by Jenn Hughes
Lillian poked her ravioli. “That’s a matter of opinion . . . Wait, how do you know her sister’s behind you?”
“I sent her a very innocent text mentioning how much she would enjoy Tabula Rasa and my spies informed me she’d made reservations.”
“Your spies? This is starting . . . No, it was already creepy, but if you’re spying on Emily and her family I’m leav—”
“My spies are my assistant and Emily’s assistant. Emily’s the head of financial planning, so her office is on the next floor up from mine at Origin. Didn’t I mention that? I think I did.”
“You didn’t. And it’s a pretty glaring omission.”
“Oh. Sorry. All the tidbits I learn are through general office gossip. It’s not like I’m camped outside our house with night vision goggles. I checked, and those are really expensive,” he said without a hint of irony.
She had to keep reminding herself why she’d even shown up for this nightmare on the town. Friendship didn’t seem like a legitimate reason. Food, though—definitely. Her first bite of ravioli melted in her mouth, soothing the rumbling storm that was her stomach. Lillian relaxed enough to actually enjoy her teeny-tiny meal.
“So we’re on for the Origin Christmas party, right?” Richard suddenly asked.
“Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about it but . . . I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
Richard held his next bite midair on the fork. “You can’t back out, Lillian. I need you. It’s the last big push to send Emily over the edge and right back to me.”
“I know I agreed, but I’m sure there’s some other fabricated sighting you could come up with that would work just as well . . . ”
She hesitated, aware that what she wanted to say would not go over well with Richard. But then she kicked herself. Who cares?
“I’m thinking of asking Sam if he’d want company for the party.”
Richard’s raised eyebrows quickly furrowed. “You don’t know, do you? I figured you’d already talked to Sam and—”
“Don’t know what?”
He gently set his fork onto his canvas and sighed. “Sam’s bringing Jacinda Shields to the party again this year.”
A sharp, burning wave of heat rushed over her as his words sank in. “Sam is taking his ex-girlfriend to his company’s Christmas party? Really?”
“He takes her every year. That’s their deal. You know, on and off, over and over again. I kind of thought he’d be his typically relentless self and ask you but . . . Didn’t he mention any of this?”
“No, but we didn’t really talk about anything regarding . . . Are you sure about this? About Jacinda Shields?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Word gets around quickly at Origin, and Sam’s love life is hot gossip over there. This morning his assistant called to add Jacinda’s favorite champagne to the night’s lineup. At over a grand a bottle, he certainly isn’t buying it for us plebs.”
Lillian looked down. She wanted to crawl under the table. Idiot. Stupid daydreaming idiot.
“He didn’t say a word about it.”
Richard leaned across the table and covered her hand with his. “I hate to say I told you so but, I kinda did. And this is exactly why. Sam’s very, very predictable when it comes to women. It’s better to hate him now rather than later. It won’t hurt as much.”
Wrong. It hurt a lot. Lillian fumed so hard she expected to see smoke rising from her skin. The Sam Owens couldn’t possibly entertain the thought of having an actual relationship with an average, human woman. Only supermodels needed to apply.
The irritating, infuriating truth hit Lillian like a flick of a mutant toad’s tongue. Smack! Right across the face. It stung to be so wrong, and she had no one to blame but herself. All that existed between her and Sam Owens was an Electric attraction.
Lillian glared so hard she didn’t notice the slender brunette marching up to the table. Or the women’s angry red face. But she definitely noticed when the woman slung her glass of ice water all over the front of Lillian’s dress. Her white one.
Well, ecru, really. Not that it matters when your headlights are showing.
The entire restaurant let out a collective gasp.
“What kind of a woman flaunts her relationship with a married man in public!” the woman screamed at Lillian, her empty glass held in a trembling hand. “You should be ashamed of yourself!”
The cold water dripped down, slipping into Lillian’s cleavage. It was a little refreshing. She’d been so hot with irritation before. So that was nice. Even better was the moment about four seconds later when another gull decided to face-plant on the window next to her.
