SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  “Typical,” says Lily, crossing her arms. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about. You really are the douchebag billionaire.”

  “Fine,” I say, growing angry. “I’m leaving… You know, maybe I am the douchebag billionaire. But at least I know what I want, and I admit it. I know you know you want me. You just don’t admit it to yourself.”

  I turn and start walking away. It’s not like I’m going to stay and beg her.

  I just don’t do that.

  She either comes with me or she doesn’t.

  “By the way,” says Lily. “I’m quitting, boss.” She says the last word with scorn.

  But I don’t turn around.

  I head back to my car, which has been towed.

  There’s a big torn up spot on the grass where I left it parked. There’s a ticket from the city taped to a nearby sign, which gives me the number to call if I want to pick up the car, paying a hefty fine, of course.

  Whatever, I don’t even need that car. I doubt I’ll bother going through the lengthy headache of getting it back. If the mood strikes me, maybe I’ll pay someone to do it for me.

  I’m reaching into my pocket for my phone, about to call an Uber, when my phone rings.

  It’s Johnny.

  “Didn’t expect to hear from you, Johnny,” I say. “You ran off as soon as things got a little ugly. It was just a little fire. You sure scare easy.”

  “I’ve got to be careful when any authority figures are bound to show up,” says Johnny. “Sorry, Ryan.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Listen,” says Johnny. “I’ve got some information that might interest you. We can’t talk about it over the phone.”

  “Of course,” I say. “Always the same old Johnny.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at… uh… Buena Vista Park, you know, the one by Haight Ashbury.”

  “The one that’s shaped like a giant cock?”

  “No, the other one.”

  “I’m nearby. I’ll be right there.”

  “Don’t be late. I’m not going to wait around for you,” I say.

  “I’ll be right there, Ryan,” says Johnny. “But…”

  I hang up the phone before he can keep speaking. He’s testing my patience with all this secretive stuff. The last thing he brought me wasn’t any good… I doubt this one is going to be either.

  But there’s not a whole lot else to go on.

  The Simmons Algo is going to overtake mine.

  The Sisyphus Algorithm will be no more.

  I’ve lost it.

  And I’ve lost her.

  A sporty black car catches my attention by skidding around the corner.

  It’s lowered, the bottom almost scraping the pavement, and smoke billows out of one of the windows. The windows are tinted, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s Johnny.

  I get in.

  “I didn’t even know you could drive,” I say, waving the smoke out of my face. It actually turns out to be vapor.

  Johnny’s got one of those fancy vaporizers, and judging from the smell, it’s weed rather than tobacco that he’s vaping.

  “Can’t you cut that shit out?” I say, gesturing to the vaporizer.

  “Sorry,” he says, putting it down. “It helps me think.”

  I let out a little rumble of a laugh, expressing my skepticism.

  “I don’t know how well you’ve been thinking lately,” I say. “You didn’t do me much good with that Simmons report. I know I’ve got good enough security that you’re not tapped into my systems, so here it is… Lily, uh, one of my employees, came up with a solution based on what Simmons might have done, and it didn’t work. And I just can’t see any other options, any other way that he might have done things.”

  Johnny turns the car hard.

  “Do you always drive this badly?” I say. “Or just when you’re high?”

  Johnny just shrugs and lights a cigarette.

  “Sorry,” he says. “Hey, you having woman problems by any chance?”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I say.

  “I dunno,” he says. “You don’t seem like the type to get all tied up in knots over a chick, but… there was something going between you and that programmer chick, wasn’t there? You know, the smoking hot one?”

  I don’t answer him. “Tell me what you’ve got,” I say. “Your driving sucks. Either drop me off at my house or tell me what’s going on. I don’t think I can take much more of this. What kind of junker is this that you’re driving, anyway?”

  “Custom job,” says Johnny. “Got it in a trade for some information.”

  “Remember,” I say. “You still owe me big time. Your debt’s not paid off. I got you off the…”

  “Yeah, yeah,” says Johnny. “Listen, you helped me out big time, and that’s why I’m going to give you a little piece of gold.”

  “This had better be good.”

  We pull up to a stop light. The San Francisco sun looks weak through Johnny’s obviously illegally tinted windows.

  “I can barely see what’s going on outside this rust heap of yours,” I say.

  “Hey,” says Johnny, finally sounding offended. “This ain’t no rust heap.”

  “Let me give you a piece of advice,” I say. “Start dressing better, and get yourself a decent car. I know you’ve got the money. Or at least you should have some.”

  “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

  “All black? Come on? You want to be a hacker cliché or something?”

  Johnny pouts for a moment.

  “Come on,” I say. “Tell me what this so-called golden news is.”

  “OK,” says Johnny, looking around shiftily as if someone else is bound to pop up from behind the back seat or something. “I’ve got good reason to believe Simmons faked the benchmark tests.”

  I don’t say anything for a moment. If this is true, it’s big news. It would mean that my Sisyphus Algorithm is still the best, that no one can beat it.

  “Supposing that were true,” I say. “How would he fake it in the published tests? I mean, it’s one thing to fake it on his own servers… but those tests were run by that tech magazine, whatever it’s called…”

  “Trust me,” says Johnny. “It’s probably true.”

  “Doesn’t sound that convincing,” I say. “Maybe you’re just telling me what I want to hear. The more I interact with you, Johnny, the less I trust you.”

  “See for yourself,” says Johnny, reaching into one of his filthy pockets and handing me a small USB drive.

  Lily

  Everything is just so damn fucked…

  I can’t get out of this funk.

  Days have gone by, and I’ve officially given my notification, or whatever you want to call it to Ryan, so no matter what Hailey tries to tell me I can’t go back to the office.

  I still can’t get over how she reacted when he showed up in the park. I guess seeing him again in person was just too much for her or something. She wanted me to go after him even after he had walked away. She was just standing around the corner, and she rushed back, telling me he was too hot to give up, and that I’d never find another guy that hot in a thousand years. Yeah, real helpful.

  And now I’ve got no job whatsoever, and I haven’t talked to my parents in a month.

  I’m sure they’d welcome me back to the East Coast, and I’d have a secure place in the family furniture store business.

  Look, I don’t have anything against furniture per se.

  It’s just not what I want to be doing.

  But I can’t seem to even get myself to apply for any more jobs. It’s not like there aren’t a zillion highly qualified programmers already in San Fran, ready to take any job that I would apply for… programmers with much more experience than me. What can I put on my resume now? That I couldn’t hack it as Ryan’s company? That I’ve had one good programming idea (which was just how to copy another programmer) and it didn’t even work?
/>   I can’t stop thinking about Ryan.

  No matter what I try to do, I just can’t stop it.

  I keep thinking about the two times we had sex… It was so incredible, and it’s never going to happen again. Not if I can help it.

  I may be insanely drawn to his body, his rippling muscles, his huge, girthy cock, but I just can’t get over what a dick he is.

  I mean, sure, there’s also that commanding presence he has… that doesn’t help strengthen my resolution to stay as far away from him as possible.

  He hasn’t even tried calling. He hasn’t contacted me at all, and I haven’t sent so much as a single text message his way, no matter what Hailey tries to tell me. It’s still amazing how much she can flip flop, which is even more disheartening, given that she’s my best friend in the whole world.

  How would I have liked things to go? I wish he would have told me that he cared about me, but obviously that’s not going to happen. I wish he would have said that he feels differently about me than any other woman he’s ever met.

  But I guess that’s all just a fantasy.

  I thought there was something underneath that hot (yet emotionally cold) exterior, that billionaire shell, that gorgeous body… but I guess that’s just wishful thinking.

  I’m nothing more than another notch in his bed post.

  I just can’t live with that.

  Finally, after a week of moping around, avoiding Hailey, not to mention the rest of my roommates, who seem to have the week off from work for some reason, and are using their free time to drink and have loud sex all over the house, I decide I need to get a job.

  I’m probably just going to be headed back East to work at the furniture store. Without really deciding on anything, I’ve decided to take the easy approach, and just resign myself that I’m going to be doing what generations of my family have been doing. There’s nothing wrong with selling furniture, right? It has a good function—people sit on it, eat on it. It helps people… sort of, I guess.

  It’s just not what I want to be doing. But who gets to do what they want to do? Only rare individuals, people like Ryan Hudson. He’s a perfect example of someone who just does exactly what he wants to do without regard for the consequences, without regard for anyone else but himself. Do I want to be like that? No. Definitely not.

  But even if I’m headed back East, I need money immediately.

  I haven’t even called Ryan’s office to ask about the check. I doubt it’s coming.

  And with my bank account dwindling, I need some money fast, unless I want to call my parents. They’d be happy to send me the money for me to come East. They’d be more than happy to do that. It would prove that they were right all along, that there was no way I could make it as a programmer in San Francisco, that it was just a lofty idea I had because I’m young and inexperienced.

  Well at least I’m not exactly inexperienced anymore. Ryan Hudson took care of that problem… it’s what happened after that didn’t turn out as I expected. Or maybe my expectations changed after the fact. Who knows.

  It’s unlikely I’m going to get an office job in a short amount of time, and I’d have to wait for the pay check anyway.

  No, I need something that’s going to get me fast cash quick.

  I know Hailey could get me a job where she works, but I’ve decided that I’m not speaking to her. I can’t believe how she flip flopped there at the park, once she saw Ryan Hudson again in person. I mean, if she really thinks he’s that hot, why doesn’t she just go after him herself? I’d love to tell her that, but I don’t have the nerve. Plus, I know that would kill me. That’s the last thing I want for her to do.

  I’m in such a funk that I feel like everyone is completely against me. Everyone, and the whole world, so when I show up at a coffee shop, looking for a job, I’m not in a good mood, to say the least.

  “Are you guys hiring?” I say to the barista, a young man in his early twenties with about a dozen earrings, as is typical here in San Fran, and a very long beard that he must have been growing for years.

  He shrugs at me, and goes to help the next customer.

  I’m sort of standing to the side of the line here, a little out of the way of the normal traffic.

