I change the subject. If Evan did his job thoroughly — which I’m sure he did; Evan’s OCD is half the reason he’s already been so successful — the deal is probably most of the way to dead and buried. Alexa knows I won’t be building my app — at least not in a way that gives the Syndicate backdoor access to all information about everyone — but so do Aiden, Onyx, Caspian, Nathan … everyone who had a stake. Evan will have informed them all.
I’ll want to clean up the mess with a couple of meetings, but there’s not even anything to sign. Paperwork would have made the deal official, so now I simply have to not sign.
While Evan’s accusations about Clive Spooner’s backdoor and data theft hang in the air, a shiver runs through me. I’ve dodged a bullet. It’s hard to believe that just a few months ago, I was arguing with Alexa that she could be as bold about her true intentions with me as she wanted, because I believed that everyone could win: we could free people’s minds of repression and shame and the Syndicate could harvest their ultimate data-driven selling machine and Alexa could skim off the top, hammering our data into the AI she hopes will predict humanity’s sexual future.
But who was I kidding? Clive was betraying his users; Evan was making deals in the dark; Alexa, it sometimes seemed, was looking for Jesus in the Matrix while at the same time sleazing her way to a tidy profit.
These were my partners? How naive was I?
The Ross app had the right idea.
But this was the wrong way to go about it.
Good thing Caitlin “distracted my thoughts” and “pointed out my flaws” enough for me to see it.
“Well, thanks for handling it, Evan,” I say. Even though I know he did it for his own reasons, I’m still grateful I didn’t have to break up the Syndicate’s deal myself. They’ve been steering toward this grand plan for nearly a year. Now they’ll have to start with something else. Find a new deal — a new way to spend their billions.
“One other thing, Anthony,” Evan says. “Caspian said that he thought you were considering leaving the Syndicate.”
“And what do you think?”
He pauses, probably trying to decide how honest he wants to be with me. Evan’s net worth outstrips mine, but he’s only 27 years old. I earned my wealth through grit and long years, but Evan built one thing that soared more than he ever could have imagined. In one sense, we’re peers. But in another, I’m nearly old enough to be his father. Apparently, he was brought up to respect his elders.
“Honestly, Anthony? It’s felt to me like you’ve had one foot out the door for a while.”
“And?”
I know there’s an and. There has to be, because his statement so far didn’t merit the “honestly” he preceded it with.
Reluctantly, Evan says, “I kind of agree with what a lot of the other guys in the Boys’ Club are saying.”
“Which is?”
“That whether you realize it or not, you’re choosing your girlfriend over your business.”
I saw this coming. So I say, “That’s true. I am.”
Or. Not and.
Evan didn’t expect such a blunt reply. He fumbles for a few moments, then mumbles something about talking to me later.
We hang up and I slip the phone back into my pocket.
There’s a breeze today, so I button my suit jacket, taking the time to square my tie. Then I look out across the bay, hands laced behind my back. I stand that way, thinking, contemplating my choices. I know I’ve made the right ones, but doing so feels strange.
I used to be unblinkingly confident, but recently I’ve been a bit uncertain.
That’s Caitlin’s fault, and I thank her for it.
“Look at you,” she says, coming up behind me. “Standing on the deck looking out across your empire, wearing your suit and looking sexy as hell.”
I turn and smile. She’s wearing a long yellow dress with thin straps. I wonder if she’s cold. I have a sudden urge to wrap her with myself, to make sure she’s warm.
“I was just thinking of how you undermined me,” I say.
“Oh, screw you.”
“How you shook my faith in all I’d planned for my future. How you made me second-guess everything I was so sure of.”
She laughs. She comes up beside me, shoulder to shoulder, and we face the bay together.
I feel her hand take mine. I look over, and see concern on her face.
“Was that Evan Cohen on the phone?”
So much for keeping this from her. I sigh.
“How did you know?”
“I saw the Caller ID on your second handset. You left it in the house.”
“Damn it.”
“Evan Cohen. From … the Syndicate. So was the call about …?” She trails off, eyebrows raising. I haven’t told her most of this, but Caitlin reads me well. Of course I was going to kill the Syndicate/Eros deal. I’ve done nothing but explain its now-obvious failures to Caitlin since we moved in together.
Another sigh. I don’t know why I try to protect her from these things. For one, nothing gets by her. And for two, she doesn’t need my protection.
Fuck it.
“Yes. I broke off the deal for the Ross Institute app.”
She nods slowly. This isn’t a surprise. “Were they pissed?”
“Alexa probably was. The others? Hard to say.”
“What will they do now? I mean, you talk like everything since the group was founded was leading up to this ‘big plan’ of yours.”
“Oh, they’ll find another ‘big plan,’ I’m sure. Alexa will have to find new partners for whatever she’s up to next; the Syndicate won’t have anything to do with her if I’m not involved. Nobody’s actually lost money. There’s still a hundred billion dollars to spend. Someone will figure out something for the Syndicate to spend it on so they can eventually dominate the world.”
