Chapter 15
James
If only he could face another economic downturn.
At the first signs of the last financial crisis Tiger Capital handled, he made the risky decision to offload a portion of their portfolio at a loss.
He convinced investors to hold tight. They sat on the capital for over a year.
Then, when the market took a nosedive, he made some very strategic acquisitions, which amounted to the most substantial portfolio growth his group had seen since he founded his company.
Managing the investor emotions during that period, however, was tenuous at best. Who wanted to listen to a twenty-five-year-old—even if he had his family name to back him up?
He only lost one client that year. He’d much rather live through all those late nights and anxious phone calls than meet the impending inspectors.
This was another thing his death stole from him.
A series of chimes intersect the silence that spans the distance between James and his roommate. Kate pops up from her seat, giving him the eleventh fake smile since that first one, making it an even dozen.
James isn’t one hundred percent sure what he’s done to cause her distance, but he is one hundred percent sure he’s done something.
She seemed fine at dinner after he apologized, but something had changed, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
After a day of placating smiles, he tried to confront her.
To get her to tell him what’s going on. Instead of sharing her feelings with him, she brushed his questions off entirely.
Like he demanded, it appears she’s entirely given up on the notion that something might develop between them.
His bold little speech backfired on him.
He can hear Jett’s voice crystal clear in his mind. If you get recycled, it’s on you.
Not that he wants to use her—he feels like he made that clear. It’s only that he may have misjudged that he had no lifelines. Because maybe Kate was offering to be that lifeline, and he rejected her outright. That only makes him more terrified of whoever stands on the other side of the door.
Led by his dread, James comes to stand behind Kate before she can open the door to his fate.
He places his hands on her hips and leans down to whisper in her ear, “I’m feeling a little desperate, sweetheart.
You going to throw me a lifeline before you let them in?
” Please be the chipper, positive Kate I so desperately need right now.
I’m sorry. I take back everything I said.
A combination of factors beyond his control has awakened him to a previously uncharted and sprawling emotional landscape within himself.
Strange new people and technologies bombard him constantly.
He has no means to exercise any of his significant and finely honed willpower over his fate.
He’s faced with the knowledge—thankfully not the memory—of his violent first death every time he closes his eyes, and now the potential for his second looms right outside.
Kate’s withdrawn state is the icing on the cake.
If she would only offer her friendship like she did before he screwed things up. He’d gladly take it now.
It’s easy to find someone to blame for why this is so difficult and unfamiliar.
The people who raised him were emotionally repressed.
Based on his experience this last week, he can see that.
Stoic was never the right word for his father.
Inhibited, stifled. Emotionally constipated.
His mother wasn’t any warmer. She only embodied a different brand of aloofness.
He remembers thinking they were calm, cool, and together.
Competent and consummate adults. Figures to emulate.
He’s slowly coming to terms with how, in this new time, his emotions roam unbridled.
He has too much time to think. He hates it. What would my parents think of me now?
Perhaps what he’s experiencing is a bursting floodgates sort of situation that will soon ebb.
He ought to bank on that. He’s almost convinced himself when his stomach gives a nervous flutter.
Kate hasn’t responded to his plea, so he gives her hips a squeeze.
“Baby, please.” He isn’t in control when his lips brush the skin of her neck.
She stiffens. Shit. Why did he do that? The more she pulls away, the more he wants to .
. . what does he want? To win her to his side?
Gain back the ally he lost in her? Make her smile?
His stomach dips as he imagines her smile.
Has he somehow become addicted to it in only a week?
No, that can’t be right. She’s an incredibly beautiful woman who’s giving him the cold shoulder.
It’s only his male instincts firing to rectify the situation because he definitely wants to do something with her.
Where is his self-possession when he needs it?
Kate turns in his arms, inspecting him with a clinical expression. Her countenance is so frigid, it threatens to give him frostbite. He loosens his grip on her.
“Kate?” Why is she doing this now? His lungs seize like he’s been sucker punched.
She’s going to turn him in. Oh God. He has to run.
They are going to open the door and instantly know.
And if they don’t, she’ll tell them. He upset her, and now she’s eager to rid herself of him.
He should have given more consideration to what Jett told him about the potential consequences for her.
He should have said something. Thanked her.
Now she isn’t willing to risk it. She doesn’t consider him worth it. And it’s his fault.
But maybe she’s right to turn him in. James is an asshole.
As if sensing his fraying mental state, she reaches up to pat his cheek. “You’re freaking out for nothing. We’ll be fine.”
There isn’t any feeling in what she says. Only the cool confidence of Scientist Kate.
“Listen, Kate. I’m sorry—”
“It’s a little late for that,” she says.
The door pings again, and without warning, she reaches out and quickly undoes a few of his buttons.
She musses his hair, then hers. Then she slides the strap of her tank off her shoulder.
She grabs his head, yanks it toward her, and rakes his stubble against the fine skin of her neck.
The effort leaves her flushed and him breathless.
Her sweet floral scent lingers in his nostrils, momentarily causing him to forget the gravity of his situation. God, she smells so good.
Then Kate sets a smile on her face and opens the door.
As the two men take in their appearance, reality comes rushing back. The taller of the two, with a perfectly Roman nose and cropped green hair, speaks first. “You’re aware of your appointment time.” It isn’t so much a question as it is a statement.
“Oh, yes,” Kate says, blushing. “We got a little distracted while we were waiting. Please come in.”
The men eye James as they follow Kate into the living room. After they take their seats, she sits adjacent to them. James comes to stand beside her, keeping his expression carefully blank as he awaits her instruction.
The second, more physically robust man introduces them. “I’m GROW Inspector B-Corgi-MSP-00023599. This is my partner, B-Tepin-MSP-00024126.”
“James, darling. Go fetch Inspector Corgi and Inspector Tepin a bottle of water.”
Corgi, like the dog? James remembers the expression Decci made when Jett ordered him around. He tries to mimic it as best as he can.
When he comes back with two waters, he hands them to the men before taking a seat next to Kate. Inspector Tepin is speaking. “We’ll need to take a blood sample from him before we begin our evaluation.”
“Of course,” Kate says, holding out her hand for Tepin’s contraption. He eyes her warily. “I’ll do it. See, I’m a scientist,” she urges.
The one with the green hair can’t seem to tear his eyes away from her chest and the strap that is now dipping precariously low.
A bolt of possessiveness shoots through James, but before he does something stupid like put the strap back in place, he remembers what she told him. A manupartner wouldn’t care if their owner took a dozen different people to bed.
Kate, noticing the inspector’s wandering eyes, plays to it. “Oh,” she giggles, tugging the strap back into place. “I was getting a little frisky.” She flirts so easily, offering them the warmth she withholds from him. James refuses to get jealous.
The green-haired man, Corgi, swallows, taking the contraption from Tepin, and hands it to Kate. She sets it on the table and detaches a little cylindrical silver stylus from its side. She turns to him. “James, give me your hand.”
James does as she bids, placing his hand in hers.
He trusts her, he realizes. She presses the device that reminds him of a blood sugar monitor on his pointer finger.
A sharp prick lances his skin. As blood wells, she holds his finger over the receptacle until he counts five drops.
Neon colored lights illuminate the tablet.
Across the screen, words flash: GROW: Unit 2899-MSP-James-00023468 Identity Confirmed.
James withholds a sigh of relief. One test passed.
The attendant nods, collecting the tablet and stylus. He tucks the stylus into a bag and retrieves a new one from his shirt pocket. This one appears to be for operating the tablet.
“Let’s see,” Inspector Corgi says, scrolling through a list James can’t see. Finally he stops, his eyes scanning. Then he looks up. “James, can you tell me what year you were born?”
Suddenly, James feels grateful for the line of questioning he put Decci through that first day. He wrinkles his brow, hoping he’s a decent enough actor. Then he looks to Kate like he’s confused. He tries to sound dumb as he answers, “I don’t understand.”
She gives him a gentle smile. “Do your best, sweetie. There is no wrong answer.”