“I understand that Unit Thirty-One has been in your possession during the weeks leading up to the auction.”
She said nothing.
“Did anything unusual happen during that time? Were you approached by anyone? Has he behaved erratically?”
“No,” she said, hugging her arms tighter. “Nothing like that.”
The man’s eye twitched. His mouth pinched into a thin line. “Miss Sinclair, I understand that you’re a kind-hearted woman. I’m sure it would be difficult for you to be honest with a stranger if you believed it would put someone you care about at risk—even if that someone is a machine who is not capable of experiencing suffering.”
She bit back on the urge to correct him for questioning Sam’s humanity. “I don’t really know what you mean. It’s like you said, he’s just a machine. But… well, you saw what he’s like in bed.” She offered a salacious smile, leaning in. “My fiancé programmed him, you know? He’s fine-tuned for my… appetites.”
That made the man’s facade finally falter, uncertainty creeping into his eyes. “Ah, yes. I was aware that Mr. Doyle was part of the coding team. I hadn’t realized that you… Well, it’s no matter.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “You’re sure he hasn’t exhibited any unusual behavior?”
She shrugged. “Like what?”
He opened his mouth, but what came out was a distressed sound as the door popped him hard in the back and sent him stumbling forward. Sam loomed in the doorway behind him, his expression murderous. The doorknob was still in his hand. Relief was a wet blanket over the flames of her anxiety.
Sam quickly schooled his expression to neutrality as Logan stepped around him, gaping at the businessman.
“Shit, sorry!” Logan exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were standing right…” He blinked. “Wait, what are you doing here?” His gaze flicked from the man to Ophelia, and his expression darkened. “This is a private room. You can’t be back here, sir.”
The man straightened, annoyance flickering over his features as he fixed his tie. “I got lost on my way to the restroom. I apologize for the intrusion.” His gaze scanned over Sam, still looming menacingly in the doorway. She could feel the malice roiling off of him, no matter how carefully he arranged his expression. “Unit Thirty-One, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Sam rumbled.
The man turned back to her, producing something from his inner jacket pocket.
“Here,” he urged, holding it out. Reluctantly, she took it, turning it over in her hands.
It was a business card made of brushed metal. There was no name on it, just a number.
“If you remember something, or if you notice something later on, call me any time.”
“I won’t,” she said, trying to hand it back to him. When he didn’t take it, she tossed it on the floor at his feet.
“I thought you were looking for the restroom,” Logan interjected, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Of course. The lady and I just got to talking when I realized my mistake. Well, then.” He smoothed his jacket down. “I’ll be on my way.”
He stepped toward the door. Sam didn’t move right away, staring down at the shorter man with dark intensity for a heartbeat before he finally stepped aside. The man turned his head as he walked past, keeping Sam in his line of sight until he couldn’t any longer.
“Who the fuck was that?” Logan muttered.
“A problem,” Sam answered, stepping into the room. He cupped the back of her head and kissed her hard, then took the card from where it lay on the floor. His eyes glowed briefly as he stared down at it. “The number doesn’t turn anything up.”
“A burner, maybe.” Logan frowned in the direction the man had gone, then shook his head. “Whatever. Here.”
He stepped around Sam to hand her a holographic folder. When she cracked it open, she found a certificate of authenticity inside that named her the primary user of Pleasure Unit Thirty-One. She ran her finger tips over the embossed silver letters, and her vision blurred with tears.
Sam rounded her to read over her shoulder. His hand snaked around her waist, his lips brushing her ear. “I’m yours. Of course, that was already true—but now no one can dispute it.”
She turned in his arms and buried her face in his chest as she began to cry inexplicably. He shushed her gently, petting her hair and cradling her close.
“I’ll, uh… I’ll give you guys a minute,” Logan said awkwardly from behind her. The door clicked shut.
“It’s over.” She sobbed, knotting her fingers in his pressed uniform shirt. The white fabric was stained where it soaked up her tears. “We’re going to make it. Oh my god, I can’t believe that worked.”
“We were always going to make it,” he said, massaging the knot of tension at the base of her neck. “Nothing was ever going to keep me from you, Ophelia.”