  “You’re just going to ignore me?” I say, already feeling conspicuous and out of place. I’m not sure why I do it, but I raise my voice at him, making it clear that I’m not pleased.

  He shrugs at me again, as he prepares some kind of fancy espresso drink.

  If I were here with Ryan, I find myself thinking, this guy wouldn’t ignore me.

  No one ignores Ryan Hudson.

  Except for me.

  I’ve ignored another one of his phone calls today. I’m sure he was just going to tell me he needs to fuck me again, and command me to come over to his place, without telling me how he feels about me.

  “Listen,” I say, louder this time. “I’m looking for work, and I can tell you need the help, the way you’re treating me. Just give me the phone number of the owner and I’ll take care of all this myself. I can see that’s how things go in this place.”

  I realize I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t care right now. I’m pissed, and the world is against me. At least it feels that way.

  “That’s not the way to get a job,” says the woman who’s waiting on her drink. She says it in a half-whisper, which annoys me.

  “Don’t you get started on me,” I say.

  “Listen,” says the barista, coming over to me, putting his hands down on the counter, facing me directly. “I’m the owner. And you’d better get out of here before I call the cops.”

  “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath as I walk out of the coffee shop.

  Well, that could have gone better.

  How is that twenty year old guy the owner of that packed coffee shop? Everyone in San Francisco is an entrepreneur except for me.

  I’m just a furniture seller, and I’d better admit it now.

  With tears welling in my eyes, I take out my phone and press my mom’s name on the contact list. She’s labeled quite creatively as “mom” on the list.

  “Lily? Is that you? What happened, dear? What’s wrong?”

  “Why do you think something is wrong?”

  “Well, you never call me anymore. I figured something must be wrong.”

  “Everything’s fine, Mom,” I say, lying through my teeth. In reality, everything is terrible.

  “Oh, well, I was just speaking to your father about you. We were wondering how that new job was going, the one you wrote to us about in that email.”

  I can tell from her tone of voice that she knows something is up. After all, I really don’t call home very often. I know I should but my mom always ends up criticizing my choices and telling me I should just come work at the furniture store. Well, she had better be glad to hear it then, that I’m finally giving up.

  “I quit the job,” I say. “I was wondering if I could come work at the store.”

  “Come work at the store?” says my mom, her tone of voice turning strange, and not too pleasant.

  “Yeah,” I say. “You’re always saying I should just give up here and come work with you and Dad.”

  “But what about your programming? What about your passion? You can’t just give up!”

  “But that’s exactly what you’re always telling me to do. This doesn’t make any sense!”

  “Sometimes,” says my mother, her tone of voice severe and beyond frustrating for me to listen to. “That’s the way things are. They’re confusing.”

  “Mom,” I say. “I don’t know what this is all about. I don’t know what you’re saying. But I don’t have a job, and I’m running out of money. What if I just come work at the store.”

  “I was reading the other day about how people do a lot of computer work online. I’d hate for you to give it all up. Why don’t you come home, and you can work on your computer work while you’re at the store. That way, you won’t be giving it up.”

&nbs
p; “Is something wrong with the store or something?” I say. “Why this sudden change of heart about me working there? I thought it’s all you and Dad ever wanted me to do.”

  “No, everything’s fine. We’re doing better than ever, actually. We’ve been selling a lot of dining room tables recently. You know, those ones with the spiral things?” (My mom’s never been very good at describing things, even though she’s worked in the business for decades, and should know the official names.)

  “Yeah,” I say. “I know those. I think I saw them on a TV show I was watching with Hailey.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Fine,” I say, not wanting to get into the whole thing. “So why don’t you want me to work there?”

  “Well, of course it’s not like that,” says my mother. “It’s just that your father and I just saw a program on television about following your dreams. And I think that’s what you should do.”

  “All right,” I say. “That’s what I’ll do then.”

  I say goodbye, after listening to a couple stories about my aunt’s dog.

  I guess I’ve been away for a while, because I didn’t even know that my Aunt Allison had a dog, or that it could get into so much trouble.

  I should be grateful to my mother—she’s finally changed her mind and thinks I should be a programmer. But it’s not like she called me to tell me that. No, I had to call her.

  The world still sucks. I’m still angry.

  Ryan’s still a prick.

  That’s what’s changed my outlook completely—Ryan. Everything in my world right now seems to come tumbling back to Ryan, no matter what I try to do.

  So now that I’m broke and don’t have a job—this is when I’m supposed to be following my dreams?

  Ryan

  I doubt Johnny Robbins would go to the trouble to doctor these screenshots. Then again, he’s capable of anything, and I trust him less and less each day. Not that I trusted him much at all.

  I’m back at my house, down in the basement where there isn’t any light, except for a dim bulb hanging over my head.

  I’m sitting at a folding card table. It’s nothing like the luxurious wooden desks I usually work at—when I work, that is. Which is a lot, recently, but not a whole lot before this whole Simmons Algorithm crisis came up. I’m hunched over my laptop, enjoying the darkness and the small patch of light that this bare light bulb illuminates.