anymore.” Sam took a lazy sip of bourbon. “So, Rik didn’t want to spring for a movie, too? I’m surprised he didn’t want to spend the night with you. I mean, tonight. To watch the movie.”
“I didn’t invite him. Richard hates horror movies. At least, he used to hate them.”
Sam took another sip. “Well then, this all worked out great.”
“What worked out great?”
“You and I,” he replied. Then he sighed. He was getting sick of the taste of his foot. “I mean, it worked out that we met. I don’t know anyone who enjoys watching gruesome Christmas movies as much as I do.”
“I guess it did work out, then.”
The lights dimmed, the terrible background music stopped, and the movie finally got started. Sam settled down into the soft leather chair, letting his head drop against the bulging seat back. He occasionally lolled his head to the left, stealing glances at Lillian during the bloodiest parts of the flick.
She smiled at the most inappropriate times. Laughed when the werewolf Santa tore his elves to shreds. Rolled her eyes when Santa kidnapped the Queen of England. Near the end, Sam realized he’d lost track of the plot after watching Lillian more than the film.
As the end credits streamed down the screen, she glanced over and caught him staring. “I’d give it a seven. Honestly, the Queen of England? That’s tired. And there should have been a bit more gore during the elf slaughter, don’t you think?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, maybe a little more. At least they didn’t CGI the blood and guts. I hate it when they do that. It needs to be corn syrup and red food coloring.”
After the lights came up, Sam followed Lillian out of the auditorium, oddly anxious about saying goodnight. By the time they walked out of The Electric and into the bitterly cold night, Sam’s heart had decided to perform a thrash metal drum solo.
“I’m heading back downtown,” he said, pointing to the left.
“I’m that way,” Lillian said, nodding toward the opposite end of the street.
He knew he needed to leave, but he didn’t move. The eager thumps of his heart started playing a beat he understood. Sam didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world other than standing in the falling snow at midnight with Lillian Walker.
But then she flipped up her furry hood. “Tomorrow night, then? Hail sounds like a good one. Nazi zombies and horny youths in the Arctic,” she said, shivering as she shoved her hands into her parka pockets.
“Absolutely. My treat this time.”
With a smile and a good night, she walked away. Carefree. No big deal.
But Sam stood there in a daze. He’d spent the evening with a beautiful woman during the holidays and enjoyed himself. No sex. No pressure. No fear of being roped into anything serious. Only a good talk and a good movie with a friend.
A friend with a great smile. And a nice ass. And God, her skin makes me want to . . .
“Nope,” he muttered, spinning around and heading home. “Too much nope.”
Chapter 6
Sisterly Interrogations
on the Matter of Dick Negotiations
Lillian fell onto her sofa with a move she called the exhausted sofa slam. A face-first flop, then a rollover to stare up at the ceiling and enjoy the calming comfort of her apartment. She’d perfected her routine, and that night was no exception.
To survey her living room felt like visual meditation. Never had she lived in a home so lovely, but taking the position at Mythos meant she could afford it, and so she’d splurged. The realtor had told her it was Port Bristol chic, a phrase Lillian interpreted as being a combination of rustic seaside cottage with slick home automation.
The exterior wall of the seventy-year-old former bank building featured exposed original bricks, a gorgeous complement to the white walls and trims in the rest of the space. Wide-plank antique wood flooring repurposed from several old barns on the outskirts of town added warmth to the neutral tones. Not a single light switch marred the walls, replaced instead with unobtrusive flat circles requiring only a wave of her hand to turn on the lights.
Cell phone and device charging had been made easy with Origin’s patented Omni-current embeddable mesh, so almost every flat surface charged portable devices. And in her kitchen sat an assortment of stainless steel appliances so infused with modern technology that when she sneezed, her refrigerator pleasantly responded with “Gesundheit.”
But even though she had firmly nestled herself in the contented cocoon of home, Monday morning approached like a freight train, and her body lay on the tracks. She rubbed her eyes and doubted she’d be able to remain conscious in her midday meeting at Mythos. Not to mention getting through Preston’s morning New Age pep talk without growling like an angry bear. She should have regretted the past couple of hours spent watching Santa howling at the moon . . .
No. Worth it. How often have you watched a good movie with a gorgeous man?
&n
bsp; She held her hand up in the air and counted. Zero.