Thud. The window vibrated from the impact.
Another collective gasp.
The poor bird’s body squeaked as it slid down to the ledge. Lillian looked over and received an eyeful of fresh seagull snot.
What. A. Fucking. Mess.
The anger evaporated. A calm before the storm set in. Lillian brushed drops of water from her face and then very deliberately tucked her now-damp hair behind her ear. She tugged at the front of her dress a bit, allowing the girls a little breathing room to stand down.
Then she looked at the woman. Emily’s sister. Aside from the family resemblance—Odette the Death Queen from the Týr comics, but scarier—the scarlet-letter temper tantrum tipped Lillian off. Lillian looked over at Richard, now white as a sheet and with his eyes about to pop out of his head.
Maybe the woman expected a fight. Or a shouting match. Or a denial. Lillian refused to give her any of those. No one in the restaurant was worth any additional scenes. So, she calmly laid her napkin over her canvas and lukewarm food, and then summoned all her strength to flash a completely fake but enthusiastic smile.
“Richard?”
He tugged at the collar of his shirt, glancing nervously between the two women. “Uh . . . Uh . . . Y-y-yes?”
“Deal’s off. I’ll see you in court. Insure your ass because I’m about to hand it to you. Oh, and one more thing . . . ”
“Lillian, please—”
“Take your Origin Christmas party and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.”
She stood up and simultaneously nudged back Emily’s sister with a force-push of radioactive anger. Then Lillian walked away.
From the table.
From the restaurant.
From Richard.
Finally. It felt great.
A couple waiting at the elevator stepped aside, obviously fearing for their lives, and let her enter alone. Once inside, Lillian punched the button for the ground floor.
The doors slid shut and then the elevator glided down, silently and smoothly. Tears streamed down her face the same way. It hurt to hold them back, and since her dress was wet anyway, she just let them fall.
Chapter 18
Jacinda Shields Up
His early morning run from Baker Boulevard back through midtown and then down to the docks cleared Sam’s head like a bulldozer at the garbage dump. Nineties grunge music screamed through his earbuds, and the bracing sea air did him good. Some of his best ideas originated during punishing exercise routines.
A few strides from his front door and Sam figured out a brilliant solution for the new drone delivery system Origin had in development. They’d implement a hive-mind collective among the drones and include a subprogram for traffic updates. Two birds, one stone.
Before he knew it, he’d run the two miles from home and stood at the docks next to the Atlantic Ocean. Its salty waves gently licked the hulls of the docked boats in the harbor. A rough bit of wake from a vessel heading out to sea sent them bobbing. He leaned against the thick rope barrier at the edge of the dock, panting as his shoulders mimicked the movement of the lapping waves. Then his mind wandered.
Damn it. Shou
lda kept running.
His brain did instead, and straight to Lillian Walker—the woman of a thousand maybes. Maybe she would choose him. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe Lillian was exactly what he needed. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe he needed to forget about Origin and Preston . . .
“Good morning for a run. The cold air can help recenter your vibrations,” said a snotty little voice from behind Sam.
Maybe not.
Sam squeezed the rope, twisting his palms around it until they burned. “Preston.”
Preston Lavery sidled up next to him. “Sam.”
“So, what do you want?”
“I don’t know. What do any of us want?”
Sam turned toward Preston. “You’re the one who asked to meet, so don’t waste my time with your New Age garbage.” He poked his former friend in the chest. “Don’t forget, I knew you before you were riding this latest fad of yours. You don’t believe any of it. It’s all part of your show, and if next week pirate talk is the cool thing you’ll be saying argh after every other word.”
Preston held up his hands. “Hey, sooo much tension. Something bothering you? Guilt, maybe?”
“Not in the slightest. Cut to the chase. You’re here about Lillian Walker.”
