Chapter 10
Electra
Once again, he’s watching her through the open bathroom door from his perch on her bed as she finishes getting ready. Is this what it would be like to have a boyfriend? Especially since this seems to be the time little conversations blossom.
She glances over her shoulder. Her motion catches his eye, and he lifts his attention. Was he just staring at her ass? Considering his many awkward comments, he finds her attractive. Plus, it’s possible he’s trying to date her, which isn’t horrible.
The corners of his eyes crease. His grin makes the butterflies in her stomach flutter wildly. She really should have dated more in the past. Her inexperience is clearly the reason for whatever is going on with her and her hormones.
“I was thinking of starting a blog.” His grin dissolves. Still, she presses forward. “I can’t not write. I need to put my words out there, and I thought that might be a way for me to contribute to”—she has to stop herself from waving a hand in his direction—“society.”
“I’m not sure if people would be receptive. I’d hate for you to be disappointed on top of everything else you’re dealing with.” He’s referring to her acclimation, as he calls it. “Don’t misunderstand me. I think your writing is . . . amusing.”
“You’re reading my books?” Has he got to the sex scenes yet?
Her work is definitely not slow burn. So, yes, he probably has.
She groans. How embarrassing. Well, it could be worse.
It’s not like he’s read her journal. Wait, has he?
The entries appear to be in a file system they both have access to, as demonstrated by the several Brain Dumps that don’t belong to her.
Notably one labeled “Res6’s Top Secret Task List.” As if she would snoop.
At least he seems to understand Brain Dumps are private.
“I, uh . . .” His eyes widen. She can almost see the calculations happening behind them.
He nods once, almost to himself, and his demeanor changes.
It’s subtle, but she’s been around him enough to notice the slightly straighter posture, the upturn to one corner of his mouth, even the way his eyes sparkle a little more than they did half a second earlier.
The change feels similar to his shift while interacting with the woman at the simulation chamber asking him questions for her blog.
“I confess. I couldn’t resist listening to your books. I was having trouble sleeping.” He points to the couch, which he is no longer using; he’s been sleeping in the forbidden room for days.
“But I told you, having people I know read my books weirds me out.” She eyes him, planting her hands on her hips for emphasis.
“I already had them downloaded.”
She chuffs. Is he really going to argue with her? “You could have found something else to download.”
“I already spent the unicoin.” He grins as if he’s found her weakness.
Damn her for sharing that little tidbit about her childhood. “You’re impossible.”
He stands and steps toward her. “Electra, darling, they’re available for anyone to read.”
She isn’t sure if it’s his out-of-the-blue endearment or his clear disregard for her boundary, but her mouth drops open. “That’s it. I’m starting an advice column. You people need serious help.”
“A column is too risky,” he grumbles, slipping back into his usual persona. “How can I protect you if you become well known? You can’t tell people you’re from the past. You don’t have an identity.”
“So you get to have your Room of Doom and Secrets, but I can’t have my column? That’s hardly fair. I can use a pen name,” she offers brightly. “How does Dear Electra sound?” It actually has a good ring to it. Much better than Ask Doctor Janet.
“But that’s your real name.”
“No one knows that,” she says, rolling her eyes.
After a minute, he adds, “It’s not a good idea,” which she pointedly ignores.
Clearly, he’s only interested in protecting his company.
Who cares that she needs an outlet, some way to cling to the identity she lost?
Or that future people are hopeless and someone needs to show them that love isn’t a scarce resource?
The column will prove that she’s still relevant, still capable, and has a place in this whacko future she’s been thrust into.
Plus, she wants to make Janet proud, or something like that.
It definitely has nothing to do with figuring out what’s wrong with the male model/duplicitous fiend she’s roommates with and possibly dating.
She can almost hear Janet say, Don’t drag me into your delusions, dear.
Res6 lets her finish getting ready, quietly observing her as she slips on a delicate pair of gold heeled sandals.
She gives herself a quick glance in the full-length mirror.
Wow, these make her legs look killer. She rarely gets to dress up, given that her work as a bartender required a uniform.
Then while she writes, she wears worn T-shirts and sweats, and weaves her hair into a messy braid.
