I look around for her, feeling a little baffled, disoriented in a way I’m not used to. This is what happens when I go off-schedule, and the reason I hire handlers specifically to keep me on one. I’ve set up systems to protect me from myself — because, left to my own devices, I end up spending too much time on the non-work aspects of work, usually speaking with one of the zillions of people who recognize my face and know my name.
I’m intercepted constantly — even in restrooms. I can’t help listening to the people who find me, because what you learn when you have my open nature and reputation is that everyone has problems. Everyone is broken.
And that means everyone has a wound that needs healing, and I’m a sucker for trying to help people do it.
I’m master of my own life, so when I really want to break the schedule I damn well do it. But when I do, I overbook myself so completely that I always pay the price — like a hangover after any proper indulgence.
Still, even knowing I’ve screwed up and need more than anything to get my evening back on track, I can’t help feeling a vacant sensation and a notion of incompletion. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Caitlin, and I wanted to. I’ll see her again soon, but I want to see her now. I want to hold her hand for one last second and look into her eyes. I want to tell her that I’m proud of her, and pleased by her bravery.
It’s not that I want to invite her for that drink I almost invited her to. That was a terrible idea. Because where would it lead?
And it would be a bad thing for it to lead anywhere, because she’s Caitlin. Jamie’s friend.
Never mind that I’ll have a big block available now after my half-hour with Alexa. That doesn’t mean I should track down Caitlin and use her company to fill the hour I’d otherwise have spent having sex.
Or should I?
My phone rings. I answer without looking to see who it is.
Amber says: “Eight minutes.”
“I got your text,” I tell her. “You—”
“—need to go home. I know. I’m on my way. I’m allowed to multitask, seeing as I’m in a company car and not even driving. The cafe is perfect, by the way, but I’m not giving that report to you. I gave it to Tracy and you only have seven minutes left before your call with Alexa.”
“Eight minutes.” I look at my watch. The minute clicks over and then becomes seven.
“Time is money,” Amber tells me.
“I got your message,” I say. “Go to bed.”
“I can’t go to bed. I’m in a car. But yes, Anthony, I’m otherwise done for the day. I already texted Joshua. He’s waiting up for me.”
“Good.”
“We’ll have great sex. I know that’s important to you.”
“In some companies,” I say, “what you just said would qualify as sexual harassment.”
“Yes, in uptight companies. But I work for Anthony Ross. A cornerstone of my job description is doing my part to help eliminate the world’s shame, and help us all to be what we’re meant to be.”
“Right.” I still don’t know why she’s called me. I only have six minutes, and would really like to clear my head. Talking to Alexa is like a workout.
“Doing my part by fucking, apparently,” she goes on.
“Very funny. Why the hell are you calling me?”
“Tracy told me you got into the Escalade with Caitlin Dawes.”
Tracy actually didn’t tell her that. Tracy told her that I got into the Escalade with someone named Caitlin, and Amber figured out the rest. There are many ways in which Amber is smarter than me, and that makes it difficult to trick her.
“Then Tracy told me that you yeah-yeahed all over their reminders about tonight’s date. Lincoln told me that you put up the privacy divider and killed the intercom. I personally know you stopped responding to texts. It’s cool; I took care of Erica. Really nice girl. She would have been good for you tonight.”
“I was tired anyway,” I say lamely.
Truth is, I’m not tired at all. I’ve still got hours left in my evening, and would have plenty of energy for someone like Caitlin.
“I don’t care that you went rogue, Anthony. Hardly the first time. What bothers me is who you went rogue with. I gave you time to talk to Caitlin earlier, appropriately public. You didn’t have sex with her in the back of the Escalade, did you?”
“Were you and I at the same event? Did you not see how badly that thing with Rena messed her up? I’m not a predator!”
“All right, calm down. I know you’re better than that. I’m sorry. But you blew off your date for the evening to spend time working out Caitlin’s shit?”
“So?”
“Who do you think I am, Anthony? Caitlin Dawes. She’s hot for you. She’s kind of got a daddy thing with you. It’s irresponsible for you to be alone with her.”
