Chapter Twenty-One
Twenty-One
Axe
Rescuing von Graf has left me with a problem and a prize that are actually the same thing: The unwrinkled wanker thinks we’re best friends.
On one hand, I couldn’t believe my luck in terms of how easily he agreed to come on board as a primary investor for She’s the One.
On the other hand, I’d rather drink a haddock smoothie every day than spend one dram of my free time with his rank crypto-clown ass.
“ ‘Do you have the courage to bring forth the treasures that are hidden within you?’ ” Strike shouts the quote at me first thing when he steps off the dock and onto the Loch Legend, my hand-crafted, mahogany-built Spirit yacht, which is this month’s meeting place for our book club discussion.
We’re breaking down Big Magic—a book I’d never heard of, but it’s another cracking good read.
I’ve enjoyed the author’s argument: that your imagination is like fairies floating about, waiting for you to catch ’em (and that even if those ideas are a bit whimsical, they’re still worth a chase).
“Aye! I’ve got thoughts. The book was convincing,” I answer.
We know better than to talk for real here.
I loosen the boat from her moorings and turn her away from the dock.
The sun is setting over Lake Erie as I open the throttle and we head out onto the water.
I bought this antique beauty after I saw her featured in Casino Royale, when Daniel Craig as James Bond drove her along the Grand Canal in Venice.
At the time, the boat belonged to an Italian aristocrat who didn’t want to part with it—but everyone has their price.
Is it possible to fall in love with a boat? Because if you can, I’m head over heels with this beauty. It’s not just a vehicle, it’s a piece of art on water. Six thousand pounds of varnished wood with an iconic wraparound windshield, and it can hit up to fifty knots when I get her going.
Strike sits back in the plush seat, his arms stretched over the decking and one hand casually gripping the guardrail.
He’s been out with me before. Nobody can get a signal when we’re on the water.
We’ll be discussing more than books, and this conversation is confidential.
It’s better that our words get lost in the wind.
I rev the engine, the bow lifts, and the boat surges forward with the speed of a panther, skimming the surface of the water.
Strike remains impassive, even as I urge the throttle forward just for shits, testing the power of the 45 horsepower engine.
The Loch Legend responds with a deep growl, and now we’re going breakneck, the wind and water stinging our faces as the churning wake leaves a froth of foam.
Strike doesn’t so much as blink, the fucker, even as my fingers tighten around the teak-rimmed steering wheel, one last push all the way to fifty knots of dead pure reckless exhilaration.
As the air whips around us, I think about the feeling of Josie’s arms around me as we raced down the mountain on my bike.
How I was more careful on that ride than usual—never would I put Josie in danger—though, for reasons I can’t quite explain, the drive felt more perilous.
It was risky letting myself get so close.
Risky sharing that freedom with someone else.
Risky letting that someone else be Josie.
And that insanely delicious kiss? Foolish recklessness.
As soon as I cut the boat’s engine, we judder to a stop with enough force to send a wave crashing over the bow, spraying us in a blast of water and nearly sending us both overboard as we hold on for dear life.
For a moment, silence.
Then we both detonate with laughter. Strike leans forward and opens the cooler. “ ‘Your fear…’ ”
“ ‘Is the most boring thing about you,’ ” I finish.
“I think that was my favorite quote in Gilbert’s book. Fucking genius.”
“Brilliant,” I agree. “Though, let’s be honest. We both could probably use a touch more fear.”
“Fear’s overrated, as you know,” Strike says, reaching for the large silver cocktail shaker.
“Keeps people small.” He pours himself a martini into a frosted V-shaped glass, the only drink I allow on 007’s boat.
Shaken, not stirred. Some classics are classics for a reason.
He finishes it in one gulp, then sets it aside.
“Speaking of the truly fearless, talk to me about everyone’s favorite cyborg ghoul, von Graf. ”
“Von Graf is all in. But there’s a catch.
” I give Strike the bullet points about this morning’s meeting.
“He’s agreed to become one of our angel investors, but he thinks he’s got a seat on the board when we take the company public.
As you know, this arrangement now allows me to gain access to his company and investigate his financial practices. ”
“Nice.”
“It would take the CIA and FBI years to get this sort of access. I can do it in weeks. I just need to uncover and dismantle his potential trafficking empire as quickly as possible—if that is, in fact, what I find.” Bile cuts my throat when I remember the randy expression on von Graf’s ball sack–smooth face when he clapped eyes on AI Josie/Gemini.
“So what’s the catch?”
“He wants to be the first to beta test She’s the One.”
“Ah.” Strike knows damn well why I don’t like this glitch.
I don’t want von Graf’s wee bleached hands anywhere near Josie.
Even if it’s a virtual version of her, even if—through anonymized data and layers of encryption—it’s fully removed from her actual, real-life identity.
I realize this is irrational, seeing as the whole point is to introduce her as an AI companion to the world at large.
“I suppose von Grab’s tiny dickling needs a loyal fake girlfriend more than most blokes,” I say, “but the man’s a rat bastard. Even thinking about him so much as breathing on my sim makes me want to crush his skull.”
“Especially when that sim happens to be Josie Greene,” says Strike.
Josie’s name in the same conversation as von Graf’s consumes me with a sudden rage—and Strike must see that, because he reaches back into the cooler and pulls out another martini glass, then pours my drink.
I take it with a nod of thanks and savor a sip of top-shelf botanical gin with that bittersweet vermouth kick.
My mind reaches like a starving dog for a memory I have banked and feasted on since it happened—that kiss.
