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“You only think you know.”
Was he angry? Did he feel used? There was no hint in his voice, no shade in his expression to tip her off. But his fist was furled in the sheet.
“So tell me about you. Tell me what else you get intense about.”
“No one else, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I wasn’t...you don’t.” Fabulous, she sounded like him. She touched his knee. She wasn’t sure how to soothe him. She was annoyed with herself for wrecking their peace and with him for his sudden petulance. He knew which way was up when he got in her car.
“Maybe the curfew is over.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. It’d gotten stupidly complicated. She’d check the police website; the sooner Mace left the better. She had things to do.
“Intense is my default mode.”
Feet on the floor, she stopped.
“I’m either in something or I’m not. I’m no good with half-measures.”
She reached for her robe. Behind her he was still, but she hung on to his voice.
“I only work at Wentworth to have money to live on, to pay for what Buster needs.”
She dragged the robe across her knees, but kept her back to him. “Go on.”
“I’ve got shit for brains.”
She laughed. “You think telling me you have interests outside Wentworth is a problem.”
“I don’t think it’s smart to admit to the company heiress you’re planning on being somewhere else. She might decide to pull the rug out from under you.”
“That would be the same heiress who hit on a junior employee who could have her up on sexual harassment charges and blacken her name forever. Who do you think is really at risk here, Mace?”
“Not you. I would never.”
Exactly what she’d figured. He was dangerous, but he was safe too. She pulled her robe on and belted it, but shifted on the bed to face him.
He’d let go of the sheet and his shoulders lifted with a deep breath. “I have a Plan A.”
She moved closer, crossed her legs; let her knees almost touch his. She didn’t want him to go. She liked this little slice of life they’d created. It wasn’t made to last but it was a holiday from her real world and precious because of it.
“Personal life management.” He stopped, as though that told her everything she needed to know.
“Do you mean identity security?”
He reached for the leftover cord of her gown and threaded it through his fingers. “More. I mean knowledge and control of an individual’s personal data. You can build intelligence from data. The more data the more intelligence, the more capability and control.”
Wentworth had data about retail customer’s deposits, loans and spending patterns, and employed data engineers whose job it was to mine it and develop new services to market. She watched Mace move the silky tie between his thumb and first finger. He’d used those clever fingers inside her. She wanted them there again before the day was over.
“Everything you do online causes information to be stored about you. Like when you shop online, or pay a bill or use your credit card in a restaurant. You have very little control over that, but companies, like Wentworth, profit from it, sometimes without your permission. I believe people should have control of their own information, from X-rays and dental records, through to the cost of your last parking ticket and how much you spent on entertainment in one easy to see and manage program. Like a mega diary and a file store of every piece of your personal data that’s important. It operates like a sophisticated car dashboard that gives you relevant data on call, like blood pressure, savings targets and the list of books you want to read. It works like social media but for managing your life for real, not just talking about it and taking selfies. You get to say who sees that information and what they use it for, not the other way around. You might even charge for the privilege of using your information.”
“We have engineers who do that kind of work.”
He tugged on the tie and it tightened around her waist. “My program will blow your engineers out of the water.”
He said that without a trace of humour to soften it. “Really.” There was that arrogance she’d seen from Mace, the attitude that made him a difficult employee to manage. “You think you have something special—well, good for you.”
He sniffed; a derisive sound. “It’s not special, it’s revolutionary. It’s an entirely new direction. It will change the face of how businesses relate to customers, how information is stored, catalogued and provided, how transactions are processed and buying patterns customised. It will change how people control their identities, how they live.”
“You’re either insane or a genius.”
