“You’re worth six figures, and now I think you’ve been borrowed without permission,” she whispered, glaring at him. “I very much need to stress. God, I need to get you home yesterday.”
“That is impossible.”
Ophelia gave him a flat look before turning back to Laura with a beaming smile.
“Well, I should probably get him back before he scuffs his shoe or something!” Her congenial laugh was a little too shrill in pitch, even to her own ears.
Laura nodded emphatically, then caught at her arm as she tried to walk away. “Wait.”
Ophelia blinked at her.
“Is… is everything okay?” Laura dropped her voice, stepping closer. “Your eyes are all puffy like you’ve been crying. Did something happen?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Ophelia swallowed hard and tittered a nervous laugh. “Just PMS, you know?”
Laura looked unconvinced, her head tilting and lips twisting as if she were biting on the inside of her cheek. “You still have my number, right? You know you can call any time.”
Ophelia’s heart panged. If only Laura knew how close she’d come to doing just that the day before. She waffled a moment, trying to decide if it was worth opening the can of worms thatwas her relationship drama. Caught between the fear of spoiling Logan’s career and the distinct possibility that Laura would tell her to suck it up the same way her mother had, she clammed up.
“That’s really sweet, thank you.”
Laura rubbed the back of her neck. “Do you want to grab a coffee? I’m free now.”
God, she wanted to say yes.
“Sorry—the groceries.” She pointed toward the bag on Thirty-One’s shoulder.
“Right, of course.” Laura rocked on her feet. “Okay. Just… really, call me if you need anything. And hey, if you need an actual PA bot, just let me know. That’s my department, remember? I can get you the hook-up.”
Ophelia’s smile softened into something genuine. “Thanks, Laura. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ophelia busied herself with carefully arranging the produce in the fridge, trying her best not to think about the weight of everything looming over her.
Her mother had texted her two more times on the walk home, imploring her to come over because she’d gotten in another fight with her neighbor over whether or not he was allowed to have a welcome mat. He didn’t clean it often enough for her mother’s liking, and instead of managing her own distress over the dirtiness of the mat, her mother had gone to war. She’d already been visited by the police earlier that month for throwing the man’s mat away—twice. Also, she wanted to know if she could borrow three hundred dollars that she would definitely pay back when her father’s alimony check came in.
She had never paid a penny back, and though Ophelia was too courteous to keep track of how much she’d lent her mother over the years, she knew it was in the tens of thousands.
When she’d gotten home, she texted Logan to ask him to please let her know he was safe. She was sure he’d probably gone to stay with a friend after the failure of the night before, but DC was a big city. Anything could happen, especially with the rising disparities in wealth caused by all the tech conglomerates moving in.
Desperate times made for desperate people.
Logan hadn’t answered, and it was beginning to gnaw at her.
When she was young and they’d had a big argument, her mother had often stormed out of the house, knowing Ophelia was too young and too frightened to wander off in search of her. Every time she’d left, she’d made the same ominous statement: “You better hope something doesn’t happen to me while I’m out. Wouldn’t you feel awful if those were the last words you said to me?”
She’d slam the door, and Ophelia would sob and pace the house, wondering if they really would be her final words to her mother. Now, her mind went to that same bleak place every time she argued with anyone.
She sat back on her heels, looking sidelong at the android. He had insisted that she needed to eat something, and apparently, they’d programmed him to cook as part of his dream-lover package. He scrambled eggs over the stove with singular focus, a lock of his dark hair dangling in his eyes.
If she’d let him have sex with her, none of this would have happened. What if the last argument they ever had really was over her refusing to use what amounted to a state-of-the-art sex toy? Her stomach twisted angrily, protesting the self-flagellating thought.
It’s not that simple.
But she wanted it to be. She wanted Logan to be right to be annoyed with her, because then she could bow her head, apologize for her shortcomings, and everything could go back to normal. God, she wanted everything to go back to normal.
Straightening, she nudged the fridge shut.
“Sit at the table,” the android said over his shoulder.