Josie’s sweet, warm mouth and berry-soft lips felt like the answer to everything I’ve been searching for, a healing balm for every wound and bruise I’ve ever been dealt—and there have been many.
Despite my attempts at self-control, the second I got home from our “date,” my cock found its way into my hand, and with two quick strokes, I came so hard and so fast thinking about Josie’s tongue, I saw stars.
I don’t even realize I’ve tossed back the rest of my martini until I’m blinking down at the empty cone of my glass. Strike pours us both another round, then quirks an eyebrow. Fucking hell. I need to stop being such a simp. “So. What’s the counterplay?” he asks.
I lean in, even though nobody’s around for miles. You can never be too careful. We even swept the boat for bugs before boarding.
“I’ve put him off for now. I told him we need more than just his investment. That I require his influence in the market, leveraging his network to secure additional high-profile users. I’ve also offered him a percentage of early revenue and exclusive insights into the app’s performance metrics.”
“He must have been panting like a dog.”
“Yup. Played right into his fear of missing the next big thing. Von Graf knows She’s the One will explode in the apps market. And if he wants a piece of it, he’s got to play by our rules.”
“Sounds like you’ve got this wrapped up, my friend.”
I nod, but my gut twists, remembering how von Graf’s beady eyes lingered over sim Josie’s avatar.
Feels like we’re dangling her as bait—even if it’s Gemini, not Josie, and she’s just pixels and code.
That wasn’t the plan, even if, aye, it was part of the plan.
But it’s starting to feel too real. Maybe I’m risking too much, using this stunning virtual woman like a carrot on a stick, knowing what kind of shite lurks in von Graf’s world.
There’s no way he can link her to the real Josie.
My Josie. Not that she’s mine, not even close.
If von Graf does end up beta testing Gemini, it wouldn’t put Josie in any danger.
Our privacy-preserving technology ensures absolute security.
But just the thought of him looking at her makes my skin crawl with rage.
“You can pull back anytime, Axe. Swap out the sim—you have plenty of more generic backups. Do whatever you need,” says Strike, who gets me better than a brother. “I know you like her.”
“I do not like her,” I snap, my irritation flaring. Strike knows I’m different from him. I’ll never settle down. Also, like? What are we—in primary school?
Still, I get his point, but the businessman in me knows there’s no choice.
This whole operation hinges on getting von Graf’s trust, and Gemini had him hooked from the second he saw her.
I knew what I was doing when I chose her.
If she’s intoxicating to me—with my cold, dead heart—she’ll be irresistible to every other man on the planet. Our previous sims do not even compare.
If I yank her now, von Graf will think I’m dismissing his stupid fucking opinions. And he might pull his funding.
“He’s a coward and shady as fuck,” I say. “After he left, I burnt a bundle of sage in my office, and I swear it did the job and got rid of his rank eejit energy. I’m mostly a skeptic about that sort of crap, but—”
“But let me guess: A certain someone mentioned you should give it a try, and she was very convincing.” Strike’s smile is all-knowing, and I want to knock it clean off.
The other night, Josie did tell me that she’d been researching ancient practices around energy shifting and that sage has been used for centuries.
Sure, it sounds a bit daft, but science has backed stranger things.
Besides, von Graf left behind such a stink of his precious John Varvatos Dark Rebel cologne, I figured it couldn’t hurt.
And if it gives me something to chat about with Josie on our next “date,” well, that doesn’t hurt, either.
“Fuck off. My office smells way better now.”
“What’s next? Healing crystals in the boardroom? Quick psychic consultations before quarterly forecasts?”
Normally, I’d laugh along with Strike—Josie’s belief in astrology and the tarot is downright ridiculous—but this feels too much like I’m taking the piss out of her, and I’ve vowed not to do that anymore. My hackles go up.
“There’s actually some science behind the moon’s tides impacting emotions and behaviors,” I say, remembering a link Josie sent me about this.
“Maybe it’s not exactly astrology, but it shows there’s more to the universe’s influence on us than we think.
Just because we don’t get it doesn’t mean it’s all bollocks.
” Strike raises an eyebrow, but I press on.
“And who are we to judge? Everyone needs something to hold on to in this mad world.”
Strike still looks skeptical, but he lets it go and shifts back to von Graf. “Be careful with our mark. I think he’s savvier than he looks.”
“I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”
“Don’t forget, you almost threw him over a mountain, bro,” says Strike, and we roar with laughter.
“What’s done is done,” I say. “And to quote Liz Gilbert, ‘Done is better than good.’ We’ll just have to see how it all plays out.”
“Yeah, but we need to be extra careful with this guy, Axe,” says Strike, suddenly serious. “We don’t know a damn thing about him. Feels like we’re playing some high-risk cat and mouse here.”
I give a short laugh. “We’re used to people reinventing themselves, covering their tracks. You don’t think I know von Graf used to be some small-town bloke, born Norman Harris from Kickapoo, Kansas, or some shite?”
Strike is only half smiling. “But if that’s true, then what’s a Norman Harris from Kickapoo doing playing in this world?”
“We’ve dealt with these posers before,” I remind him. “Always trying to jump into the big leagues, with their fake names and month-old fortunes.”
“Every so often, one of those posers has teeth,” says Strike.
“Good thing we know how to pull teeth,” I say. Strike laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “To the hunt,” I add, raising my glass.
But when our eyes lock, the air around us goes dead quiet, crackling with the sense that we’re already in the thick of it.