I look at Caitlin, realizing I’ve just given her way too much information. The Syndicate and the Trillionaire Boys’ Club within it were supposed to be top secret — let alone the dollar figure I’ve so casually dropped.
But Caitlin just nods again, as if I’ve told her all of this before.
No big deal.
“You talk like you’re not part of the group,” she says. “They instead of we.”
“It would be nice if you didn’t pre-guess me on everything. I liked it when I could keep secrets from you.”
Caitlin shrugs. “What can I say? Maybe you’re not the guru you thought you were.”
I look toward the water. “I never wanted to be anyone’s guru.”
We stand that way for a full minute in silence, maybe more.
“What about our mission?”
Our mission, she said. Not your mission.
“Maybe I chose you over my business, but I refuse to choose you over my mission.”
“That’s just because you don’t have to choose on that one. I’m part of your mission.”
“Details, details.” A pause. Then, “Maybe it’s time we get the Ross Institute into schools.”
“I agree. But let’s do it without the heavy focus on sex.”
I laugh. That’s one thing our company won’t focus on nearly as much. I asked Evan to let Alexa know that I’d sell her the Ross Institute’s sex-related wing, products, and user data at a bargain price. My way of making nice after ruining her deal.
I still want people to free themselves from shame and repression, and I’ll still hit all those topics in my events and courses. But the purely sexual, freewheeling part just doesn’t strike me as nearly so interesting these days.
“Anthony?” Caitlin says.
Again, I turn.
“A lot of what I’ve heard about Alexa … bothers me. I can’t give you specifics; I just feel it in my gut.”
I nod. “I know. That’s why I broke this off. I can’t partner with her. In a distant, far off way, I actually think that she’s on the right track. I think her heart is in the right place. But between now and that distant future, anything
could happen. And I’m not sure I want to be aboard Alexa’s train for the journey.”
“Then thank you.” Caitlin squeezes my hand. “Thank you for making the hard choice to stop things before they started.”
But there’s more that’s been bothering me, and Caitlin’s innocent question has only invited goosebumps to my spine.
Things Alexa said.
Things the entire Syndicate has implied.
“I don’t know that I’ve stopped things, Caitlin. I think I’ve just decided not to participate.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m moving away from the Syndicate, but the Syndicate still exists. It has money and connections and power.”
“But Alexa’s not part of the Syndicate.”
My lips purse. “Not yet. But in forty or fifty years …”
Damn it. Damn my loose lips.
“Forty or fifty years?”
But I can’t lie to her now. She knows me too well.
“Plans, Caitlin. It wasn’t just about the app. Alexa is driven. They all are. I’ve seen some of these people talk about grand schemes that play out for centuries.”
“But they’ll all be dead.”
Again, my lips firm. Someday, I’ll need to tell her about the advances the Syndicate has already made in nanotechnology. The anti-aging treatments that aren’t yet known by more than the tiniest circle. They’re not here yet, but it’s only a matter of time. What I said to Caitlin about “not stopping things” was true. What’s going to happen will happen regardless. It might not be so easy, depending on how long we live, to avoid the fallout that will spill from my actions today. My decision to step away from the Syndicate might come back to haunt me … for a very long time.
Today, people can kid themselves about who truly owns the world.
But if they Syndicate gets its way? If the advances I’ve heard about from the likes of Rachel Ryan are any indication?
Well, it might not be too long before “who owns the world” is a lot more obvious.
And if I know Alexa Mathis at all, I know she plans to be one of those people and to stay one for a very long time, growing old slowly … or not at all.
Caitlin and I have our future. Our own little corner of the universe, as connected or detached as we choose to make it.
But a deep part of me fears that the rest of the future might be owned by the woman I’ve angered today.
I turn Caitlin toward me. I hold both of her hands.
“I want to grow old with you, Caitlin,” I say. “I want to die by your side.”
“Romantic,” she says. “And morose.”
It may be more meaningful than you realize right now.
“I mean it.”
She rubs my arm. She smiles, looking down. “I know you mean it.”
I pull Caitlin into my arms. We kiss. Then we hold each other, feeling the evening sun.
“Speaking of Alexa,” Caitlin says, “I ran across something that made me curious. Something Jamie pulled from the Disclosure archives. A meeting you had with her last week.”
“I wish Jamie wouldn’t snoop through my meetings.”
“You know Jamie curates the Disclosure recordings. If you want to talk to Alexa fully in private, you should find another way.”
“I know. What about it?”
“Do you remember the meeting?”
I nod. How could I forget? Alexa was in rare form. It was before I told her I was backing out, so she still thought of me as a partner. She ranted, going on and on. She had all these plans, and seemed to want me to understand them all. Once the Ross app was finished and a full human generation of users had run through it after a few decades, we could—
Caitlin interrupts my thoughts, getting to the crux of her question.
“Something Alexa kept saying. About ‘the future of sex.’ She said it like a mission statement. Like it was a tagline for something that you were supposed to recognize.” Caitlin tips her head. “Do you know anything about ‘the future of sex’?”
Oh, yes. Yes, I remember.
Immersions.
Implants.
Firewalls and AI and evolution.
An intelligent network.
