“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 asbreathingon 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, itwaspart 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.MyJosie. 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 notlikeher,” 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 inthisworld?”
“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.”
