“Ophelia.” He flicked his fingers, dismissing the computer display. “What are you doing here?”
She fidgeted, picking at the cuticle of her thumb until it bled. “Mom sent me.”
He sat back and let out a weary sigh as he gestured to the matching chairs parallel to his desk. “Sit.”
Like an obedient dog, she complied, falling into the seat more than sitting in it. Sam moved to take the chair next to her, and her father’s eyes met his.
“Who is your guest?”
“This is Samuel,” she offered, faltering. “He’s my… he…”
“I’m private security,” he said smoothly, offering a hand to the man.
After a moment of disdainful staring, the CEO grasped his hand firmly and shook it once.
“Are you having troubles, Ophelia?” Her father’s attention shifted back to her as he rested his elbows against his desk. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She blinked, clearly surprised by the question. “Oh, I… didn’t want to bother you. It’s nothing major, really.”
Her father’s mien turned skeptical. “Yet major enough to warrant the salary of a private bodyguard?”
She shifted restlessly, and Sam realized that for someone who had possessed the ability all her life, she was a hopeless liar.
“There have been some threats made online,” Sam said. “The upcoming demo of the next generation of Automata androidshas garnered attention from the People First movement, and Ophelia’s connection to Logan has directed some of their ire at her.”
She gaped at him in a way that would surely give away the ruse if she didn’t stop.
“People First,” she murmured, her brows furrowing.
They were a group of extremists who wanted to put a stop to all automation, but especially to androids. Some of their ilk believed the robots were going to put everyone out of work, while others believed them to be part of the devil’s work, sent to tempt humanity toward depravity.
“Is this true?” Her obvious surprise was not lost on her father.
She shifted nervously in her seat. “Y-yes. That’s right. I’m sure it will all die down after the demo.” She shot Sam another incredulous look.
“You will let me know if it doesn’t.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, though she looked perturbed by the suggestion.
“Well?” Her father spread his hands wide, expression inscrutable. “What does your mother want now?”
Ophelia’s shoulders rounded, and she tucked her hands between her thighs. “She can’t afford her rent,” she said in a small voice. “The cost of living has increased. She was hoping you might be willing to increase her alimony payments.”
“Was she?”
Ophelia tucked her chin and looked up at her father from beneath her lashes.
He sagged in his seat, rubbing the deep lines between his brows. “You can tell her I will not be paying her a penny more than what’s mandated by the court.”
Ophelia wilted further, but she nodded.
Sam’s hand flexed against his thigh as he resisted the urge to reach for her in comfort.
“You can also tell her that if she attempts to use you to manipulate me again, I will take her back to court and challenge that very generous payment she receives each month until all she can afford to live in is a refrigerator box in an alley.”
His daughter’s eyes widened at that. “Oh, please don’t?—”
“Don’t beg on her account,” he snapped. “You’re too old to be this naïve. The last thing that woman needs is your pity. Don’t let her fool you into thinking that she can’t make it on her own, that you’re somehow obligated to tend to her. Your mother will find her way in this world one way or another. You can bet on that.”