“Don’t you think I’m in control of my own actions?”
“Not really. Not when a hot girl who’s wanted on your hog for years looks at you with big doe eyes and basically tells you to take her to bed.”
“She didn’t do that. Not remotely. I just talked to her, Amber.”
“Mmm-hmm. No chemistry at all? Tell me this: why did you go into the hotel?”
At first I’m sure Amber has been lying to me. She’s not on her way home at all; she’s somewhere in the lobby, spying on me. Then I look around and catch sight of Lincoln still outside under the awning beside the Escalade, texting. Apparently Amber’s been texting my driver even while talking to me, and he’s reporting my every move.
“I’m staying at this hotel.”
“Do you want to be recognized? You don’t exactly blend in. Everyone loves you, and you have a very important call in three minutes. You go into the hotel through the back. You know you go in through the back. So don’t bullshit me. You’re looking for Caitlin.”
“So what if I am?”
Amber gives me a heavy sigh.
“What? You’re my assistant, Amber. Your job is to make my schedule, get me what I need, and keep me on task. My personal life is up to me.”
“So it is personal with Caitlin.”
“That’s not what I meant. But goddammit, I can walk into a motherfucking hotel if I want to, and you don’t need to—”
“You’re right. Your personal life is your business. And you can walk into all the hotels you want. But I was watching you watch her today, just like I was watching you watch her earlier. Just like I’ve heard you talk about her in the past.”
“She’s Jamie’s friend. Am I supposed to ignore her? When she came up to me for help, was I supposed to walk away?”
“You were supposed to thank her, bid her goodnight, and then get in the car alone and keep your schedule. Inviting her in was encouraging her. Worse: It was encouraging you. You’re infatuated with her, and the worst part is I don’t even think you realize it.”
I laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”
Another sigh, this one smaller. “Okay. Fine. It’s ridiculous. And you know what? Even if it’s not ridiculous and I’m right — if you’re into her in the same way it’s clear to anyone with eyes that she’s into you — then, in the end, it’s none of my business. You’re a big boy, Anthony. You’ve got an extra room booked at the hotel specifically so that you could take a woman to it and have sex in half an hour. If you wanted to track Caitlin down and take her to it, that’s your call and I won’t presume to try and stop you. Hell, it’s even on-brand: Why be ashamed of our desires? Why deny ourselves what our bodies want? But before you consider doing any of that, I want you to remember what you’ve told me.”
“And what’s that?”
“That a man like you can have a relationship or the kind of business and legacy that you aspire to build. Or. This is the one case where you don’t get to say ‘and.’ Relationships are messy. They occupy time and thoughts that would otherwise go elsewhere. Maybe that’s okay for most people, but not for you.”
I consider rebutting, but those are my words. I’ve said them to eve
ryone on my team — specifically so that, in moments when I’m not strong enough to remember it, all of them will.
“Just because I gave Caitlin a ride, doesn’t somehow mean I want anything more with her than I already have. And even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t want a relationship. That’s absurd, and you know it.”
“For now, maybe,” Amber says. “But you’re a romantic at heart, and the two of you clearly have chemistry. So if you don’t want to start a forest fire, you need to have enough restraint to keep away from the matches.”
I roll my eyes. I hate it when Amber presumes like this. I hate it when she acts like my mother.
And I hate it when I find myself resisting because I think she might be right.
Between blinks, I get a flash of Caitlin. I see myself, in our quiet moment, leaning forward to kiss her. I see the skin of her long neck, and the waiting gaze in her eyes.
I imagine us together. I imagine her body, picturing what it would look like beneath me.
“I’m almost home,” Amber says. I hear her car engine pitch. “My husband-to-be is waiting. Do what you will. I’ve said my piece. Be well, Anthony.”
“See you tomorrow, Amber.”
“And Anthony?”
But she doesn’t need to remind me. Before she can say more, my call waiting buzzes.
