My personal goal is to use the changes we’re making together to release the bonds that hold billions of people. In the grand scheme of humanity, sex has taken a backseat only to food, water, and shelter. Once an individual is confident in his survival, the very next thing he wants to do is to go out and fuck something. The base drive for men to spread their seed and for women to nurture optimal offspring is the base cause for not just obvious problems like rape and assault, but also for war, politics, wide scale social repression, all gender issues ranging from beatings and manipulations and bondage, to more subtle ones like discrimination and shaming … the list is endless.
Change the way people view sex, and you change the world. Make sex into something that men don’t have to spend their lives obsessing over and killing for, something that women don’t need to sell or exploit themselves over, and the world would be new.
Better.
I’m talking about redefining the very nature of our species, but Alexa keeps reducing it to getting jollies. It’s maddening. I can’t decide if she’s being intentionally obtuse or if she really doesn’t understand.
Eros’s goal is far simpler: To exploit new sexual frameworks to sell as much product as possible before the competition knows what hit it.
And, of course, Alexa wants to skim from the mountain of data the app will collect, both with permission and without it. She won’t admit that second goal, but I know it just the same.
They want money. I want liberation.
And the way Alexa reduces my whole aim to perversion just pisses me off. She should listen to some of what her own Georgia Bernard pen name writes about sexual empowerment and self-help, instead of writing that stuff with her tongue so firmly in her cheek.
But I refuse to say anything. Alexa knows when she’s irking me. I won’t give her the reaction she wants.
“Do you have a point?” I ask.
“You’re the mouthpiece for this app. It has all your bullshitty self-help stuff in it, but you and I both know that the heart of this thing is the sex module. PR makes you play it down, but you also feel that the example you’re setting in your own sex life is probably at the center of the change this app promises. Right?”
That’s a bit of an overstatement. The world sees me as enlightened and self-aware; most people don’t truly know their own motivations and programming but I do, and I teach it to others so they can make positive change. They also happen to know my beliefs on sex and its triggers, and they know I make a big deal out of the way I’ve decoupled sexual gratification from emotion in a way that hurts nobody. It’s groundbreaking, and something I’m trying to mainstream.
“And?” I say.
“Do I really have to—”
“What? Spit it out.”
“You, Anthony, are not practicing what you preach.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ANTHONY
“I’M SORRY?” ALEXA CAN’T POSSIBLY be saying what I think she is — what I know she is.
“You aren’t walking your talk. Not only are you shifting the company’s direction, you’re sleeping with one of your department heads. Ordinarily? No big deal. You both get what you want, right? But do you know what people are saying about it, Anthony?”
Fuck you, Alexa. Fuck you and anyone who’d question my integrity. Fuck anyone who’d have an opinion on what I’m doing with Caitlin.
As calmly as I can manage: “What?”
“They’re saying that the vanguard of sexual freedom sold a job at the price of sex. That you’re a hypocrite and you only say the things you say because it suits you to do so … but behind closed doors, you’re just another controlling, misogynistic asshole.”
I can’t speak. I literally don’t know what to say.
“So you can see how this comes across as a problem. You can see why I feel you’re making a mistake, even if you don’t strictly agree. It’s not your fault, Anthony — I believe your intentions. But you’re not as bulletproof as you think you are.”
“Maybe you should spell it out for me,” I say.
“This girl. Caitlin.”
“What about her?”
“Well, our understanding is that she had an entry-level job with your foundation. Copywriting and marketing, no big deal. But then around the time you started fucking her, she got a big promotion.”
“I had nothing to do with that. Jamie promoted her.”
“I see. But now you’re meeting with her all the time? Always in private?”
“Where are you getting this?”
“People on your team.”
“Well, they’re wrong.”
“Wrong that you’re meeting this girl?”
“Wrong that she has her job because she was willing to get on her knees.”
I say it with all the venom I can muster, using language explicit enough for Alexa to understand. Truth is, Alexa isn’t emotionally mature enough to understand what’s happening with me and Caitlin, so I won’t try to understand. To Alexa, sex is something to be bought and sold.
“So she didn’t get her promotion because she’s fucking you.”
“Of course not.”
“She just got her promotion at the same time as she started fucking you.”
“I don’t see how this is any of your business.”
“Are you fucking her, Anthony? You’re so honest about these things. Tell me the truth.”
“We have an arrangement.”
“For … five weeks now? Almost six?”
“And?”
“Think about it, Anthony. How are you supposed to promote our new agenda for liberation if you’re just one more sucker with a steady girl?”
“That’s not how it is.”
“You’re just fuck buddies, then.”
I nod. “More or less.”
Alexa shrugs, not at all mollified. “Well, that’s slightly pedestrian. Slightly less confidence-shaking to the board, and the Syndicate as a whole.”
“You don’t speak for the Syndicate, Alexa.”
“No, but I talked to Caspian. He says there are more than a few people talking about you and your new girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“I hear you’re going out to dinners with her,” Alexa says.
“We both need to eat.”