Totally worth it. Just give me a caffeine drip, and I’ll be good to go.
On the coffee table, her cell phone vibrated. At twelve-thirty in the morning. Only a psycho would call so late. She grabbed the phone, and squinted to see the screen. Lillian rolled her eyes. That psycho.
“Tessa, it’s so late.”
“Uh, yeah, but I’ve tried calling all evening. We could have done this earlier if you’d answered your phone . . . Everything okay?”
“Yes. Why? What’s wrong? Is Mom okay? I should have called her earlier, but I lost track of—”
Tessa sighed. “Mom’s fine. Calm down. I don’t only call when something’s wrong, you know. So why the radio silence?”
“I was out. Just got back. And I have an early start, so I need to go to bed.”
The psycho, otherwise known as her baby sister, asked in an irritated huff, “Richard? Ugh. Gross. I was hoping you didn’t go through with meeting that moron.”
“I met the moron last night. Tonight I was with someone else, but I don’t feel like talking about it.”
“Spill it. I want to know how this terrible idea of seeing your bastard ex-boyfriend went . . . Wait, you weren’t out with Richard tonight? Who were you with?”
Lillian drew in a deep breath and then let it out, caving under pressure. Avoiding Tessa never worked anyway. Her baby sister had a bad habit of getting her way.
“As promised, nothing terrible happened with Richard, who technically happens to be a married man. Even if he weren’t, I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. We met last night, had a drink, and we might meet again. As friends. No big deal.”
“All good to hear, except for the ‘might meet again’ part.”
“I can handle Richard Bryant . . . now.”
Angry pause. Lillian heard Tessa’s fingernails clack on something like a small but furious drum. “Maybe you don’t remember what happened last time, Lil, so let me refresh your memory. Days on end spent in bed, crying nonstop and swearing you’d never love anyone else—and then going through with it. Fifteen years and the closest thing to a serious long-term relationship you’ve had was when you dated that guy who wore sweaters all year long. Waldo, right?”
“Walter. And he didn’t wear them all year . . . He was cold-natured, okay?”
“Walter isn’t the point—Richard is. That dick wasn’t worth it then, and he isn’t now. Why are you wasting your time with him? You could do so much better.”
“Tessa, absolutely nothing is going on between Richard and me in any romantic sense. I can be friends with him and not go completely insane—that was the point of seeing him again. I had to face the past and let it know in no uncertain terms that it hadn’t affected me.”
“Uh, but it kinda did, didn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but I can’t let it know that. Anyway, Richard is no longer an issue. I know what he’s like and I’m not interested. Last night proved as much, so stop worrying.”
“Not interested in him. Good. So who were you out with tonight?”
“A friend. Richard’s friend.”
“Terrific. Another dick because dicks roam in herds.”
Lillian let out an exhausted laugh. “Sam isn’t a dick, at least not enough of one to be dangerous. He’s . . . not what I expected. He’s charming and funny and has great taste in movies, but it’s casual. Random meet-ups for Christmas horror films. That’s all.”
“Sounds exactly like the type of guy you need.”
“In an alternate reality it might work out but, honestly, it’s all too much. Between work and meeting up with Richard again, Sam is . . . too much. And he’s too easy to like, which is a problem since I’m not his type.”
“What’s his type?”
“Under thirty and gorgeous. Like all those girls you slather with makeup to turn them into runway models.”
“Lil, I’m a makeup artist. There’s a little more to it than slathering. Besides, who cares how old you are? Forty is the new thirty, and you’re not even forty so according to modern thought you’re in your twenties. If this Sam guy is straight and has a brain, he should be all over you. You’re gorgeous and smart.”
“And tired,” Lillian added. “I can’t stay up all night like you do. The elderly go to bed early, Tessa. Love you.”
“Okay, fine. Love you, too. Remember, you deserve the best. Don’t settle for less than that.”
Lillian ended the call, tossed her phone back onto the coffee table, and then forced herself up to get ready for bed. Ten minutes later and wearing her comfiest pajamas—sheep-patterned, naturally—she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror and considered Tessa’s dick speech.
She had no idea why she was wasting her time with Richard again. Sure, he’d given her a break by dropping Origin’s lawsuit against Mythos, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t have won it with both hands tied behind her back. Her electric toothbrush buzzed as she pressed it harder against her teeth.