Nanobots with fantastic abilities.
More and more and more and more — the very embodiment of And, not Or.
But this time, I refuse to tell Caitlin the truth.
My thoughts have been sullied enough by visions of Alexa’s dystopia.
So I say, “No, Caitlin. I don’t know anything about the future of sex.”
My hand moves down. I grab her ass.
“For right now, I’m happy enough exploring its present.”
DO YOU KNOW THE FUTURE?
Anthony Ross stepped out, but Alexa Mathis stepped in.
All I’ve written has been building to this.
http://aubreyparker.net/book/the-future-of-sex
Love doesn’t matter. Romance doesn’t exist.
In the year 2060, sex is a game of extremes. No desire is unexplored and even the unimaginable is possible.
Anthony Ross’s grand plan has been replaced by a new one … and after years of waiting, Alexa Mathis has found her prodigy in Chloe Shaw: a common girl with uncanny gifts that make her a powerful escort.
Chloe doesn’t believe in love. She believes in ecstasy, and her employer’s newest tool to usher “the future of sex”: an intelligent network known as The Beam.
And so it is until she meets Andrew … and the whole world changes.
Enter the Future of Sex now:
http://aubreyparker.net/book/the-future-of-sex
SHIT YOU SHOULD KNOW
Well. Here we are.
The Trillionaire Boys’ Club will continue with book 7 in autumn of 2017, but I mentioned in earlier notes that “Phase One” for this series would conclude with book 6. And now here you are at the end of that book, reading my author’s note.
So we need to talk about something important, you and I:
The next step at this point isn’t another trillionaire book.
The next step is something new … something unlike anything you’ve read before. It’s called The Future of Sex, and you’re going to absolutely love it.
And at this point, perhaps a bit of explanation is in order.
See, I actually started The Future of Sex years before I wrote the first Aubrey Parker book, The Boss’s Daughter. I wrote six of the twelve installments that comprise the entire FOS series, then stopped when other projects hijacked my attention. The Future of Sex sat that way, half-finished, for a long time.
When I wrote the Trevor’s Harem series (the “Burning” books), the first spark that rekindled The Future of Sex happened almost without notice. I’d written a sex company into Trevor’s Harem, so I decided to make that company the predecessor of O — the monolithic sex empire in FOS. Because why not? I plant little cross-connections all the time in my work, same as Quentin Tarantino names all the fast food joints in his movies “Big Kahuna Burger.” So I thought nothing of it. Eros was the seed of O; I’d know that, but nobody else would need to … and probably, nobody would ever care.
But once I’d made that small, almost flippant decision (and started introducing readers to characters from the original FOS: most notably Alexa Mathis and Parker Barnes — again, why the hell not?), the die was cast. I soon realized that the Aubrey Parker world would eventually intersect with the world I’d written in FOS. It was only a matter of time.
So I kept inching things forward — toward that eventual intersection — as I finished the Trevor’s Harem series, diverted into three semi-standalones, then began the Trillionaire Boys’ Club series. Each book hinted a bit more at what was coming in my old, soon-to-be-revitalized series.
I talked a little more about Alexa Mathis, a little more about Parker Barnes.
I started hinting at a large scheme that the Syndicate was plotting — one that might someday come to dominate the world in the way Alexa’s company O would sor
t of come to dominate part of the world further down the timeline.
I suggested that big changes were on the horizon for the world you’ve gotten to know: that society itself, indeed, was about to change.
By the time I wrote The Connector (the first Trillionaire book), I knew the Syndicate’s plans would lead to what was already starting to happen in the then-unfinished Future of Sex saga. I didn’t know how that was going to happen, only that it would. So I kept writing and I listened … because that’s how I figure things out in my stories: I keep writing and I listen to the characters. The characters always hold the wheel. They always have their own ideas about how things should happen, and in a sense they are the true authors of my books.
And so it went, inch by inch, the two series sliding closer and closer together with every new chapter.
By the third book in the TBC series, I had my first inkling of how to connect the TBC and FOS series … and to connect The Future of Sex, in turn, to another series that I’ll tell you about once you finish reading FOS.
And by the time I started the fifth book, I knew how the actual inter-series connections would need to occur. That’s when I really started steering: sending Anthony’s mission on a course to collide with Alexa’s.
It’s not a spoiler to tell you that Alexa Mathis — even after she was thwarted by Anthony Ross — eventually got her way. She built her empire, resumed her search for her chosen one, and began to dissect sex as we know it in the interest of profit … leaving love as a byproduct.
That, my friends and loyal readers, is the story I have to tell you in The Future of Sex.
Now, just in case you prefer to read in a very narrow band of genre books and don’t want to stray from pure romance, I should let you know that FOS is at least half science fiction. (Ex: it takes place in the year 2060, after the plans you’ve read about have all taken root.) FOS’s other half, yes, is very much romance. But you’ll need to trust me. Because at first, The Future of Sex won’t seem like romance at all. It will strike you as highly erotic (hot as fuck, by the way) and unlike what you’ve read from me before.
The Guru (Trillionaire Boys' Club Book 6) Page 21