by Stasia Black
“I don’t know how to do it any other way. I feel like,” he pauses like he’s searching for words, “like the people working for me see that I’m demanding just as much of myself as I’m asking of them. If every project is a passion project, well then, we’re all working toward something special. It’s more than a job.”
I can feel his eyes on me so I twist a little in his arms to look up at him. Those goddamn eyes of his. So intense and piercing.
“But it’s also not my whole life,” he says, eyes flicking back and forth between mine. “That’s actually something I’ve been realizing only recently.” He goes quiet after that revelation.
I don’t ask him what’s changed. I’m too afraid of his answer. I swallow and bat his hands away from the controller. “Well if I’m going to work on these copters, it’s just embarrassing if I can’t even keep one in the air for more than ten seconds at a time.”
He chuckles easily and doesn’t try to steer the conversation back to deeper waters.
“All right,” he says. “Remember that your left joystick is all about lift and the right one is for directionality. If you get in trouble, just let go of the controls and she’ll hover wherever she’s at.”
I smile as I take over but inside all I can think is, please don’t find a way to fix the problem with the new drone. If Jackson can’t correct it, then no matter what Gentry threatens, there’s simply nothing for Gentry to leverage me for.
We spend a couple more hours out in the meadow. Once I learn the trick about letting go if I get in trouble and allowing the copter to hover, it’s a lot easier. Yeah, apparently the fear of crashing the thing every three seconds was really holding me back. Once I get past that, it turns out the controls are a lot more user-friendly than I expected.
My video is still much more jerky than Jackson’s, but by the end of the first hour, I’m definitely getting the hang of it. Jackson brought a second quadcopter and several batteries for each of us so we could have a long afternoon flying together.
After a while all my worries have drifted away and I’m simply having fun. A truly shocking concept. Jackson is a master at maneuvering his copter and helps guide me when I lose mine a couple times. They fly so high they seem to disappear into the white clouds.
The sun is warm on my skin when we finally bring them back home for the last time. We’re flying low and I see some trees ahead.
“Trees,” Jackson says.
“Saw them.” I follow the instructions Jackson gave me earlier about what to do whenever an obstruction comes into my path—push forward on the left joystick to lift straight up until I’m sure I’ve cleared it. The drone is too far away for me to visually track with my eyes, but looking at the screen I can see we’re past the patch of trees and I drop altitude again.
“You know, really all your copters need is to know what’s right in front of them. All the other stuff on the other sides isn’t important. Like us, we just need to know about the trees in front of us and then we correct...”
Jackson’s hands drop off his controller, sending his copter into hover mode wherever it may be, as he turns to me, mouth open. “Oh my God. I’m an idiot.”
Oh shit.
It just popped out of my mouth.
An offhand comment.
One of those little thoughts you have.
“Of course!” He starts to pace back and forth, one hand to his forehead. “I’m such an idiot. We don’t have to process the data for everything on all sides of the copter. I mean, yes,” he waves a hand dismissively, “they could have a low-level filter that takes the three-sixty view into consideration, but we really only need a forty-five degree window of what is directly in front of the copter to do more in-depth analysis on. I’ve been trying for too much. Trying to get the hardware where I want it instead of accepting its limitations and finding other ways to get the job done. It’s so simple but I couldn’t see it because I was being such a damn perfectionist!”
No.
No no no no no—
An excited frenzied light sparks in Jackson’s eyes. “If we focus just on the first few Eigenvalues of the latent space translation, then capture only the most important signal, we’d detect potential objects on a collision course. Then we use that as the first-pass filter and do the in-depth analysis of the field of view. But only in the direction of travel.” He looks at me, excitement pouring from him in energetic waves.
“Do you realize what this means?” He grabs me by the waist, easily lifting me and swinging me around in a circle. “I bet we can reduce our calculation time by a factor of three. Three!”
“Three,” I whisper, a watery smile on my face.
Emotion clogs my throat. He’s so excited.
He sets me down and grabs his controller to guide his drone back in, but I can see his mind working a hundred miles a minute. He’s probably doing calculations in his head, just itching to get to a computer so he can start coding.
If what he’s proposing works, he’ll fix the problem and then some. Reducing the calculation time by a factor of three means the drone will have real-time reactions.
Jackson will perfect his new drone.
Which is exactly what Gentry wants.
And fuck me, me and my stupid big mouth might have just helped Gentry get it.
There’s nothing to do but help Jackson start coding when we get back to the house. He’s all fired up to get working. And it’s not like I can fudge the code. He’s too skilled. He’d recognize it and wonder what the hell I was doing.
So we worked together on two systems he has set up in his computer room, each with three massive monitors. I imagine this is his equivalent of musicians who have studios in their houses.
I’ve worked with dimensionality reduction data before so he sets me on that while his fingers start flying to restructure the main code to the drone’s central program.
It’s all right there in front of me. The code that Gentry is willing to ruin lives over. God. I swallow against the queasiness in my stomach and take a sip of Mountain Dew. In the back of the room there’s a soda fountain stand like you’d see in a fast-food store with every soda anyone could want and beside it, a coffee bar. I figured the carbonation might help settle my stomach, but now I wonder if all the sugar isn’t just making me feel more nauseous.
