Chapter 12 #2
"By objective metric, yes." Ryland tilted his head.
"Your facial symmetry correlates with established aesthetic principles, your hip-to-shoulder ratio displays optimal genetic fitness, and your scent contains complex molecular structures that...
" He stopped abruptly. Colour appeared on his cheekbones.
"That observation was inappropriate in a professional context. "
"No, it's... fine," Stephen said. His neck was burning. "Actually, if you don't mind the implication that we're involved, it might be useful to maintain the status quo. At least until people find something more interesting to gossip about."
"You're suggesting we allow the misconception to persist," Ryland clarified. "For mutual benefit."
"Not exactly a fake relationship." Stephen hurried to clarify. "Just... not actively correcting assumptions."
Ryland considered this for a moment. "A strategic non-denial that leverages existing misconceptions to create a more optimal work environment for both of us."
"Exactly," Stephen said, relieved that Ryland understood. "You get fewer people interrupting your research with trivial matters because they're intimidated, and I get fewer alphas treating me like a walking fertility god."
"Logical." Ryland nodded. "Though it may require some minor behavioural adjustments to maintain credibility."
"Such as?"
"Increased proximity in public spaces. Perhaps occasional shared meals in the canteen.
Nothing that would violate professional standards, but enough to sustain the current narrative.
" Ryland's expression remained analytical, as if they were discussing a research problem rather than a fake quasi-relationship.
"Right," Stephen agreed, trying to ignore the flutter low in his stomach. "Just enough to keep people guessing."
Ryland nodded once, decisive. "I should return to the lab. Liv is attempting to recalibrate the electromagnetic field modulator, and without supervision, she's likely to adjust the parameters beyond optimal tolerances."
"Of course," Stephen said. "And... thank you. For the research papers. And the other thing."
"You're welcome," Ryland replied simply. Then, with a precision that suggested pre-planning, he reached out and briefly touched Stephen's shoulder. Exactly the right pressure, exactly the right duration.
As Ryland walked away, Stephen could feel the collective gaze of the Legal Department boring into the back of his skull. He opened his laptop, pulled up the Crawford brief, and stared at the same paragraph three times without reading it.
It was just a practical arrangement, he told himself. A mutually beneficial solution to a workplace problem. Nothing more.
His skin still tingled where Ryland had touched him.
* * *
By lunchtime, Stephen had resigned himself to being the subject of Dabney's gossip mill for the foreseeable future.
He'd caught at least three people staring at him when they thought he wasn't looking.
Priya had informed him that the Human Resources department now had a betting pool on how long it would be before he and Ryland were caught "at it" somewhere more public than the server room.
"Conference Room 3 is the current favourite locale," she'd told him with entirely too much glee. "Followed closely by Ryland's private lab after hours."
Stephen had buried his face in his hands and contemplated a career change. Perhaps sheep farming in Wales really was his true calling.
Still, there were unexpected benefits. Mann-Fielding had actually flinched when they'd passed in the corridor, his eyes darting away as if Stephen had developed the ability to shoot lasers from his pupils.
Given that Mann-Fielding outranked him both professionally and in the traditional designation hierarchy, watching him practically scurry away was satisfying in a way Stephen chose not to examine too closely.
Now, as Stephen made his way to the canteen, the usual speculative glances from alphas had been replaced with something closer to wary respect.
Even Victoria Harlow had nodded at him in the lift with what might have been approval, though with Harlow it was hard to tell the difference between approval and indigestion.
He spotted Ryland immediately, sitting alone at a corner table, surrounded by scientific journals and printouts covered in complex equations. The alpha was so absorbed in his reading that he didn't notice Stephen approaching until he was standing directly across from him.
"Mind if I join you?" Stephen asked.
Ryland looked up, blinking rapidly as if returning from another dimension. "Stephen," he said, as if confirming his identity. "Yes. That would be... appropriate. Given our strategic non-denial."
Stephen sat down. "Have you been working through lunch again?"
"I don't require regular food consumption to maintain cognitive function," Ryland replied, though he glanced at the protein bar wrapper beside his notes. "Though Liv insists I'm 'cranky' when my blood glucose levels drop below optimal range."
"Cranky?" Stephen couldn't help the smile. "You?"
"Apparently my communication becomes 'even more brutally honest' and my tolerance for logical fallacies 'drops to negative integers.
'" Ryland made air quotes with the solemnity of a man performing an unfamiliar ritual.
"Though I maintain that my assessment of Johnson's renewable energy proposal as 'the scientific equivalent of using a ouija board to predict stock market trends' was factually accurate regardless of my caloric intake. "
Stephen laughed, earning them several curious glances from nearby tables. "Well, as your fake non-boyfriend, I feel obligated to ensure you don't starve yourself into insulting any more executives."
He pushed half of his sandwich across the table. Ryland stared at it for a moment, then accepted it with a nod that somehow conveyed more genuine gratitude than most people's effusive thanks.