It’s exactly 10:30, and Alexa is calling.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ANTHONY
AMBER THINKS SHE KNOWS ME so well? Then fuck her, seriously — because the worst thing she could do, before an important call like this, was rile me up by putting things in my mind that shouldn’t be there.
“Anthony?” Alexa says. “Did you hear what I said?”
But no, of course I didn’t. Because an hour ago I had a girl I think of as a daughter, and that daughter had a friend who was attractive in concept but so far off the menu as to be unworthy of thought.
Half an hour ago I was working through the kinds of personal issues that I get thorough with people every day of my life.
Fifteen minutes ago I was saying goodbye, feeling a little unusual but otherwise unaffected. I’d have shaken it off and forgotten all about it. Probably.
But thanks to Amber, ten minutes ago I started wondering whether I really was attracted to Caitlin — and whether she might not be entirely off my mental menu after all.
Three minutes ago, Amber’s “you’re a big boy and if you choose to have sex with her, and I can’t stop you” comments got me thinking about that particular impossibility.
And now that I’m on the phone with Alexa, Amber’s unintentional sabotage has led to two things that are flat-out unacceptable:
First off, I’m flustered and having a hard time focusing on what Alexa is saying.
And secondly, at least half my brain is busy concocting a pornographic movie to fill Alexa’s pauses — one that’s especially effective seeing as I now have nobody scheduled to fuck.
I see Caitlin beneath me, her breasts firm and moving with the force of my thrusts, her face contorted and erotic.
I see Caitlin riding me while I lay on my back, her body smooth and movements rhythmic, her layered brown hair making a halo around her face as she leans forward, her tits inches from my face.
“Anthony?” Alexa’s voice jars me.
I blink. “I’m sorry. I think I’m in a dead spot. Hang on. Let me walk outside.”
“Don’t walk outside. Walk to your room. This isn’t the kind of thing I really want you discussing in public. Especially around your public.”
I laugh, ignoring her. I push the mental sex show aside, noting the need to conceal myself as I walk through the doors because my cock is already hard.
I need to get my shit together. I can fantasize about Caitlin later, if I feel the need to betray her emotional trust.
But right now I need to focus.
I walk past the lit apron of the hotel’s entrance and toward a shadowy cluster of benches around a reflecting pool. Nobody’s out here; nobody will hear. Besides, I have little to hide. I don’t want to conquer the world, the way some of my buddies won’t quite admit to wanting. I want to save it.
Let Alexa hang herself, if that privacy chip Clive gave us for our phones turns out not to keep this totally private. Privately, he calls the chip The Beau Monde — just one of the many Microdyne devices available to the Syndicate and few others.
“Is this better?” I ask, holding the phone close for maximum volume. I wasn’t in a dead spot earlier, so finding reception is easy.
And still, despite my resolve, my mind shows me Caitlin nude, on all fours, her bare ass facing me. My erection hasn’t subsided.
“I hear you,” Alexa says, her words suggesting that she didn’t buy reception as the problem.
“Then go ahead.”
“Our people here need an update on your self-help app.”
“It’s in the works.”
“That’s not very specific, Anthony. We need your people to talk to the Eros people.”
“Which people?”
“Barnes for sure. But mainly the developers on our end. The team that built HALO for the Trevor’s Harem experiment.”
“I still don’t see the point,” I tell Alexa. “HALO was a failure.”
“Because Daniel interfered. He changed the rules.”
“Of course he did, Alexa. Isn’t that what you do for a living?”
She scoffs. “I’m a writer.”
“What do you write, Alexa? What’s your latest? Got another fuck scene on the burner?”
She says nothing, my jab landing square on its mark. The world doesn’t really know the name Alexa Mathis yet, though I’m sure someday it will. Those who do know her think she just writes erotica and romance, but the Syndicate knows the truth. Daniel Rice owns Eros, but the board largely controls it … and Alexa seems to have her hands all over the board. She’s a ruthless entrepreneur first and a writer second — and what she writes these days is as much propaganda as it is entertainment.
“What’s your point, Anthony?”