“Supposedly you took her out to wine country. Why did you do that for someone you’re just fucking, Anthony?”
“Who told you that?” I went off the grid to take Caitlin on a wine tour. We just wanted to shake things up. I had some time queued up and we’d both decided it’d be fun to have sex outside. You can’t do that in San Diego without being spotted, so we hit the hills.
Of course it was up to my personal code of conduct, but still — nobody was supposed to know.
“Is it true?”
“What fucking business is it of yours?”
Alexa leans forward. Disclosure has an optimized connection, so I can see Alexa’s power move on my screen in high-def.
“Okay, Anthony. You want to know? I’ll tell you why it’s my business. It’s my business because this venture we’re on together is supposed to be about breaking patterns. Shattering familiar molds. Do I need to remind you that this whole project hangs on a string as far as the Syndicate is concerned? I shouldn’t have to tell you this, Anthony, because you’re part of it, but the Syndicate is a group of mercenaries. Give them a reason to doubt, and they’ll start thinking about other ways to spend their money — ways that don’t rely on an icon who’s losing his focus and can’t seem to make up his mind about what matters.”
“I haven’t lost focus, Alexa. Nothing has changed.”
“You’ve always been honest. You’ve never been afraid of looking at things and speaking the truth, even when those truths are uncomfortable. So you tell me, Anthony: don’t you think you’ve had an unusual amount of free time lately? A lot more free time than someone working his ass off to build a world-changing business empire should have?”
&
nbsp; I don’t want to stop and think about any of this, but Alexa is right; I’ve never been one to turn away from truths about myself. It bothers me that part of this isn’t so easily dismissed.
“It’s been slow lately. I’ve found efficiencies.”
“A lot of them, it seems. Running off to wine country and having dinners out. Going ice skating? That’s tax-deductible, right?” Alexa picks up a piece of paper and scans it. “On Tuesday you went to a movie.”
“Who told you that?”
“A concerned party,” Alexa snaps. “You may want to pretend you’re focused on the Ross Institute like you used to be, but you’re not fooling your staff.”
I just stare.
“The movie you went to with her, Anthony. Was that business?”
“Not every second has to be business. A human being is a package. The women I date aren’t prostitutes.”
“So was it a sex date, then?”
“Yes. Sure.”
“I suppose she gave you a handjob through the tub of popcorn?”
I don’t reply.
“Come on, hero. How did she get you off?”
“None of your fucking business.”
“Pretty defensive about your girlfriend, aren’t you?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“So was it a romantic movie?”
I don’t answer that. It’s clear that Alexa already knows.
But then she softens. She doesn’t want to fight. We’re partners, in the end. She just needs to get my attention — and unfortunately she’s gotten it.
“Please just tell me you did all of it to fuck her, Anthony. It’s not that anyone worries how you’re spending your time; it’s that we’re worried you’re not being honest about your intentions. Better things than our plans have been thrown away in the name of love.”
My eyes roll, but it doesn’t happen as automatically as I’d have thought.
Alexa goes on. “I can convince the various concerned parties who come to me that all is well as long as you can convince me that this won’t get worse. You’re not getting lost in those big eyes of Caitlin’s, right? You’re just treating your booty call kindly before bending her over.”
“All of our dates have been utilitarian, Alexa. We have an agreement. I don’t have time for relationships. She knows and respects that. I don’t need the distraction. It’s only sex. This is exactly what everyone who’s paying attention should know and expect from me.”
“But you’re spending more and more time with her, Anthony. How can I be sure that what you’re saying is true? You’re not missing meetings … yet … but that’s only because nobody can reach you to schedule them. You shut your phone off so nobody can reach you on your dates.”
“It’s not like that.”
But now I’m wondering. I really have found a lot of free time lately. I figured I was being efficient, but is it possible that I am distracted? Is Alexa right? Am I taking my eye off the ball? I spent a full day with Caitlin this past Saturday — and the Saturday before. I never used to have full days open.
Better things than our plans have been thrown away in the name of love.
But that’s ridiculous. I’m not throwing anything away. I wouldn’t. Ever.
Another softening from Alexa. “Then tell me what it’s like, Anthony. When we talked a few weeks ago, you were direct and I respected your directness. You said I was after money and that I should stop pretending I wasn’t. The honesty was refreshing, so now I’m being honest with you, because I really do believe we can change the world for the better and make a profit doing it. And, not or.”
“I believe that, too.”
“Then tell me what’s going on with you and this girl of yours. If you’re just having sex with her, great. If you say that she got her promotion legitimiately, I’ll believe you and shout down anyone who says otherwise. Hell, if you tell me that you’re dating her for real and it’s some sort of new love, I’ll believe that, too. I just need to understand so I’m not caught off-guard. I need to know if we’re going to have less of you because your business is going to start sharing time with Caitlin. Whatever it is, just tell me.”
I think. I internalize. I digest Alexa’s words. What I see inside myself hurts. I’ve been lying again, and this time I didn’t even know.
