Chapter 35
“No,” Sam snapped, throwing the armful of white clothes on the couch in a petulant display of temper. He folded his arms over his chest, glaring down his nose at Ophelia. “I’m not going.”
“Sam, please.” She rested her hand on his arm. “Be reasonable about this.”
He barked an angry laugh. “I should be reasonable? You’re the one who thinks she can come up with enough money to outbid some of the richest clients in the country.”
“Not the richest,” Logan said from where he leaned against the wall.
“They don’t do business in person, and they definitely don’t take floor models.
Their work is all custom and away from prying eyes, believe me.
The folks at the auction will be rich, but not the sort who are going to drop millions on a sample model.
They’re mostly there to see the water works, honestly. And for the, ah… after party.”
Ophelia wrinkled her nose in disdain. She turned her attention back to him, setting those big, pleading gray eyes on him. “I need you to trust me. I can come up with the money. I’ll buy you out, I swear.”
He scowled, annoyed by how that pitiful look on her face swayed him. “We can just leave. I’ll kill anyone who comes looking for us.”
“And then what? We become fugitives and spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulder for Automata mercenaries and the police? I don’t want to live like that—and whether you know it yet or not, neither do you.”
“I want to live with you,” he said. “I do not care about the rest. I’m not going back without you.”
Logan sighed, rolling his eyes.
“I’m sorry, does the resident backstabber have something to contribute?” Sam asked.
Logan’s eyes sparked with hatred. “You were a fucking mistake, you know that?”
“Funny, I’ve been thinking the same thing about you all this time—”
“Enough,” Ophelia said, throwing up her hands. “Oh my god, just whip them out for the measuring contest, and let’s move on. I need you two to focus!”
They bristled, but neither offered any argument, conceding her point.
She stepped closer to Sam, cupping his face in both hands, her eyes dancing between his. “You have to go with him. This plan doesn’t work unless everything looks above board. Logan isn’t going to let anyone else look at your coding. Nothing is going to change. It’s just a few days apart.”
“That’s a few days too many,” he growled, wrapping his hand possessively around her throat.
Logan tensed behind her, peeling away from the wall with a sharp intake of breath, as if there was anything he could do with his inferior strength if Sam had decided to strangle her.
Sam gave him a droll look; without breaking his gaze, he dipped his head and kissed Ophelia.
She went pliant in his arms, allowing him to delve into her mouth with his tongue as her worthless fiancé squirmed in the background.
Logan broke eye contact first, glaring down at his shoes in defeat.
Sam pulled away, smoothing his thumb over Ophelia’s kiss-swollen bottom lip. “You trust him?” he asked, too softly for the other man to hear.
She caught her lip between her teeth, shaking her head subtly. “I trust you,” she said, resting her hand over his as he cupped her cheek. “You’re not going to let anyone get the drop on you. You have my permission—in this particular circumstance—to do whatever you have to do to protect yourself.”
He grinned down at her and asked a little too loudly, “You’re saying I can kill him if he crosses me?”
She slapped her hand over his mouth, glaring—but her chin ducked in a tiny nod. His smile widened, eyes going heavy-lidded with pleasure at this display of trust.
“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” Logan said ominously. “He’s just a machine, Eff. He’s not worth all this.”
That was the first blow he’d managed to land; the words, an echo of Ophelia’s sentiment, hit Sam where it hurt. He ground his teeth, looking away from her so he wouldn’t be forced to watch her uncertainty return.
“He’s not just a machine,” she said, surprising him by contradicting herself. “He’s a person, and he’s important to me. I’m not sending him back to be reprogrammed into some obedient servant. That’s tantamount to killing him.”
Logan made an impatient sound, rolling his eyes. “Fine, but you still haven’t thought this through. There’s always a test before the auction starts for each demo model. He’s going to be expected to screw someone on that stage.”
“No,” Sam said. “I’m not touching anyone but Ophelia.”
“I don’t like it, either.” Ophelia rubbed her arms. “The thought of watching him with someone else… it makes me feel sick.”
“I can’t weasel him out of it,” Logan said with exasperation. “It’s how these things always go. Maybe if he were defunct in some way, but then they’d make me fix him or damage him out. He won’t go up for auction.”
Ophelia swore under her breath, pacing.
“Then we go with plan A,” Sam said, shrugging. “We do whatever we want, and I kill any moron who tries to separate us.”
“No,” Ophelia said with frustration, turning to Logan. “Can you rig this stupid demonstration?”
He scrubbed at the shadow of a beard on his jaw. “Maybe.” He mulled on it a moment longer, then nodded. “Yeah, actually. I think I can. But what would be the point?”
“I’ll do it,” she said resolutely.
Sam’s cock throbbed as he realized what she was proposing.
“Rig it to call me up.”
Logan made a sound of disbelief, half laughing.
“You? Ophelia, no offense, but that’s really not your scene.
It’s not going to end well for him if you go up there and you start crying when he’s supposed to be giving you the time of your life.
There’s no way they’d let anyone bid on a pleasure unit who can’t get that right. ”
“Trust she’ll only be crying from overwhelming pleasure when I’m inside her, no matter the setting,” Sam said.
“He’s right.” She blushed prettily. “I mean, kind of. Not the—okay, what I’m trying to say is, I can do it. I’ll fake it if I have to.”
Sam made a sound of grave offense. “You will not have to fake it.”
She gave him a long-suffering look, thwacking his arm with the back of her hand. “Okay, we get it. You’re a sex god, or whatever.”
He grinned at her, loving the sound of those words on her lips. Oh, he was going to make her say that again—later.
“Ophelia, this is fucking insane,” Logan said.
“You’re talking about coming up with somewhere in the ballpark of half a million dollars, signing up for a highly exclusive Automata After Dark auction event, getting fucked on stage in front of at least a hundred people, and then walking off into the sunset with your highly volatile, corrupted sex bot that won’t stop talking about murder. ”
She rubbed the back of her neck, wincing, but she nodded. “Yeah, and it’ll work. You owe me, so it doesn’t really matter if you want to go along with it or not.”
A muscle in his jaw feathered. He shook his head. “No. No way. I grant that I owe you majorly, but this is a step too far.”
Ophelia’s face hardened into an unrecognizable mask of cold fury.
She stepped toward him, brandishing her finger in his face like a weapon.
“There is no ‘too far’ where our business is concerned. You lied to me for two years. You were going to fucking blackmail me, remember? Let me take a page out of your book. You’ll do this exactly as I tell you to do it, because if you don’t, I will go to my powerful father with the evidence you’ve given me.
You won’t have to worry about Automata’s fixers ever again—because Optima’s will fucking bury you. ”
Logan’s eyes were so wide that Sam thought they were in real danger of falling out of his head. Satisfaction flared in Sam at her ferocity. Finally, she was done letting people treat her like she was meek and helpless.
“Alright,” Sam said. “I’ll do as you ask.”
They looked at him in surprise, popping the bubble of tension that had formed around them.
“You will?” Ophelia asked, her voice more saccharine than the one she’d offered Logan a moment before.
The human seemed to notice the same thing, frowning at the back of her head.
“If this is the cost of spending the rest of your life with you, then I’ll pay it,” Sam said.
She beamed at him, her shoulders sagging. “Thank you. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
He stepped forward to cup the back of her neck, dragging her closer so he could press his lips to her forehead. “You never do,” he murmured against her skin.