Love So Dark: Billionaire Romance Duet

by Stasia Black

  I grin and drop a hand to the small of her back, guiding her to the left. Even though it’s the slightest touch, I feel like electricity pings through the pads of my fingertips at the contact. Jesus I can’t get enough of this woman.

  She keeps looking over her shoulder, so much that she almost plows into one of the computing stations.

  “Whoa, look where you’re headed, Miss Cruise.” I jerk her to the side just before she makes impact.

  “Oh!”

  Do I use it as a shameless excuse to hold her even closer to my side? Yes. Yes I do.

  “This place is…” She shakes her head, unable to keep the awe out of her voice, “… amazing.”

  I smile before leaning in. “I kind of think so too.” I pull back but don’t miss her contented little sigh before I do.

  “Let’s go. I want to show you what we’re currently working on.” I feel my mouth flatten into a line as we head forward the last few feet to the current drone. As excited as I am to show her what I’m working on, I know the prototype is still far from perfect. I’m not at all sure how today’s test is going to go.

  I lead Callie to a glassed-in room that runs along the back wall of the entire floor, effectively creating a very long, narrow room. I swipe my ID card and pull open the door. There’s rubber all around the door so that it suctions slightly when it opens and closes.

  The room is full of equipment and my lab techs bustling around making last minute preparations.

  “Mr. Vale,” says Amit, getting up from his computer and hurrying over to greet us. He’s a middle-aged Pakistani man and one of the best on my team. “Just in time for the nine a.m. prototype test.” Amit looks from me to Callie and I make the introductions.

  “Amit, this is Calliope. She’ll be joining the team to work on Falcon Six.”

  Amit smiles and holds out his hand. “Welcome to the team.” Then his attention turns back to me. “Let’s see if our latest set of calculations made any difference.”

  I nod and we head down the makeshift hallway along the window that separates the room from the rest of the floor. Callie follows as Amit continues running through the drone specifications.

  “If we use a low-pass filter capture, we can catch large objects on a collision course before they hit. But if we try to use any more complex filters, then the amount of data—” Amit shakes his head and Jackson continues where he leaves off.

  “—Becomes too much to calculate for effectiveness in real-time situations,” I finish.

  “Exactly,” Amit responds.

  “How do the computer simulations do with the new algorithm?” I ask.

  Amit waves his hand in a so-so gesture. “Sometimes the drone is able to respond in time.” Then he winces. “Sometimes not.”

  I grimace. “Let’s see how the test goes.” I turn to Callie. “Did you follow that?”

  “Your unmanned drone can’t get out of the way fast enough when things are in its way.”

  I smile and feel some of the tension ebb from my shoulders. “Exactly. At its most basic, that’s our problem. This is why we need some new eyes on the project.”

  She shrugs. “Just calling it like it is.”

  “Yes, well, maybe that will all change today and you’ll get to join in on an already-successful project rather than a struggling one. Take a seat.” I gesture toward several seats that line the wall by the window, then pull out my phone to check the time. 8:57. More and more people file into this side of the long room until a small crowd has gathered. Then Amit begins to lead the meeting.

  “You know we’ve been working on releasing a new and improved version of the Falcon Six BIOS. We’re here today to test what we’ve all been working so hard on over the past month. Hopefully we worked out the bugs and have gotten her up to speed.”

  He lifts a tablet from a nearby table. “Without any further ado. Falcon Six, solo flight directed only by GPS coordinates. Obstacles to encounter will be wind turbulence, a simulated tree branch and a secondary drone that is our stand-in for a bird or other air debris the Falcon might come across in the real world.”

  He looks down at the tablet in his hand, finger hovering over a button. “And go,” his finger descends and presses the screen.

  I look to the opposite end of the room along with everybody else. It’s hard to even make out the drone at first, it’s so far away. But I know what I’m looking for and I quickly catch movement and hear the slightest humming noise.

  There it is—my quadcopter prototype speeding in a fairly quick clip in our direction.

  Then comes the first obstacle, a loud burst of air like the rush of wind turbines sounds in the otherwise quiet room. Callie jumps beside me, she’s so startled by the sudden noise.

  It’s from the large bank of industrial size fans set up about halfway down the long room. They’re stacked three high, five wide, and are each four feet in diameter. We passed by them earlier but Callie must not have been paying attention.

  I lean forward in my chair, watching to see if the Falcon can recover from the simulated wind. The Falcon’s propellers are about a foot in diameter themselves, but the drone is still blown so far off course by the blast of air from the fans that I worry it’s going to slam into the glass wall partitioning the testing room from the rest of the lab.

  Just before copter blades meet glass, though, the drone course-corrects and continues on at a steady pace toward us. The collective gasp of the group around me is audible.

  Everyone wants this test to succeed. If we could create the first self-guided drone on the market, it would be game-changing.

  A lab tech at the halfway mark moves into the Falcon’s path and holds up a giant fake bushy branch. The second obstacle. Again, the drone alters its course, moving out of the branch’s way with plenty of space to spare.

  The people around me clap but I’m shaking my head. The response time was too slow. If these were real life, real time obstacles, those reaction times wouldn’t cut muster.

  The drone is coming closer, probably still about forty or forty-five feet away when one of the other techs in the group uses a tablet to lift a drone off a nearby table.

  Obstacle number three. It rises up in the air with a soft whir and advances toward Falcon Six in a steady path. At first it doesn’t look like the Falcon recognizes it or is going to do anything about it, but when the other drone is still a good four feet away, Falcon Six ducks and flies smoothly underneath.

  Cheers erupt from the people around me, but I’m stiff. The Falcon barely reacted in time.

  I stand up and take the tablet from John, taking control of the secondary drone. I’ve driven these so often it’s nothing to make the drone pull a U-turn and start heading back toward Falcon Six.

  It trails right behind the Falcon with no response at all from the lead drone. Then, with a few flicks of my finger, I loop the follow drone out in front of Falcon Six. I don’t even immediately put it in Falcon Six’s path. I give it about two feet lead space.

  It’s not enough.

  Falcon Six crashes straight into the second drone, sending them both to the floor in a loud, unforgiving clatter of impacting propellers and hard plastic.

  The reaction from the crowd is similarly audible. Gasps and cries of “No!” as well as a general shift of the group forward, like they could have stopped the calamity from happening in its last moments.

  I just stand still, completely unsurprised. But sometimes it’s best to make a clear, visual point. Today was not a success and I didn’t want anyone walking out of here thinking it was.

  “All right team,” I say, raising my voice as I step forward and look around the room. “We have our work cut out for us. Reaction time is still far too slow. We need real-time-response capabilities if we want a truly autonomous unmanned aerial vehicle…”

  I pause and take time to look each member of the team in the face, including Callie. I want her to know I consider her just as much a part of this team even though it’s her first day here. “�
�which is the entire goal of this product. Anyone can make a drone. Hell, you can look up schematics on the internet, order the parts, and build your own these days.”

  “We’re trying to break boundaries.” I pound my finger on the nearest desk in emphasis. “To do what has never been done before. I should be able to throw this,” I pick up a fist-sized geode paperweight, “at our quadcopter mid-flight,” I mime hurling it at top speed, “and it should be able to recognize, react, and evade it.”

  All around me heads are nodding. Good. I have their attention.

  Because while I don’t want them leaving here thinking this was a success, leaving feeling like failures won’t do anyone any good either. I’ve learned over the years that being a good leader means knowing when to push for more when I know they can give it. And I know the team around me can.

  “So of course it’s going to take us more than a couple of false starts. We’ve already improved reaction time by an incredible amount.”

  I turn and again I make sure to make eye contact with each person on the team. And again my perusal of the group ends up landing on Callie. I can’t help it. She’s like a magnet I can’t stay away from. All roads lead to Callie.

  “But the real world is messy.” I hold Callie’s eyes for a beat before turning to the room at large. “Still, we need our drones to be able to deal with anything life might throw at them. Literally.” I heft the geode in my hand and smile. The energy in the room has shifted. People seem recharged rather than disappointed. Good. That’s where I wanted to get them. There’s clapping and nodding.

  “Let’s get to it then,” I say. “Meeting with the software engineering group in ten.” I make a shooing motion and everyone scatters.

  I turn back to Callie. This is going to be some first day. “Hold onto your pants. We’re jumping straight into the deep end.”

  Fourteen

  CALLIE

  Jackson wasn’t joking. I spent the morning with my new team looking at code and trying to find ways to shave time off the pattern recognition algorithm.

  That’s basically what the problem comes down to. The drone’s taking in too much data at once to process it all fast enough to be able to react in time. To increase the speed, we need more processing power. I think through possible fixes, but each has problems that makes them not viable as real solutions.

  The real world is indeed messy. And why did Jackson look at me when he said that earlier? Does he sense there’s something important I’m not telling him? Does he guess about Gentry? Shit, only a few days of this and I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin with paranoia and anxiety.

  Except for the fact that Jackson’s drone not working is really only good news for me. This hit me about halfway through the day and when it did, the vice around my chest finally loosened so I could breathe easily again. There’s no moral dilemma or Sophie’s choice or whatever the fuck to face anymore. There’s no possibility of me stealing anything and giving it to Gentry because there’s nothing to steal! God, not that I would have done it anyway. Fuck no. But still. Now I don’t even have to stress out about it. Jackson hasn’t figured out the problem any more than Gentry has.

  So when I see Gentry’s burner phone number pop up on my screen while I’m coming back from the bathroom after lunch, I duck into a small alcove.

  Cold. Just be cold and don’t let anything he says get to you.

  “Yes?” I’m proud when there’s only a small tremor to my voice.

  “How’s the acquisition coming?”

  I put a hand to my suddenly churning stomach. It’s a physiological reaction whenever I hear the bastard’s voice. I just immediately want to throw up.

  I brace myself against the wall and swallow hard. You can do this, Callie. You’re safe. You’re in Jackson’s building. Gentry has no power over you except whatever you allow him.

  I swallow down the bile, hating that he knows by my silence he’s getting to me. “There won’t be any acquisition. Jackson doesn’t have his next-gen AI drone working yet. He hasn’t cracked it.”

  This time the silence comes from Gentry. “I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”

  “I’m not!” I only realize how loud I’ve spoken when a woman passing down the connected hallway looks in my direction. Damn it.

  “I’m not,” I whisper again, still with a vehemence I can’t seem to keep out of my voice when dealing with this fucker. “I’m not shitting you. He can’t get the drone to process data quickly enough. I just watched the prototype crash and burn today.”

  “I still want that prototype. And the program.”

  “But I just told you, it doesn’t—”

  “It doesn’t work yet.” Gentry’s slick voice purrs in my ear. “You still have two weeks to—how shall we say?—encourage Vale to iron out those kinks. I expect a working prototype in my hands by the end of our contracted date. Just wrap him around your little finger and then motivate the hell out of him. After all, we both know you have considerable talents in that area.” His tone is so lascivious and full of innuendo that this time I do gag and throw up in my mouth a little.

  “Don’t forget the consequences if you don’t comply,” Gentry’s voice turns hard. “I bet little Charlie needs his Mama more than ever now. In fact, I heard through the grapevine that he got kicked out of his latest day care program just today for getting into too many fights and biting other children.”

  What? My heartbeat hiccups in my chest. What is he talking about? How the fuck does he know anything about my son?

  “You stay away from my child.” My whole body is rigid and my voice goes low and deadly. “I will castrate you and shove your balls down your fucking throat if you or anyone you employ ever comes within even a thousand yards of my son. That’s ten football fields, just to be clear. Your balls.” I overenunciate each word. “Stuffed. Down. Your. Throat. Are we fucking clear?”

  “Relax, mama bear,” he says, sounding a little bit thrown by my sudden viciousness. Good. He can fuck with other parts of my life, but if he dares come near my son, so help me God, I will make good on my very bloody threat.

  “Many people are in my debt,” he continues, “including someone on the Board of Directors for the chain of nurseries your ex enrolled your son in. It’s in their best interest to keep me informed is all.”

  I scoff. “You mean you’re blackmailing them too.”

  “I’m merely illustrating a point. Your son is having a hard time without his mother. You can be so easily reunited. A happily ever after.

  It’s not a new feeling when it comes to Bryce Gentry, but I have the strong urge to learn how to disembowel somebody. Beyond that, it’s finally sinking in what he’s saying about Charlie. What if the fucker’s not bluffing?

  Number one, when the hell did David put Charlie in daycare? Is he even allowed to do that without notifying me? And two, if my baby’s having this kind of trouble, how the fuck am I not hearing about it? My chest goes tight and my heart starts racing. I’m furious but at the same time feel completely impotent. Because maybe they don’t have to notify me. I don’t have custody. I don’t have any rights when it comes to my own child’s well-being.

  “I expect to have the prototype and software in hand within two weeks—”

  I click end on the call and rush back into the bathroom. After hurrying into a stall and locking it, I bend over with my head between my knees. I don’t know if anyone else is in here with me, but hopefully they’ll ignore the huffing gasps of panicked breathing coming from this stall.

  Get yourself together, Cals. Breathe in. Breathe out. Shit. No, not breathe in again five more times like a hyperventilating chipmunk.

  Out. Breathe out. Slowly. Then in. Slow cleansing breath. Fill up the diaphragm. That’s right. I manage one full breath, then more hiccupping gulps before catching two complete ones.

  I sit down on the closed toilet lid and put my head in my hands. Dammit. How am I gonna hold this shit storm together?

  I feel like I’m
on a roller coaster that’s trundling forward. In two weeks, it’s going to hit one of those killer loop-de-loops. I’m going to have to make a choice. There’s no way off this ride, no matter how much I beg. I’m speeding ahead, strapped in. No way off. No fucking way off.

  The thought threatens to bring back my panic attack, but I close my eyes and continue my deep breathing technique. Freaking out about it won’t change anything.

  With one last gulp of air, I step out of the stall and go to the mirror. Smoothing down my hair, I check my makeup in the mirror. A slight sheen of sweat covers my face, so I blot it with a paper towel. There. No hairs out of place. My complexion actually looks even more dewy now and the lip stain I applied this morning has perfectly survived my Venti cup of coffee.

  I shake my head at myself as Gentry’s ugly voice reverberates in my head: just wrap him around your little finger and motivate the hell out of him. My hands lift, almost of their own accord and hover at the top button of my shirt. If I undid it, let just a little more of my ample cleavage show…

  I drop my hands and step back from the mirror, disgusted at myself. Oh my God. Am I actually letting that bastard get in my head? Taking his advice to seduce Jackson to get what I want?

  Tears bite at the edges of my eyes. It’s the position that men have put me in my whole life until I believed it’s all I was good for. That I only had my body to offer. Christ, it’s why I took the position with Gentry in the first place when I felt like I was out of options. Even now, I still can’t bring myself to believe Jackson really gave me this promotion because I actually deserve it. Because he thinks I have skills outside the bedroom that are worth something.

  I bite the inside of my cheek and turn away from the mirror. I straighten my back as I walk to the desk Jackson arranged for me among the hive of other top robotics engineers. As I sit down, I notice he hasn’t gone back to his office. He told me earlier that when the team is on deadline like this, he adopts a temporary office down here so he can be right in the thick of it. Indeed, I can see him at the end of the open room. His secondary office has walls of transparent glass and the door is propped open.