“How astute of you—for once. Yes, Lillian certainly has been the center of attention lately. A little bird told me the two of you have been spending some time together. You know that’s a problem.”
The tension Sam thought he’d eliminated through the punishing run returned, forming a burning knot between his shoulders. “We bump into one another at The Electric sometimes. That’s it. She made it clear she’s not interested in me, so threatening to fire her to get at either one of us won’t work. There’s nothing to it. You’re wasting your time.”
A patronizing smile crossed Preston’s narrow lips. “I have no intention of firing Lillian. In fact, I want to do the opposite. I want to keep her at Mythos indefinitely.”
Sam shook his head. Preston wanted to own Lillian. Exactly the way he owned Thrones of the Guild Planets. He liked to take what he wanted, like a greedy kid swiping all the marbles or a caveman with a club battering anyone who stood in his way.
“You can’t force her to stay at that circus you call a company.”
“I know. That’s why I plan to sweeten the pot. Extend Lillian’s contract over and over and over again. I’ll make her so happy that leaving Mythos will seem insane to her. And that’s why I wanted to have this little meeting. To let you know you have no reason to worry about your friend, Lillian Walker. I plan on taking excellent care of my employee.”
Shit. Preston Lavery played a sneaky hand better than anybody. A crisp wind blew in, salt and the scent of fish whipping them both as they stood in heated silence. For the first time in years, Sam didn’t know what to do or how to counter. And that ticked him off.
Preston had turned the tables. He would never fire Lillian. He’d win her over and keep her at Mythos and then hold the threat of the nonfraternization policy over her head and Sam’s for eternity, unless . . .
“Your plan only works if she stays. She might quit.”
Preston grinned. “She won’t. Why would she? I’ll make it very worth her while to stay. Give her anything she wants. Head of legal. Millions in bonuses. She’ll forget about you, Sam. Besides, Lillian doesn’t strike me as the type to be seriously interested in a guy with a mile-long list of exes. She’s meticulous, careful. And she’s not a risk-taker. Her legal track record makes that clear. Lillian likes to bet on a sure thing, and even if she does decide the Mythos family isn’t for her, where would she go?”
“Origin. In a heartbeat.”
“Can’t happen. Noncompete and nondisclosure agreements would limit her abilities in working at Origin to . . . janitorial, maybe?”
Sam snapped. He grabbed Preston by the collar of his slick track jacket and yanked him closer. “Why? Why would you do something like this to her to get at me? You won, Preston. You took what was mine and made it yours, so why keep playing this game over and over again?”
“Simple. I don’t like you. I don’t like how you turn nothing into something. How you and Ravi Ganesh are always nipping at my heels.”
Preston’s calmness suddenly twisted into a look of utter hatred. His lip curled into a snarl like an animal ready to bite.
“And I will never stop until you eat your words and admit all those things you said to me at MIT were the lies of a jealous, clueless nobody. So if it irritates you Lillian Walker only has two options, work for me and stay away from you or be forced to move to another planet to find a job, well . . . ” Preston laughed, right in Sam’s face. “Oh, Sam. It makes me incredibly happy to go to this effort.”
It was MIT and Morgan Lavery on repeat, and it curdled Sam’s stomach like the month-old milk he’d accidentally chugged before his run. He let Preston go, his clenched fists falling to his sides and hanging in defeat. He was out of ammo. No reload packs glowing nearby. No chance of respawning . . .
Stop thinking like everything’s a damn game. Grow the hell up.
Lillian was more important than any game. More important than wiping that smirk off Preston’s face. More important than feeling like a loser again. More important than even being with her. Sam refused to be the reason Lillian lost a career she obviously wanted. If Preston and Mythos made her happy, Sam wouldn’t ruin that for her—even if it meant never seeing her again.
Sam turned back to the rope barrier and stared out at the ocean. The sun had started to rise, bleeding up from the horizon and mottling the sky with reds and pinks tinged with gold. He rarely took the time to enjoy sunrises or sunsets. There’d be more of them, so why waste his time . . .
