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“You stuck by me,” I whisper, saying things I've only barely been able to admit to myself. “You reached out to me when I was unreachable. You held me when I cried and told me it would be all right until I believed you. You've chased me back and forth across the planet. If there's one person in the world who has ever really proven that what they feel about me is real, it's you, King. It really is you.”
“I'm so glad you finally noticed,” he grins, pulling me up closer to him. When his mouth covers mine, it's like I can almost taste it too. He really does love me, and loving him back was inevitable. This may be the only love I've ever known, and now it's all I want.
22
Raleigh
Jordan insisted that the other women on the streams have their identities protected, and I agreed. But when the police raided Britt’s tiny office in the back of a warehouse, I had Reggie go along and film the entire thing.
I wanted her to see that it was over. I wanted her to have proof. And it seemed only fitting that she would get to have that remote viewing pleasure with something that was so personally important to her.
When the cops burst through the door (really overplaying their hand by using one of those battering rams, but it did have a certain kind of dramatic flair, I admit) Britt’s expression was a perfect pantomime of shock and horror. She snapped her laptop closed, trying to rip the cords out of the back. Not that that would do anything, of course. She dropped her cell phone on the floor and crushed it under her heel, and that was a fruitless gesture as well.
Jordan liked the part where she was dragged out in handcuffs the best. I could see that it wasn't really in her nature to be too triumphant about someone else's bad day, but she was glad it was over. A small smile curled her lips as she watched the last few seconds over and over again, chuckling to herself. Britt mouthed the words fuck you toward Reggie's camera as the police dragged her past.
That video came up in court testimony, at least twice. Unfortunately, a lot of other video surfaced as well. Because the business had produced over $2 million in the years since Kelsey's death, the press had a field day with it.
CNN and Buzzfeed and MSNBC had reporters in the courthouse every day, trying to get Jordan's opinion on topics as wide-ranging as Internet security, international banking laws, and voyeurism as a sexual fetish.
Initially, having my face pop up on newsfeeds damaged my credibility as a businessman, but as they say, any PR is good PR. Eventually my stocks rebounded, and many of my partners started inventing ways to appear near me in the courthouse to get their millisecond of fame as well.
When it was all over, the court ordered Britt to pay compensation and restitution to Jordan in particular, totalling just over seven figures. The other girls elected to keep the business alive and running. With all the promotion, and their explicit consent, it was really a very lucrative business model.
And why shouldn't they? As a businessman, I can respect the decision to pursue any arrangement that's been mutually beneficial.
Britt, however, is also looking at jail time. Her part in the business is done. Kaput. Partly because she continued Kelsey's betrayal of Jordan, but also because interest in this case sparked the investigation into Kelsey's death. It's no longer ruled an accident. And Britt is looking at attempted homicide charges.
But Jordan doesn't talk about that. She's got enough to do with her last semester of college nearly finished. After she switched her major to business, she discovered a real passion for technology startups. I suppose no matter what she does, she'll do well. She has that sort of fire and determination I've only ever seen in one other person.
And that person is me.
When the car drops me off at the penthouse, I already feel a snap of excitement. I can see the lights are on, high above me, which means Jordan's already home from class. The elevator doors slides open and I walk in to find her standing in the middle of the floor with her hands on her hips, turning a slow circle.
“What are we doing?” I ask cautiously.
“I think we’re moving out,” she announces.
I take a beat to think. I've trained myself out of bossing her around and gotten used to some of her more interesting suggestions. If says we’re moving, we could be moving.
“I've had this penthouse for quite a while,” I remind her gently. “But I don’t mind finding something else together. Where are we moving to?”
She nods thoughtfully. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about,” she begins. There’s a sly glint in her eyes and I'm curious to see where she's going with this. “Since I got my bachelor’s degree and all…”
"Oh! Congratulations!” I exclaim. “Why didn't you tell me that?”
“I just did,” she says. “I mean, there's still the whole graduation and everything… But I got my last class results today. Passed the final. Aced it, as a matter of fact.”
“I'm so proud of you, sweetheart,” I sigh, fighting the urge to bend her over the dining room table and plow her immediately to celebrate. I feel like she's got more to say, so I’ll try to be patient.
“Thank you, I am proud of me also. So now I just need to figure out what I'm doing with the rest of my life, right? Should be a cinch.”
“Absolutely,” I agree.
“So, I'm thinking California,” she says with a determined angle to her jaw. “Silicon Valley is still a thing, right?”
“Yes, I have a—” I cut myself off. Who cares what I have? I'm resolved to thinking about what we have. Together. “I mean, what would you like to do there?”
“Oh, you know,” she sings-songs, swaying about the room like some kind of techno-Mary-Poppins. “Locate some resources. Identify some key partnerships.”
