Chapter 16 #3
The afterparty hummed with the particular energy of brilliant people pretending they weren't competing for funding, partnerships, and bragging rights.
Crystal chandeliers cast everything in flattering golden light while waiters glided between clusters of academics and executives, bearing trays of absurdly small food and absurdly expensive champagne.
Ryland, still riding the high of his keynote, had been accepting congratulatory drinks with alarming frequency.
His usual careful precision had given way to something looser.
He'd actually laughed, properly laughed, when a Norwegian professor had made some joke about quantum states that was incomprehensible to Stephen.
But Stephen could spot the warning signs. Ryland's finger-tapping had accelerated from occasional to constant. His posture, still straight, had that rigidity suggesting his muscles were locked to prevent visible distress. His eyes kept darting toward the exits with increasing frequency.
Stephen pushed himself away from his pillar and walked toward Ryland.
As he approached, he caught fragments of conversation that made his stomach drop.
"So, Dr. Ryland," purred a woman with dramatic red glasses and predatory body language, "Dabney must be planning a major publicity campaign around this technology.
I'd love to arrange an exclusive feature for Scientific American.
Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner at my hotel? I have a suite at the Beau-Rivage."
Stephen didn't wait to hear Ryland's response. He slid into the circle, glass raised in silent toast.
"There you are!" he said, with the kind of overfamiliar cheer that only champagne could produce. "Sorry to interrupt, but Eames is looking for you. Something about the Japanese delegation and potential licensing agreements."
Ryland's relief practically registered on nearby seismographs.
"Excuse me," he said to Red Glasses Woman. "Duty calls."
Stephen steered Ryland away with a hand on his lower back, leaning close to murmur, "There's no Japanese delegation. You just looked like you were about ten seconds from calculating the precise trajectory needed to throw yourself out of the nearest window."
"Accurate assessment," Ryland replied, some of the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. "Thank you for the extraction. That woman's perfume contained approximately seven synthetic compounds triggering olfactory overload."
"Plus she was trying to shag you senseless."
"Was she?" Ryland blinked, genuinely startled. "I thought she was interested in the modulation algorithms."
Stephen bit back a laugh. "Oh, she was interested in your algorithms, all right. Among other things."
Ryland frowned. "I've consumed more alcohol than usual. My social cue processing is operating at reduced efficiency."
"You're still doing better than half the alphas here," Stephen said, guiding them toward a quiet corner of the ballroom. "Your keynote was brilliant, by the way. I don't think I properly told you that."
"I saw you watching," Ryland admitted. "During the Q&A. Your presence was stabilising."
The champagne in Stephen's system translated this as I was looking for you specifically and sent a fizz through his nervous system.
"Well, you were incredible," Stephen said, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. "I've never seen a room full of energy executives look so... captivated." I've never been so captivated, he didn't add.
Ryland shifted closer, their shoulders nearly touching. "The audience reception exceeded expected parameters. But I'm approaching sensory threshold limits. Public speaking, social interaction, alcohol. It's been cumulative."
"You need to decompress," Stephen translated.
"Precisely." Ryland's gaze met his, startlingly direct. "I should return to my room. Process the day's events. Perhaps review the presentation data in a quieter environment."
The space between them seemed to contract. Stephen was suddenly aware of Ryland's scent, that clean cedar and rain now warmed with notes of something deeper, richer.
"I'll come with you," Stephen heard himself say. Not a question. Not an offer. A declaration.
For a moment, Ryland simply looked at him, those brilliant blue eyes scanning Stephen's face with analytical intensity. Then he nodded once.
"Yes," he said. "I think that would be optimal."
The elevator ride to their floor was silent. Stephen stood close enough to feel the heat radiating from Ryland's body, their knuckles occasionally brushing in a way that sent shivers up his arm.
The champagne whispered that he should just press Ryland against the elevator wall and find out if those lips tasted as good as they looked. His omega biology hummed in enthusiastic agreement.
But something held him back. Whatever was happening between them had shifted beyond their careful performance into something real.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the empty corridor.
"After you," Ryland murmured, his voice lower than usual, rough around the edges.
Whatever happened next, Stephen knew with absolute certainty, would change everything.