I put the cup back down on a coaster that says: There are 10 types of people: those who understand binary and those who don't.
Normally I’d crack a smile at a good programmer joke, but right now, not even a smirk.
Jackson and I work through dinner and long past the sun going down. Finally, my fingers feel like they’re going to fall off, I’m getting a headache from the long hours staring at the monitor, and my stomach is growling with hunger.
Jackson finally looks over and takes notice of me. His eyebrows drop as shame covers his features. “I’m so sorry.”
He pushes away from his desk. “This isn’t what this weekend was supposed to be about at all. I swear I didn’t bring you here to work you to death. We weren’t supposed to be doing any work at all. It’s just—” he cuts himself off mid-sentence and runs a hand through the back of his hair. His hair is already mussed from him doing this all afternoon. He has no idea he’s even more attractive when it’s sexily messed up like it is now. Too much like bed head.
I put on a smile and shush him. “It’s fine. We both know how important this project is.” Just for different reasons to each of us. I cringe internally. “You keep at it and I’ll go make us some sandwiches.”
“Really?” Jackson’s eyebrows rise. “You aren’t mad?”
“No.” I look at him like he’s crazy. Even if I wasn’t awash in guilt, I wouldn’t be mad that the weekend was turning out this way. I know how important his work is to him. He’s having a major breakthrough.
“Have previous girlfriends been upset when you worked too much?” Then I realize how that sounded. Previous girlfriends. Like I’m counting myself as his current girlfriend.
<
br /> “Don’t answer that,” I cut him off before he can say anything and turn for the door. “Sandwiches. I’ll be back in a bit.”
His kitchen is well stocked and I come back with ham and provolone sandwiches, filled with all the good stuff—lettuce, tomatoes, green onions, and avocados. It’s all I can do not to groan in satisfaction when I bite into mine.
Jackson murmurs his thanks and sets it to the side, continuing to code instead of eating. I shake my head at him.
“Stopping for fuel is a necessity.”
“When I finish this bit,” he murmurs, eyes glued to the screen. Or screens, I should say, as his eyes flick back and forth between three screens. One has the active code he’s writing for the new algorithm, the second has the log output and memory stack, and the third has a super zoomed in 3D wire frame of the drone itself rotating on the screen, certain sections highlighted.
It’s pretty insane to watch this level of genius at work. I shake my head at him and take another glorious bite of my own sandwich. I’ll bother him again if he hasn’t eaten it in an hour. I finish my sandwich and wash it down with water.
No more Mountain Dew for me. I lace my fingers behind my head and stretch my arms, neck, and back, then return to my own work.
I stay at it for as long as I can, but when two a.m. rolls around, I have to call it quits. I’m fighting sleep and keep catching myself as my head is dropping, then jerk back up right before I face-plant into my keyboard.
Finally, I admit defeat. When I look over at Jackson, though, he doesn’t look like he’s running out of steam anytime soon. Which really ought to put me to shame. He’s a decade older than me but he barely looks like he’s flagging at all.
“I’m just going to go catch a quick catnap on the couch, then I’ll be back.”
Jackson jerks like he’s startled by my voice. He probably is, he’s so deep in it. Again that guilty expression comes over his face. He glances down at the bottom of the screen, no doubt taking note of the time. “Shit. Callie, I’m so sor—”
“Don’t.” I smile at him gently as I raise two fingers to his lips to cover his mouth. This man. My chest aches with things I can’t name. Things I don’t want to name.
I take a step backward. “You kick that code’s ass. I’ll be back in a little while.”
“There are bedrooms upstairs. Just go to sleep for the night. I’ll—”
“I’ll be back in a little while,” I say more firmly.
This time it’s him who shakes his head, a smile cracking the edge of his lips. “I’ll be here.”
I laugh. “Oh, I doubt wild horses could drag you away from that keyboard right now.”
His face goes apologetic. “I’m sor—” he tries again.
I’m out the door before he can finish. “I expect to hear about some impressive ass-kickage when I get back!” I yell over my shoulder.
Out in the living room, there’s a large sectional couch that, while expensive looking, also seems like it was chosen for comfort more than appearance. I grab the throw blanket draped over the back and lay down. My entire body sinks into the form-shaping couch cushions.
I let out another low moan of pleased relief. My arms feel like jelly as I struggle to get the blanket to cover my body, but I finally manage it. I pull it up around my shoulders and tuck it into my face.
I’ll sleep for a tiny bit and then get back to helping Jackson. Just a quick nap.
Chapter Sixteen
JACKSON
What did I do to deserve this gorgeous goddess of a woman?
I stare down at her where she’s curled up on my couch, fast asleep. Fuck but she’s beautiful. It’s rare to see her like this—her face free of worry lines.
I frown and drop down to the floor, taking one of her feet in my hands and starting a slow massage. I’m not an idiot. I know there are things she’s not telling me. I keep hoping that with time, she’ll open up. That maybe this weekend…
Yeah well then you started coding and completely ignored her.