“Are you in love with this girl?” Alexa asks.
I hate that she asks. The answer should be understood. For Anthony Ross, the business comes first. The business is my only true love.
“Of course not,” I say.
“It’s okay if you are, Anthony. If what you have with her is going somewhere, I just need to plan for it. You’re in your forties; I think everyone expects that eventually even the great Anthony Ross would settle down with someone.”
“I’m not even close to settling down. It’s not how I’m wired. The foundation — the mission — is all that matters.”
Alexa looks unconvinced.
New words rise like bile. I don’t want to justify myself, but this conversation needs to end. I say what I decided when this all began — words that, at the time, felt irrevocably true: “Even if I were going to settle down, it wouldn’t be with someone like Caitlin. She’s too young. She doesn’t have the life experience to keep up with me.”
“Anthony …” She sighs, not believing me. Maybe I should have lied: told Alexa it was more than sex. That’s what she seems to want to believe, even though it’s untrue.
… or is it?
“I don’t trust where this is going,” Alexa says. “The project and the business are going to require more and more of your attention. I for one don’t intend to lose all I’ve built because you’re infatuated with some trophy piece of ass.”
“I’m not.”
Alexa eyes me even harder. I feel the walls shaking. I hate her, because she’s right. I really have lost focus. I have started paying less attention to what matters, because I’ve been paying so much attention to Caitlin. I’ve broken my rules and let myself down. I’ve betrayed all I’ve ever told myself I’d stand for — ever since I was that kid who used to pick pockets to survive.
Something snaps inside me. I’m realizing how much I’m failing my business, my people, my mission, and my future.
More words rise to my tongue, these ones more like acid than bile.
Only the mission matters. Only my purpose matters.
“It’s like you said: Caitlin is just an infatuation,” I say, my hands shaking against my desk. “I’ve let it go too far, but I won’t anymore. It’s just sex. That’s it. That’s all it’ll ever be.”
My thoughts are in an uproar, alive and screaming.
“I promise you, Alexa: Caitlin means nothing to me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CAITLIN
WE HAD PLANS TO VISIT the zoo in San Diego, but Anthony texts me as I’m just waking up. Can’t make today. Will be in touch later. Sorry.
It disappoints me, but I understand. Anthony’s a busy guy. The text is a bit less enthusiastic than normal, but again: Anthony is busy. I’ve been sitting right next to him when he’s dashed off many hurried texts. They’re not always warm and fuzzy. The people around him have learned that sometimes, getting things done trumps cheeriness — even from the energetic Anthony Ross.
Still, as I get out of bed, splash water on my face, and brush my teeth, something about that text bugs me. I look at it again, then again. As if it might change.
I can’t quite figure out why I’m obsessed, and I wonder what it says about me that I can’t stop looking at it.
I further wonder why, by 10 a.m, I still haven’t figured out what to do with my Saturday. Maybe that’s because every Saturday for the past month, Anthony has made the plans.
We had sex in his Del Mar mansion, on a mission to screw in every room on the third floor. It took an hour even though we moved quickly. There were a lot of rooms. And when Anthony finally popped, we had coffee to recover. Then we resumed, finishing off the rooms — though
I know we missed some secret passages.
We went to the beach, put up a tent, and had sex while everyone walked by. That was kind of a thrill: public sex without being public. Nobody could see us; we stayed quiet; we put up in the shade so even our silhouettes couldn’t give us away. We were off the main drag, but I could still hear foot traffic. It gave both of us a thrill, and afterward we took a long walk, talking about whatever came up. Then we went back to the tent and did it again.
We went hiking. Fucked at a hiker’s rest point. Saw a bobcat. I gave Anthony head overlooking the valley, and we both laughed that someone somewhere probably had a zoom lens to record it all.
And now the zoo. I’m not sure how sex fit into the trip we were supposed to go on today, but it would have. That’s why we do these things: for the sex. That’s our understanding.
I’ve never had so much varied and enthusiastic fun in a fuck-buddy relationship, but I love it. You’d think it’d be like empty calories, and that after each encounter I’d feel either hollow or maybe even used, but that’s not how it’s been at all.
Honestly, this is no less fulfilling than a real relationship.
I look at my phone again. Anthony hasn’t texted back, and I realize that part of me thought he would have. He’s big on little things, and between us, series texts have been one of them. After I get one message, I usually get another and another.
But not today.
Can’t make today. Will be in touch later. Sorry.
I wonder why it bugs me. Maybe it’s because there’s no mention of rescheduling. How are we supposed to find a hidden corner and show the monkeys how it’s done if we don’t make plans?
I’m being stupid. Something came up, that’s all — probably something with the project that has Jamie so concerned.
I’ve done as Jamie asked, but so far I’ve found nothing. That’s not surprising; there’s so much to go through that it’s like a needle in a haystack. I rummage through old paperwork. I search electronic files. I scan through the massive archive of recordings in the conference app Jamie showed me.
The Guru (Trillionaire Boys' Club Book 6) Page 14
