8. Bryan
Idress down in jeans, sneakers, a black T-shirt, and a ball cap to meet up with Jane. I’d managed to convince her over the phone to have dinner with me so I could tell her my news, but she insisted we go to a restaurant in town instead of eating at my mansion.
It’s the first time I’ve gone to a restaurant in five years, and I pull the cap low to disguise myself. There’s a high price to fame and fortune for people like myself, who are more comfortable with books and bots than bootlickers.
I have my driver drop me off at Jane’s place. She’s at the door before I even have time to knock, which gives me hope. But she looks more tired than happy to see me, and when I lean down to kiss her, she turns her head and accepts my lips on her cheek.
“Hi,” I say, suddenly feeling nervous.
Jane gives me a half-hearted smile. “Amelia told me you called the Board president and offered to pay my salary.”
I nod, not sure if she’ll see this as a good thing or an entitled asshole move. Especially since it didn’t work.
“Thank you,” she says, stepping on tiptoes to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “That was sweet of you. Even if it turned out that the Library Board doesn’t even want me working for them for free.”
“I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.” I reach out to hug her, but she takes a step back. I run my hand through my hair. “You still want to have dinner?”
“If you’re buying. Because, you know, I have to watch my budget now.” She gives me the least genuine laugh I’d ever heard, but I don’t comment.
I take her hand, and she lets me hold it as we walk the three blocks to the one fancy restaurant in town. The closer we get to the front door, the more I find myself slowing down, not willing to let the moment end.
Her palm feels perfect in mine. Warm and soft. Like she was made for me. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to let go. Not that Jane gives me much choice. She pulls away the moment we enter the restaurant, and it feels like the distance between us grows as we settle in a dark corner at the back and order wine.
Jane seems reserved. She doesn’t have the same energy—either the rage or passion—that I saw from her this afternoon, or the joy she normally exudes in her Book Talk with Byron videos.
“Are you worried about work?”
“Distracted. I can’t stop thinking about how my life is changing and I can’t stop it.”
“Would talking to me about it help or make it worse? You know, I’m a pretty good listener and problem-solver. I’m the guy who figured out how to get a robot to fold hand towels into three dozen different kinds of animals.”
Jane’s face lights up and she laughs. “Why in the world would you do that?”
“The owner of the resort in Moose Falls was struggling to compete with the little flourishes that European resorts offer. Some of them were easy—put Swiss chocolate on the pillow, complimentary Champagne in the minibar—but the truly personal touches? He could not find staff willing or able to do the work within his budget.”
“And swan-shaped hand towels are a deal-breaker in high-end hotels? Like—” Jane puts her hand on her hip and scowls. Then she speaks in the worst ever, possibly French accent. “Eef you cannot geev me my tow-ell in zee unicorn, I vill geev you one star rating.”
“Almost! Twenty-four animals, but no unicorns. I should offer that as an upgrade. It’s a great idea.”
She leans forward in her seat. “You have the strangest job.”
“I love it. It’s creative, and I get to solve problems. Kind of like your job?” I ask, hoping to bridge back to her talking about herself.
“Did you create Byron for your own use?”
I nod. “I really had no intention of donating it to your library.”
Jane’s shoulders slump, and she hides a frown behind her wine glass. “So why did you?”
“Honestly? One of the Board members heard about it and asked. I usually donate prototypes to university robotics departments, so I had no reason to say no. I truly had no idea what the outcome of that decision would be. You believe me, don’t you?”
She nods.
I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. “Let’s talk about something else. Something fun, like…” I study Jane’s face to see what topic would make her happy. “Do you like puzzles? Or do you play board games?”
“I love Scrabble. Kind of expected, I suppose. And word games like Balderdash. And Boggle. I am the town champion Boggle player.”
“I didn’t know there was a Boggle competition in Maple Valley. If I had, you’d be holding the silver medal.”
“In your dreams!”
If only she knew how much of my dreams have been occupied by all kinds of games with her. “How about going toe-to-toe with the self-awarded quote meister?”
She beams, “You want to challenge a librarian to a contest about books? Bring. It. On!”
For three hours, between bites of food and silences where I enjoyed just looking at her, Jane and I spar. But instead of hitting each other with boxing gloves, we throw literary punches, trying to outsmart each other with quotes or story references we don’t think the other would know. We don’t keep score—at least not on paper. And good thing, too, since she is definitely ahead when the waiter informs us the restaurant is closing.
“This was, without a doubt—well, aside from the awkward first five minutes—the best first date I’ve ever had,” I say with one hundred percent sincerity.
“Me, too.”
“My place for a nightcap?”
“You’re nothing like what I assumed,” she answers with a non-answer.
“A good thing, I hope.”
She thinks it over for several nerve-wracking seconds and settles on, “You’re full of surprises.”
Which is my cue. I pull out my phone for the first time since I picked her up four hours earlier. “I have a surprise for you.”
Her eyebrows and smile both rise.
“I assume you haven’t looked at your QuickStar profile?”
Jane shakes her head slowly and pulls her phone from her purse. “I deleted the app this morning. Why?”
I check my app and can’t quite hide my smile as she reinstalls it. Even in the dimly lit restaurant, I can see that her eyes go huge.
She starts swiping fast. “What did you do, Bryan? Why do I have half-a-million followers?”
She looks up, but instead of delight, I see terror in her eyes.
“They’re all there for Book Talk with Byron. I told my followers to check it out.”
She pulls open my profile and starts to read. “You told your followers I got fired? And that I needed cheering up? You told them to like my videos and leave comments?”
“Did it work?” I ask hopefully.
She stares at me for a long minute without speaking, though the look on her face is not one of a woman who is cheery.
“No, it didn’t work. I’m not a charity case, Bryan. And how does this help me? It doesn’t get me my job back. I don’t plan to post any more Byron videos, so what does it even matter? All it does is get free publicity… for you.”
“I don’t need free publicity. For one thing, they’re my followers. And I’m not even selling the Byron model. I’m focusing on a new bot that’s supposed to revolutionize?—”
“I don’t care about your bots,” Jane shouts. “What did you think? That coat-tailing on your fame would somehow fix my life? That a few likes and comments would make everything okay?”
I don’t know what to say to that, and Jane doesn’t give me time to worry about being speechless.
“I’m not a damsel in distress. Well, technically, maybe I am, but that doesn’t mean I want some guy I just met to send me his pity followers, thinking that will somehow save me. I don’t want to be famous, Bryan. I want to be a librarian.”
“But—”
“Bryan.” Jane takes a deep, calming breath. “I’m sure your heart was in the right place. But if you think this”—she points at her phone—“helps me, no amount of sharing a love of books or amazing orgasms will make us a good team.”
Jane gets to her feet, and the thought of losing her sends panic coursing through me.
I try to stay calm as I push my chair back. “Just tell me what I can do. Tell me how I can help. Help me understand. Please.”
Don’t go,I silently add. Please, don’t go.
Jane sucks in her lower lip and shakes her head.
“Come back to my place so we can talk. Help me understand.”
“Bryan, you’re a good guy. I know you didn’t intend for your robot to replace me, and I had a nice time tonight. But you and me, as a thing, won’t work. Not now. Not when I’m about to be unemployed and my life is literally upside down. I don’t think you understand… but I don’t want you to try to fix my life. Or buy me my job back. Or make me famous on QuickStar. I need to figure this out on my own.”
She swallows hard, wipes a tear from her cheek, and runs from the restaurant. And I watch her go, completely at a loss for the first time in a very long time. I have no idea how to make this right—and Jane doesn’t want me to.