I shut my eyes as fragments of the dream return. She doesn’t press me for details, doesn’t push—maybe that’s exactly why I want to tell her. She’s like a compass magnet, pointing me to her, even in silence. Around her, all my training and instincts that tell me to hold back—to compartmentalize, to say just enough and nothing more—just dissipate. I can’t help but tell her the truth.
I turn on my side so I’m facing her. I get a thrill breaking last night’s rules in the quiet morning: I will look and I will touch. I count the beautiful freckles that scatter across her cheeks like fallen stars. I smooth her hair back from her forehead. And then, without even meaning to, I start talking.
“Everything I’ve ever done has been to spite my dad. To show him he was wrong about me. He’s been gone for ages, and still he’s the reason I push so hard.”
“Who did he think you were?” Josie asks. I can tell she’s being both curious and careful, like she knows I don’t share this stuff with just anyone.
“My dad thought I was weak. Too soft. That I cared too much about other folk, and that I’d never get anywhere with my ‘namby-pamby’ attitude. He was toxic masculinity on steroids.”
“I have no idea whatnamby-pambymeans,” she says softly, “but if you ask me, being soft and caring about other people are good qualities. And I think you’ve got both. Weak, though? Not a chance.”
“You don’t really know me, Josie,” I say, my voice low.
“Maybe not. But after dinner yesterday and the date and last night, I feel like I’m starting to.” She squeezes my hand. I wonder what she would think if she knew the real me. If she knew that I enjoyed rearranging Petrov’s face with my fists, and then later slicing him open. That my way of proving I’m not weak is by ridding the world of trash like my father. And von Graf.
Of course, I know how she’d react. She’d run in the other direction. My life is not a Hallmark movie no matter how wonderful it feels to stand next to Josie. There will be no happy ending for the two of us.
“Anyway,” I say, burying my face in those warm, strawberry-blonde curls. “Here’s me, Mr. True Confessions, telling you all about the whole lot of my family, and you never told me even one thing I don’t know about you. It’s your turn, Ginger Snap.”
In the silence, she runs her finger up and down my arm. She’s taking my request seriously; I know she’s not going to give me something empty like her favorite color (periwinkle) or how she takes her coffee (dark roast with milk and honey).
“Sometimes I look back on my whole childhood—all the doctors, all the illness, all the pain—and instead of feeling like a survivor, I just feelrage,” she starts, her voice shaking. “I had the worst fucking luck. Every side effect, every complication. And this persona—this JosieFightsOn bullshit—wasn’t even my idea. It was this fake, shiny avatar my mom created to make everyone feel better about the whole nightmare.” She shifts to stare at the window over my shoulder, searching for answers in the silver-dark sky and ocean. “I’m supposed to feel grateful,” she says. “I’m alive. I get it. But I’m also fuckingfurious.” Josie’s voice cracks, and she starts to cry, and reflexively, I pull her into my arms. She buries her face in the crook of my neck, and it feels like she wasalways meant to be there. “Sorry.” She sniffles. “I hate it, but I cry when I’m mad.”
“Cry it out, lass.” I pull her in tighter. Rub her back and then cup my fingers at her nape. She smells like strawberries and lavender and sex.
“Does it make you angry that SynthoTech—and, let’s be honest, that I—am creating another avatar for you?” I ask once she’s gone still, her breath shaky but quieter. “Because if it does, we can stop. No strings, no hard feelings. I’ll keep you on the health insurance. You’re smart as hell and capable, and I’d love to keep you at the company as a consultant or something.” I try to keep my voice steady, though I’m genuinely worried I’m about to lose her. She can walk away from She’s the One—it would set the project back, but no problem. But what if she also walks away from me? Which she should. Not walk. She should fecking sprint.
I’ve never felt like more of a selfish bastard in my whole life than I do right now, letting this woman lie here. I should be protecting her from me, not keeping her close.
When I first hired Josie, all I cared about was that she said yes. Now the thought that she’s doing this to survive—to stay healthy and keep her head above water—makes me feel sick. I was such a privileged prick with my head jammed so far up my own arse I couldn’t see her.
“No! I want to keep going on the project.” Josie pulls out of my arms and looks up at me. She wipes her tears with her fingertips. “This work has been so much fun, and you and your team have consulted me every step of the way. So it kind of feels like the opposite of those awful social platforms. It’s like my own secret badass alter ego—who hopefully will feel more like the real me than JosieFightsOn ever did.”
“You just have to say the word.” I swipe my thumb against hercheekbone and then smooth back one of her errant curls. “You have all the power here.”
She nods, and I see a soft smile rest on her lips.
“Sun’s coming up,” she says.
We let the silence stretch out, watching as the sky gradually lightens. The first rays of dawn seep up from the horizon in shades of pink and gold. It’s a peaceful, fleeting moment before the world wakes up.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” she says, her eyes reflecting the light of the new day. “I guess now it’s back to reality.”
Reality.
After last night, I’ve not the faintest idea how to go back to that.
Forty
Josie
The worst part about having the weirdest, most romantic weekend of your life—you still have to wake up, shower, and drag your ass to work on Monday. Worse, you have to see your best friend in the entire universe and pretend like nothing happened.
There’sno wayI’m telling Honor that Axe and I had virtual sex in haptic suits in a mermaid-themed hotel room at Shimmy Beach. Because then I’d accidentally let slip that it was hands down the most erotic experience of my life, and she’d hit me with the world’s biggestI told you sobefore running off to tell Strike, who would immediately tell Axe, and…yeah, hard pass on that.
Yesterday Axe and I felt so in sync, it felt like we’d invented a new language, but this morning I woke up alone in my very own bed with the uncomfortable realization that it was nothing more than a simulated dream. Not only is Axe still my boss, but our night together was literally just work. Our entire experience was recorded and will be dissected this week by faceless SynthoTech nerds.
All data, no magic. Axe’s first text of this morning sealed it:
