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What the fuck? That, that was not something Blake mentioned to me.
“We’re not in the same place yet,” Blake says calmly. “But if it’s up to me, you will. One day.”
I know he’s lying, but even so, he could convince me if I was stupid enough to let him do it. I yank my hand from his. He reaches over and takes it back calmly, as if he’s making a statement.
“You know what?” I tell him. “Same holds true for you as for your dad. You don’t get to announce that you’re…you’re…” I choke on the words. Marrying me. The concept is completely ridiculous. We don’t even know each other. And even though he’s acting, even though I know this isn’t real, I don’t even know why he’s doing this. “You don’t get to announce that without talking to me about it.”
He looks me square in the eyes. “It’s a statement of intent.”
Fuck. I can feel a tension winding in me, curling tighter and tighter.
“I got her out to meet you under false pretenses,” Blake says. “She doesn’t know how serious I am. In fact, I bet she doesn’t believe me now. She’s coming up with a reason why I’d say this to you.”
True. I have to keep reminding myself of that reason. He wants to do the swap; he thinks I should have the prototypes. Ergo, he must pretend to be serious about me.
“One of these days, though,” Blake tells his father, “she’s going to realize that I think the sun rises on her smile.”
I inhale slowly. It’s almost cruel of him to be such a good actor. If we were in any kind of relationship—if we’d so much as kissed before—I would have been completely snowed.
Mr. Reynolds simply nods, as if Blake makes announcements like this about girls all the time. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll start over. I can be polite. Hi, Tina. It’s nice to meet you. What are you studying?”
“Chemistry and computer science.”
He doesn’t look impressed by this, which is unusual. He snorts instead. “And what are you planning on doing with that mouthful of letters?”
This, apparently, is his version of polite. He managed about two seconds.
“I want to be a doctor.”
He blows out his breath. “Golly gee fucking willikers. At least that’s one of the few things that you actually need a university education to do. It’s a shit-stupid thing, of course. Being a doctor is like being a fast food worker, except with less sleep and more money. But at least it’s a thing.” He looks at me dubiously. “You want to help people and save lives?”
“On my med school applications? Yes. That’s all I care about. In reality? I just want to make enough money that my parents don’t have to worry ever again.”
He considers this. “The computer science degree seems superfluous to that goal.”
“Yeah, well. If it were just chemistry, my application wouldn’t stand out. I’m not going to be able to go volunteer with Doctors Without Borders in Ghana for a semester like half the other med school applicants. I wanted to do something different.”
“Different means playing the fucking flute or raising show llamas,” he says. “Computer science is just masochism. You’re lying. Nobody would get a CS degree without wanting to use it. What’s your deal?”
It’s kind of scary that he’s right. “Nothing that’s going to happen.” I don’t drop his gaze. “Maybe I just want a fallback plan in case med school doesn’t pan out.”
He considers me. “Nah. You told me to go to hell. I don’t think you’re the kind of person who worries about Plan B. You’re the kind of person who would make Plan A happen. What do you really want to do?”
I swallow. I can see how he came to be one of the most powerful men in the country. He’s an asshole—but he’s looking right through me, his gaze like a knife.
And so I tell him something I’ve never told anyone else before. “Maybe there’s part of me that plays with the idea of going into medical research.”
“What kind of medical research?”
I inhale. “Making tiny medical robots.”
“Pipe dream.” He waves a hand dismissively. “That will never happen.”
“It has to happen,” I reply. “Every year, more bacterial strains become resistant to more antibiotics, and we find fewer and fewer effective ones. Think what will happen when we can’t perform open heart surgery or biopsies without risking serious infection.”
He taps his fingers together. “So you’re going to make tiny medical robots to do heart surgeries without risking infection. Huh.”
I let out a breath. “No.” The timeline is all wrong. I need to be making money by the time Mabel starts college, even if it’s just the bare-bones salary of a medical resident. “I’m going to be a doctor. Someone else is going to make tiny medical robots.”
But he’s already looking off into the distance. “Actually, it’s kind of an interesting project. What kind of venture funding will you need to get off the ground?”
“None, since I’m not going to do it.” I take a deep breath. “That sounds horrifying. Running a company is the last thing I want to do. That just means worrying about new and larger amounts of money all the time. I’m not going to go through fifteen years of higher education just so I can worry about money more.”
Adam Reynolds leans in. “In this world, you’re either playing the game or you’re a pawn on the board.”
I shrug. “Okay. Then I’m a pawn. Pick me up and move me any time you want to wave your checkbook in my direction. But there’s one thing I can do that you can’t.”
“What is that?”
“I imagine that running a massive corporation is like getting on a merry-go-round. It may not be going fast when you first start, but the harder you push, the faster it spins. At some point, you can’t just get off the way you got on. Stay on long enough, and you get the impression the world goes in circles. I can get off, Mr. Reynolds. You can’t. I want to keep it that way.”
His face doesn’t change, not one iota. But for a second, his fingers tighten on his water glass. “Touché,” he says quietly. “Two-fucking-shay.” He blows out his breath.
For a moment, none of us say anything. Then Mr. Reynolds shakes his head. “You want Fernanda,” he says. “Do you even know what Fernanda is?”
“I didn’t even know there was a project named Fernanda.”
“Hey,” Blake says at his father’s raised eyebrow. “You know I don’t talk about this shit. Not even with her.”
“Fernanda,” Adam Reynolds says, “is your ticket onto the merry-go-round. Welcome aboard.”
7.
BLAKE
I follow my dad to the Cyclone campus. The ride is short—not even fifteen minutes. Just long enough for Tina
and I to stew in uncomfortable silence. She’s no doubt replaying every word I said in the restaurant.
I’m doing the same thing.
Funny. I knew I was into her. My body responds to hers, and sitting so close to her in the restaurant, sitting a mere eighteen inches from her now, has given my body some really interesting ideas. Now, in the car, she’s twirling a strand of hair around one finger, playing with it.
I should tell her that I lied to my father, that everything’s cool. Instead, I feel like I just tipped my hand. To myself. Not that I’m hoping for anything as specific as what I told him. It’s just… I want. Watching her go toe-to-toe with my dad was a thing of beauty. I haven’t seen anyone take him down so effectively since Peter passed away. I want someone as directed as her to want me back.
But that’s straight-up fantasyland, right up there with the stupid idea my body has right now. Which, no, that wouldn’t work, because there is no room for me between her knees in this car, not unless we folded the seats down. But then, male hormones have never really cared about the limits of physics.
“You know,” she says, “it’s a good thing we aren’t actually dating, because if we were, I would break up with you right now.”
That’s right. There’s fantasy, and then there’s reality. The reality is that we’re not dating. The reality is that in three months, we won’t even be friends.
“Understandable,” I say. “I threw you to the wolves. In my defense, I know the wolf pretty well and my money was on you. My dad can come off as a little bit of a dick at first, but you just need to stand up to him and he backs down.”
“Oh.” There’s a dubious quality to her voice. “He’s just a little bit of a dick. Sure.”
“Really. He’s not that bad. Unless he wants to be.”
She gives me a sidelong look of deep suspicion. But I’m coming up to the Cyclone security gate, and that brings up a whole host of other memories. The sun is out today; it shines brilliantly in my eyes as the guard hands me a visitor’s badge for Tina. The gate arm rises and I drive in.
