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Preface
OPAL
The sun is blazing hot, beating down on me through the protective glass shield above. I take a sip of my mojito and lean back on the chaise, happy to let the light penetrate my skin, warming me all the way to my core.
The swimming pool makes quiet, soothing noises as the water sloshes gently against the sides. The ocean breeze is salty and slightly cool as it ruffles the dainty down that covers my bare belly.
Today, I am alone. Everything is ready. In just days, this place will be overrun with movie stars, financiers, globally-known millionaires and billionaires from every corner of the world. It’s really happening. Everything I have worked for my whole life is finally ready.
Far beneath me, I feel the rumble of the magnetic pulse engine starting up. Its revolutions create the power the island uses to stay self-sufficient. Though we could have housed it in a gyroscopic chamber to dampen the vibrations so no one could feel them, we wanted everybody to know: we are living in the future.
A shadow crosses over me and I open my eyes slightly to see if the UV protective glass has somehow gone to shade mode, or if it is just a cloud. Instead, I see the large, solid frame of a man, his sculpted outline blocking out the light.
My belly clenches, immediately switching all my processes from the mental to the physical. I can’t think when he’s around. I can’t think when he is looking at me like that. Like a well-programmed machine, I effortlessly change modes to the one I created just for him.
Another shadow on my other side, and I feel a searing warmth between my legs. Though I can’t make out his expression, I know exactly what he wants. And I know I will give it to him—to each of them—as many times as they want.
I’m helpless now. Helpless to resist. I couldn’t run away now, even if I tried.
And of course, I don’t want to try.
Chapter 2
OPAL
We’re all in the big conference room gathered for the Tuesday Morning Mashup, probably my favorite meeting of any week. This is where we all pitch ideas for new apps and games, really anything that fits in the company portfolio of tech gadgets and programs. It’s part gameshow, part actual work. The star of the show is our company owner, Irving Galloway.
It used to be held on Mondays, and the name made a lot more sense. But a good third of the team would be hungover from whatever their weekend had entailed and not quite in solid mashup form, if you know what I mean. So now it’s Tuesdays.
The huge oval table is like a big, flat Christmas tree ornamented with coffee cups and high-protein juices in reusable plastic containers. Every color of the rainbow is represented in juice form, from açaí to orange, to banana, to kale, blueberry, and blackberry. I’ve got a twenty-ounce wheatgrass smoothie with a shot of fiddlehead fern in my hands. It sounds gross, but it’s fantastic. I am already so caffeinated that I can feel my pulse in my pinkie toes.
All the team members face the glowing screen on the front wall, watching the swirling shapes that zing back and forth in time to thrumming, low-frequency house music beats. We are shielded from the blazing Florida sun along another wall of solid windows by high-tech UV nanobots in the glass that capture the rays and turn them into clean energy.
That’s one of Irving’s inventions. He is amazing.
He sidesteps back and forth in front of the wall, stroking the touch-sensitive panel in time with the house music, drawing out lists and jotting down ideas. The text notes take on a life of their own on the white space, swirling and pulsing in place until he touches them again.
He uses practically the whole wall, shoving ideas this way and that, erasing huge bits and replacing them with other things. As he sketches out ideas and calls up existing projects, he is directed by team members who call out ideas an riff off each other, competitively ramping up the creativity.
Irving flexes and stretches, bouncing on his toes like a prizefighter. His muscles churn under his clothes. I look around. Am I the only person who notices this?
The screen glows subtly between gray and ochre, the colors most likely to promote visibility across the room. As we progress, people start to chime in more. The ideas get sketched out and boxed in, then shifted to a “corral” area until Irving finds one he wants to explore further in the “main stage.” The main stage is where people start really dreaming about what this invention could become, if it were given the honor of going into production.
At this point, any team member can walk right up to the screen and start drawing out ideas with him, but few of us have the courage. You have to be ready to call up some obscure programming or maybe even literary references to seem like you’re clever enough to be up there with him. Plus you have to physically be in his space and keep up with his pivots and stretches. It’s a big deal, the Tuesday Morning Mashup tango. Who could dare throw down?
Did I mention Irving Galloway is an absolute genius?
He’s a visionary. He’s been on the cover ofFast CompanyandWiredabout six thousand times, andTime, twice.Vanity Fairproclaimed him “heartbreakingly beautiful.” I would have to agree.
I should mention here that I don’t actually know what they are talking about right now. I am not a programmer. The gods of luck smiled upon me and got me a surprise internship in my senior year of Communications at Florida State. I am reminded all the time that this is basically a pity job, some kind of corporate charity for low-rent folks like me. Still, I can’t complain. It’s fantastic.
Irving dances back and forth, pausing to swivel his hips as he takes a moment to stare at one particular box on the board. Oh my God. I can practically make out exactly what his ass would look like naked under those tight trousers. The divots in the muscles on each side make me want to sink my teeth into it. What a beautiful ass.
That’s the real reason this meeting is so fantastic.
I always get here first, so I can sit at the very back of the room. That way everybody is facing in the opposite direction. I don’t sit at the very end of the table, but at the corner. Usually the end of the table is taken up by vegan quinoa breakfast bars or some kind of stuff like that. If any of these people knew that I had a Snickers candy bar for breakfast, they would probably have grounds to fire me, right after a condescending lecture about my pancreatic health and the historical diets of highland apes or something.
That’s what it is like around here all the time. It’s a weird, nerdy group who don’t even seem embarrassed about how thoroughly dorky they are. Even in college, people weren’t this shamelessly intellectual. Most of the time, I am convinced I don’t belong. People seem fine to leave me to my own workspace, my own back-of-the-room habits. They probably know I don’t belong too.
