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I turned over to him. I knew what he was going for. But I didn’t want to have that conversation.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I asked him with a pout.
I knew it would fuck with his head.
I know, why did I spoil the chance?
Because I was scared, I think.
I don’t know, hun. I’m fucked up in the head. After Robert. After running away.
Ethan just dropped the subject and went back to watching television. Which at the time was fine by me.
Now I’m wishing I had told him that it might have been easier to just move in—that this going back to my apartment over and over to get things was time consuming. Because an hour after our conversation, that’s exactly what I had to do. Trek all the way uptown and get my stuff.
But, no! Don’t you dare tell him that.
Seven.
That’s how many times I’ve had to go visit Simon. Go give him progress reports on the I.E.
Thank God Simon has no way of knowing that I’ve actually tried it on. That I’ve had sex with Ethan on the I.E. Thank God he doesn't know just how utterly realistic and life-changing that device is—how much it’s going to revolutionize pornography as we know it.
But still, he has questions. He has threats.
“Aren’t you telling me that you’re the one who's going to be the face of it?” Simon asked me on the last time that I went there to give him my report. “That you’re going to be the star?”
I nod my head. I didn’t know what else to tell him. He dipped his head onto his desk and used a $100 bill to do another rail. When he was finished, his eyes were bloodshot.
“So, you’re not only taking the money that I’m paying you to infiltrate Illicit Entertainment,” Simon said snidely before taking some coke and using his fingers to slide them over his gums. “But now you’re also going to be a star again?”
I shrugged. There wasn’t much I could do to respond to him in a way that he’d be satisfied.
“I hired you for a job, Ms. Roman,” Simon said to me, getting up from his chair, his body already tweaking. “I expect you to carry it out or be prepared to face the consequences.”
I mean, each time I see Simon, it’s pretty much the same formula every time around. I give him my progress report, which isn’t that much progress, and then he gets upset at the lack of progress and follows by threatening me.
That’s the same thing that happened this time. I’m hoping that’s the same thing that happens next time, and the time after.
Although last time, Simon ended the meeting by glaring at me.
“For three months, I’ve asked you to get me a copy of the prototype!” he yelled at me.
“They only have one working copy!” I yelled back at him. “Not even he’s alone with it. I’d have to sleep with half the office to get them to turn the other way while I take it,” I shot back.
The thing was, and I had been thinking this for a while—once we get close enough to the launch date, maybe that buggy old prototype that they were working on would get me out of this mess.
“Never mind about steali
ng the physical prototype now,” Simon said however, dashing my hopes. “It’s too late to do anything with it. What you need to do is get me the underlying computer code that runs the software,” he said. “A copy that actually fucking works. Unlike your brain, which doesn’t apparently.”
I remember looking at him and blinking.
“Simon, how do you even expect me to do that that?” I asked him. “I barely know how to use SnapChat. Last time I tried I brought what you said was junk.”
But all Simon did was look at me and smile evilly.
“If there’s a will, there’s a way darlin’,” he hissed. “This is what happens when you dilly dally on getting the prototype. If you had just gotten that, it would have been a lot easier. But I guess you’ll have to be extra clever now. Or maybe you want me to just call Robert up on the phone so you can say hi?”