I pause, forcing myself again to focus. This needs to go well — not just this call, but the venture between the Syndicate and Eros as a whole. There are a lot of strong personalities in this deal, and even more money. If we’re not careful, ego will break what should be beneficial for us all. We need each other: the now-nearly-complete Syndicate for its massive pool of money and connections, Eros for its research and the bones of the HALO algorithm, Forage for its technology and search, LiveLyfe and Gamestorming for data, and the Ross Institute for platform, big idea, and the social trust required to pull it off. We do this right, and we’ll change the world to a place that will be virtually unrecognizable in another 40-50 years.
“You’re a bitch, Alexa.”
I hear silence. Then I go on, trained by years onstage to say uncomfortable truths in order to get my result.
“You’re a bitch,” I repeat, “and it’s one of your very best qualities. I love that you’re a such a bitch. You may tell everyone that you’re only a writer — hell, I think Aiden Page might even have believed that when Barnes said it at that meeting in Seattle. You’re a bitch, but your ego’s in check. That means Eros can pretend that you’re nothing and might not even exist, but inside the company you’re pulling most of the strings. So thank you for being a bitch, Alexa. Your bitchiness has made the Ross app possible … plus the backend you’re building into the code to make it work for us all.”
There’s another long pause. Then Alexa says, “That’s an interesting form of praise.”
“We’re on the same team. Even Barnes. The sooner we all acknowledge who we really are and stop pretending we actually want each others’ goals, the sooner we can get started. So just admit it, Alexa: you don’t really want to make massive psychological changes to our society so that people can free themselves and be happier like I do. You want those changes because you plan to exploit them.”
“No I don’t.”
“Then why su
ch an interest in data harvesting? Why your sideline hobby in AI? Why do you care so much about HALO, if not because you think you can create a version that will actually work?”
There’s a long pause. “I’m just part of the team, Anthony.”
“More lies. More hiding of true intentions. Go ahead and exploit my app all you want, so long as it serves its primary purpose. Skim your data off the top. Build your AI; who cares? And I mean it, Alexa. Tell Barnes. This project isn’t zero-sum. It’s win-win. I don’t believe in or. I believe in and. Do you really not think we can change hearts and minds … and rake in plenty of data that you technically shouldn’t have … and shift social perceptions in ways that enable Eros to sell a lot more of its product … and build the ultimate selling machine … and make a lot of money doing it?” I laugh. “And search for however many digital saviors you want?”
Alexa starts to reply, but I cut her off, deciding that was a low blow. So she’s spiritual. The fact that she’s twisted spirituality into something unnatural doesn’t entitle my mockery.
“So please. Admit it, Alexa. I know about the copy you write under the pen name of Ambrose Suage. I know the lobbying that pen name has been trying with congress. I even know about Georgia Bernard.”
“How do you—”
“Because I have Forage. Because I have LiveLyfe. But here’s the thing, Alexa: What you don’t seem to understand is that I don’t give a shit about Ambrose Suage or Georgia Bernard. I think I know what you’re trying to do — and if I know you at all, it’s only beginning — but it doesn’t bother me in the ways I’m sure you expect it to. Seriously: Go ahead, Alexa. Change the adult industry. Change the lexicon. Change the people to fit your marketing; it’s so much more effective than changing your marketing to fit the people. I don’t care. My goal gets met either way. So how about we stop squaring off and actually work together for a change? I hate Barnes, but he’s exhausting to battle. So how about some cooperation? What do you say, Alexa? Truce?”
She actually laughs. I know that laugh. It’s how Alexa reacts when fairly bested. “Of course. Truce.”
“To answer your question, I’d be happy to connect Barnes or whoever you want with the Ross app development team. But you’ll want some Forage people in that meeting, too. Their algorithm does most of the work. HALO is more of a model to follow. We want a scale model of Forage built in the vein of HALO: something new, made from both. But the guts need to be Ross, inside and out; do you understand? This app needs to actually work if the project is to succeed. My part of this can’t be some sort of trojan horse and nothing more.”
The Guru (Trillionaire Boys' Club Book 6) Page 6