Definitely no makeup. There was a moment during their argument when she considered canceling, but decided it would be a shame to waste this dress.
The way the fabric shimmers when she moves makes her feel like a Christmas ornament.
It obviously has nothing to do with the fact that she’s enjoying their outings and how the amount of time he must have spent researching and planning makes her feel.
She’s never had anyone do that for her before.
Granted, he’s still claiming it’s for her acclimation.
She isn’t sure that’s the case though, mostly because of the lingering looks.
It is almost like, if you could ignore the problematic stuff like his cluelessness or the manupartner thing, Res6 would be grade A book boyfriend material.
He’s rich, successful, popular, and gorgeous, which of course aren’t the most important qualities. He’s protective, and he can be surprisingly thoughtful. But he’s hiding things, which really should be a big enough red flag to arrest her wandering thoughts.
She takes a step and stumbles, not used to the shoes. He darts forward, grabbing her waist to steady her.
“Thanks,” she says, hating how pleasant his hands feel after weeks of no hugs or barely anything resembling human contact. Why can’t her life be simple?
“Are you still angry that I’m reading your books?” he asks.
“Kind of.” Oh God. The implications! Considering he’s read her kinky sex scenes, it’s no wonder he doesn’t know how to act around her.
He’s still clinging to her waist as if he’s unable to let go. “Electra, you look—”
The words seem to lodge in his throat. She eyes the door. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
He sighs, defeated. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Its fine. Amazingly, I believe that you genuinely don’t have a clue, so I forgive you.
” They’re just books, and since she put them out for public consumption, she can’t really police who reads them.
Her journal, however—she should probably mention that per the aforementioned cluelessness.
“For future reference, you’re not allowed to read my Brain Dumps. Understand?”
“Understood,” he says, nodding earnestly.
What else does she need to explain to him?
He seems to understand physical privacy besides the knocking thing, which she’s corrected.
There’s probably something else, but she’ll have to figure it out later.
At least something good came of their conversation: he didn’t push his opposition to her column.
She just needs to give him time to come around to the idea—so he’ll give her some freedoms, as Tommy insultingly put it.
Res6 doesn’t seem to see it that way; rather, he wants to keep her, and his company, from harm.
That’s why she needs to show him how well she’s navigating the future.
They step out of the elevator and into a large glass box. A stunning blonde woman hops up from behind a desk. “I have your SAT ready, sir,” she says, moving to a keypad on the wall. When her hand presses into it, it beeps, recognizing her, and she punches in a command.
Past the glass enclosure, centrally located within a much larger cement room, is a platform that does a one-eighty.
His private SAT appears, its door sliding open.
The vehicle is much nicer than the ones most MSP citizens use interchangeably.
It keeps reminding her of a car from a movie she saw, but—“It’s like Bladerunner! ” she remembers.
The woman has stepped up to her and is inspecting her like a zoo animal. “What’s a blade-runner?”
Res6 shrugs.
She raises her finger to Electra’s face. “May I?” She directs her question to Res6.
The obvious answer is no, but he says, “Sure.” Before Electra can smack the woman’s hand away, she’s running smooth fingertips over her cheeks.
Oh God, hopefully this isn’t another advertising opportunity.
Of everything that’s happened during the outings, future people’s inspection of her freckles is the worst part.
“They’re part of her skin?” she asks.
“Yes,” he supplies.
The woman huffs, like she’s confused.
Electra can only stand there dumbfounded. Why are people so fascinated with them? Though, come to think of it, has she seen a future person with her characteristic dusting of freckles?
“Why didn’t you replace her? You own the company.” As the woman says this, she runs a polished fingertip down Res6’s lapel.
Before Electra can think better of it, she blurts, “Oh my God, are you flirting with him? In front of me, his manufactured lover, no less.” She grabs his hand, lacing her fingers with his, and holds it up to the woman. “See.”
The woman frowns, which is satisfying. Serves her right for insulting Electra’s lovely freckles. It’s not like she would lash out for any other reason.
“Are you sure she isn’t malfunctioning? That happened with one of mine,” the woman says.