But he wished he could watch that one with Lillian. And another one. And then another after that . . . It pretty much reaffirmed what he had to do.
“Get lost, Preston,” he growled.
“You first, Sam.”
Sam strangled the rope again. “Everyone and everything is telling me to stay away from Lillian Walker. Probably means it’s a good idea.”
Preston slapped him on the back. “Smart thinking. And thanks, by the way.”
“For backing off?”
“Yeah. Best Christmas present I’ve had in years. I love seeing you miserable. Makes me feel all warm and toasty inside.”
“Didn’t realize schadenfreude was a part of Buddhist teachings.”
Preston grinned again, the wind whipping his highlighted hair against his tight, tanned face. “You’ll be fine. You have Jacinda Shields to keep you company at the party again this year. I doubt you’ll pout over Lillian for long with Jacinda in the PR picture. Have fun with that. Oh, and tell Rain Man Ravi if he hacks into my laptop again, I’ll have him banned from the next Galaxy Trek convention. I can do that, you know. We’re sponsoring it. Namaste.”
Preston started off on his run, but Sam shouted, “Hey! What did he do this time?”
“Changed my user ID and then emailed the new one,” he said over his shoulder.
“Changed it to what?”
Preston stopped about twenty feet away and put his hands on his hips. “Mike Rotch. I can say that because it makes him look like the idiot.”
Sam guffawed, doubling over from the sheer joy. “No . . . ” he said, nearly out of breath from laughter. “No, you definitely look like the idiot.”
“Laugh all you want, but Lillian works for me and the closest Ravi’s going to get to the Galaxy Trek crew at the convention is digging through the dumpster to find some of their trash,” Preston yelled before taking off into a flat-out sprint toward the nearby park.
Not a total loss of a morning. Nice job, Ravi.
But the little elation didn’t last long, and blew away like a feather with a gust of salty sea wind. Preston was right.
Lillian wanted to work at Mythos, and Sam wasn’t worth walking away from it. No choice but to back off.
A seagull landed on a nearby post. It stared at him, its beady, black eyes giving him an oddly disapproving look. He tried to ignore it, but after a minute the silent exchange got awkward and he felt the need to say something.
“I know, okay? I get it. I’m a terrible guy and the last thing Lillian needs, but that doesn’t make it easy to give up and walk away.”
The gull flapped frantically and flew away, squawking at him in the wind. Sam congratulated himself for putting it in its place. Next, he had to put his love life in its place—in a grave.
Sam decided if he couldn’t be with Lillian, he didn’t need love. Sticking with Jacinda was probably for the best. She never expected anything out of him other than to look hot and show her a good time. Maybe that was enough.
But as Sam watched another fishing boat grow smaller and smaller on the horizon until it disappeared, he realized a goodbye with Lillian couldn’t be that way. She deserved more than ghosting. He’d give her an explanation. Then he’d let her go.
He pressed the play button on his phone, and a drum solo blasted against his eardrum. Sam returned to his run, continuing back down the docks and toward Origin in the tech district on the waterfront. Ocean spray and the overwhelming scent of fish drifting up from the market filled the air. In the distance, his company rose up like a gleaming glass pillar surrounded by the weatherworn buildings of Port Bristol.
He jogged past fishermen gathering on the docks, hot cups of coffee in their rough hands and even rougher grumblings coming out of their mouths. A few glared at him. He’d grown used to the resentment. Some of the older folks hated change, despised the village they loved mutating into a crowded metropolis . . . and sometimes Sam agreed with them.
Breaking ground on Origin had opened up something and Sam couldn’t be 100 percent convinced it was a good thing. In the beginning, he’d thought it was a no-brainer—what town wouldn’t want to be more? Bigger. Better. But as he continued his run, he noticed the encroachment of new upon old, the steamroller of new technology squashing history in its path.