Maybe this is like when you fall off a bike and get right back on . . . fifteen years later. Better late than never.
Lillian had to use the opportunity to put Richard and his betrayal behind her. It was a catharsis. Immersion therapy. He was, after all, the start of her romance issues. A tepid, failed fling here or there, since investing too much effort increased the potential for more misery like him. She hadn’t noticed at first. The fact that she turned down most offers for dates or never went out with a guy more than a handful of times. But years had passed, and she was alone. Singledom was safe, but not what she wanted. So the sooner she could think of Richard and not feel anything negative, the better.
Her efforts hadn’t quite worked yet, though. Tension scrunched her face, her forehead wrinkling as one painful memory after another rolled out like tumbleweeds from the back of her mind. And not only regarding Richard. Some went much further back, all the way to age fourteen. Four a.m. mornings and making sure Mom felt well enough to take care of Tessa while Lillian was at school, or else missing classes so Dad could work on the farm until dark . . .
Suddenly, her toothbrush made a loud whirring sound, its motor straining under pressure. She jerked it out of her mouth and looked in the mirror.
“No. Don’t let him get to you. Don’t let anything or anyone get to you.”
Love made it easy to ignore any latent fears regarding her family. Richard, not so much. In an idiotic way, he did get to her. No matter what she’d done to please him, she’d never been enough. For an ambitious, driven woman who had to succeed in everything she attempted, the failure became kind of an obsession. Her big . . . red whale.
But she’d had enough of whales. The thought popped into her head that a shark might be a nice change. One shark in particular. Tall, dark, infuriatingly cocky, and impossibly handsome. Impossible in general. Sam Owens, the great white shark, swam in a distant ocean on another legally forbidden planet. Totally out of her orbit.
Didn’t stop her from picturing the way he winked when he finished a big sip of bourbon. Or remembering the way he’d called her his kind of woman. And he smelled so sexy. When he stepped in front of her to block the wind, Sam’s subtle but spicy scent pumped her pistons like a full tank of gas. She wanted to peel him like a big, hot banana right then. One layer of clothing after another until . . .
Lillian focused on her toothpaste-covered mouth and smiled. She looked rabid. Like most women who spent any time with Sam. Lust-fueled and foaming at the mouth, ready to pounce. She rinsed off the toothpaste, and then hurriedly finished up with her nighttime routine before crawling into bed.
It seemed strange, considering how much time she’d spent worrying and wondering over Richard and work and family, that her last thoughts before falling asleep focused on Sam. An almost-stranger who made her fee
l like the only woman in the room. He probably made a habit of it, but the sleepy smile spreading over her lips didn’t seem to care.
Love and hugs. Adorable . . .
Chapter 7
Under Pressure Grenades
Worn down by the body slam of a Monday morning, Sam slumped back in his office chair. He spun around slowly, trying to remember a meditative mantra Wendy, his yoga instructor ex, had recommended for stress reduction. When it didn’t come to mind, he focused on the view through the full-length windows of his office at Origin’s headquarters.
Sam surveyed his kingdom, an activity affording him a certain amount of joy during hectic workweeks. It reminded him that years of hard work had paid off. An increasingly modernized city had replaced Port Bristol of old. The woodsy hellscape from his childhood had been banished to the history books.
His parents had dragged Sam and his brother there for summer vacations. Four weeks of no computers. No Internet. Night after night of card games in the family cabin and then days of nature hikes and fishing while losing pints of blood to vicious mosquitoes devouring him like a blue-eyed buffet.
But a quick study of the growing, gleaming city below served as a constant reminder of how far he’d come. Backwoods buffet to baron of business. Port Bristol’s booming economy and increasing status as a center of national innovation all came down to the day he decided to break ground on a pine-infested strip of land near the docks. Over a decade later and he sat atop one of the city’s shining beacons. The town had him to thank for all of it . . .
But the sight of the skeletal frame of Preston Lavery’s under-construction modern monstrosity of a building only a stone’s throw away curled his lip in disgust. Its final height would be exactly one foot higher than Origin. Whatever Sam did, Preston thought he could do better. Coding, gaming, business—Preston tried them all. He’d followed Sam to Maine and shadowed him for years, desperate to prove he wasn’t all the things Sam pointed out that day back in college when their friendship ended. Mythos stood as Preston’s answer to Sam’s Origin. Two sides of the same Blockcoin.