I duck my head and wince.
All I can do is try to make up for it now. I move to the other foot and rub my thumbs into her arches, kissing up her ankles.
She gives a little moan and shifts on the couch.
Maybe I should let her sleep. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.
But no, that couch is lumpy and uncomfortable. The least I can do is take her upstairs to the bed where she’ll be more comfortable.
To sleep.
Just to sleep.
I continue my massage and she blinks slowly, waking a few minutes later.
“What are you doing?” she mumbles, glancing down at me.
I smile. “I finished the code.”
“But my part—” she scrambles to sit up but I urge her back down and then continue my massage, moving back to her other foot.
“You were almost there. I took what you had then finished it to put in the last piece of the puzzle.”
“Did it work?” She sits up abruptly in spite of my ministrations. “Did it fix the problem?”
“It’s compiling overnight.” Then I look up at the skylight at the grayish sky, much lighter than the pitch black of night. “Well, over the morning anyway.”
“What time is it?”
“A little after 5:30. I’ll do the preliminary testing tomorrow. But the simulation results were promising. Callie,” I grin, “you did it.”
She scoffs and looks uneasy. “You were the one who coded everything.”
“Which I couldn’t have done without your idea.”
She puts a hand to her forehead. Why doesn’t she look more excited? I thought she’d want to celebrate with me?
Uh, maybe because she’s running on two hours of sleep and your supposedly romantic getaway turned into an all-day workathon? I cringe.
“You’ve been up all night,” she says, trying to tug her foot away from my hands. She’s not looking at me anymore. Her eyes are fixed firmly on the wall as she says, “You should go get some sleep.”
I should go get some sleep. Not we.
No. Fuck that. I’m not letting her pull away again. Not after how far we’ve come. I might have been an ass yesterday, ignoring her in favor of work, but I’ll show her just how important she is to me.
“I think it’s time for me to make up for neglecting what this weekend was supposed to be all about—you. Besides, you know what they say about all work and no play.”
I let go of her foot but only to crawl up over her, skimming my body over hers the whole way. I’m not playing fair and I don’t give a fuck. My next question comes out as a growl: “Does Mistress want to play?”
Her eyes snap to mine and within seconds, her breaths start to come in shorter, more heavily. She wants this. Wants me.
But then something else clouds over her eyes. Some conflict I don’t understand. I don’t think it’s about me neglecting her for work, either.
It’s something else. Even as her body relaxes into me, her nipples hardening into ripe little buds, the furrow between her eyebrows gets deeper. Goddammit, what is it?
“What’s wrong?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and she presses her head back hard into the couch cushion. Enough. It’s time to get to the bottom of this.
“Callie,” I demand. “What’s going on? Tell me.”
She swallows and at the same time, she shifts beneath me, one of her legs falling open and wrapping around to pull me into her.
I hiss at the feel of her pulling me into her warmth and her eyes pop open. No doubt at feeling my hard length. What does she expect? Even touching her ankles had me hard as stone. This is what she does to me. I’m barely able to keep myself from popping wood at work. Does she know how embarrassing it is to be the CEO of a billion dollar company and having to scurry off to my private bathroom because I have a stiffy from walking by her cubicle? Jesus.
And that’s nothing to having her hot and heaving beneath me. Still, nothing could prepare me for her ne
xt words.
“Is there a way to stay the Domme, but…” she trails off like she doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants.
I put a knuckle under her chin to lift her face so she looks at me. “Hey. Never be afraid to ask anything. Not with me.”
“Well,” she tries again, swallowing. “Where I’m the Domme officially but you’re the one doing some of the…” Her eyes drop. “…dominating?”
Jesus is she asking what I think she is?
It’s a fight to keep my voice even. “We can do anything you want and you still stay the top. Even if it doesn’t fall into the traditional roles. My job as your sub is to please and worship you in whatever way you want or need.”
A shudder runs down her body at my words and I’ve never felt a more caveman desire to drag her up to my room and chain her to my bed. The things I would do to her if she’d let me—
“Then it would please your Mistress for you to spank her and get her off like you did the first time in the limo.” Her eyes drop to the floor like she’s already embodying taking on the role of submissive.
And my cock could officially break brick, I’m so fucking hard. Still, I don’t want to scare her. So I take a breath and manage to get out, “Whatever Mistress wants.” I even bow my head.
“Don’t bullshit me,” she laughs. “I know you’re chomping at the bit.” Then she wraps an arm around my back, locks it with the other she slipped around my chest, and uses the leverage to lift me up slightly. Then she wedges her knee between us and shoves me off of her.
Before I know it I’m toppling off the couch head-first.
Jesus! I barely manage to catch myself and somewhat direct my tumble to the floor. She’s become positively dangerous after that self-defense class of hers.
“Just don’t forget who’s ultimately in charge.” Her eyes are narrowed as she glares down at me.
I grin. “No, ma’am. Wouldn’t think of it.”
