Love at the Electric

by Hughes, Jenn

  She squinted at him. “Wow. That sounds horrific. I should call the police.”

  “Preston wants to keep you at Mythos and away from me because he knows it will make me miserable. I want to be with you, but I also don’t want you to give up your dream job. I’m stuck between knowing you’d be happy and hoping you’d be happy. Does that make any sense?”

  Lillian closed her eyes and rubbed the throbbing rock doubling for her head. “Yes, it makes sense.”

  She finally looked at Sam, who stared back at her like a horse waiting for a gunshot to start the race. “And?” he asked.

  “And it’s not so easy this very second to tell you what I’m going to do.”

  “So the money matters that much, huh?”

  “Don’t give me that, Sam. There’s a big difference between being money hungry and simply enjoying the security of never having to worry about losing your home or your future. If love were money, my parents would have been considered insanely wealthy, but you and I both know it isn’t. I had the grades to get into Boston University but not the funds, so I took out all the loans I could and when it wasn’t enough, I worked. Two jobs, all the way through law school. It was incredibly tough and, until my job at Mythos, I was still paying for it.”

  “Loan interest reared its ugly head?”

  “Like a fire-breathing dragon. When I graduated, I worked twenty-hour days and could barely afford my rent. You have to prove yourself to earn more, and that takes time. So, I put my nose to the grindstone. But sometimes, when all the bills came due at once, I had to choose between defaulting or surviving off stale office donuts and my roommate’s leftovers for a day or two.”

  “God, Lillian. It was that bad?”

  “No, not really. You dunk a stale donut in coffee, and it’s delicious,” she deadpanned. Sam’s furrowed brow forced her to give him a tense smile. “Okay, it wasn’t fun. But ask anyone in my family, and they’ll tell you I’m the strong one. The dependable one. They think those are compliments, but they can be burdens. You can’t be the one everyone else leans on and still feel like you can relax or just go with the flow. So do you understand that everything going on with you and me and Richard and Preston is inherently complex, right down to my DNA?”

  Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. I get it. So, what do you need from me to make this work?”

  Lillian thought about it. Truly considered what she wanted and needed from Sam Owens to justify ruining her career. To stop being the strong one. To trust in someone else and an uncertain future. And finally, she decided it came down to an all-or-nothing kind of thing.

  “I want to get to know you. Mr. Coverboy and Mr. Gamer and Mr. Movie Geek and anyone else you have hiding in there. No more disguises. And no more conveyor belt of girlfriends. I’m not interested in competing with a litany of other women, so I have to be enough for you. You have to be ready to give this—us—a real shot, because being with you means giving up something I’ve worked for my entire life.”

  Sam blew out a breath and then scratched his chin. “I told you I wouldn’t play games, so I’m going to be honest. I want that, too, but—fair warning—I might screw up. I’ve never been an actual boyfriend, and it’s a big change with a lot of responsibility.”

  “I’m worth it, Sam. No, I’m not an impossibly perfect Norwegian goddess with mile-long legs and, yes, sometimes my pants won’t button so I use a rubber band to hold them in place until I lose a few pounds but, you know what? I really am worth the effort. But you have to believe that, too.”

  His smile fanned the glow inside her dark heart until she thought it might burn through her chest. “I know you’re worth it, Lillian, and I can make changes. So, let’s do this. Dating. Monogamy. The truth. All of it.”

  Lillian smiled, her heart a four-alarm fire. “I’m so happy to—”

  “I’ll run it by marketing first thing tomorrow.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked, rubbing her ear. In case it was plugged with something. Because she had to have misund—

  “Oh, well, I mean, I’m in total agreement with everything you said you wanted. But we may need to keep it under wraps for now. Until we’ve run the numbers to see how well my revealing myself to the world will play. It’s going to be a one-eighty, so it might be something we do in stages. Clothing change. Phase out the publicity blitzes. Maybe we start getting photographed together in a few weeks . . . ”

  Disappointment hit her like a sledgehammer. First in the head. Then again in the chest. “Are you seriously telling me we can’t be seen together until your company decides it won’t affect the price of stock?”

  He gave her a confused look. “Well, it doesn’t mean we won’t be dating. I . . . I have to consider how an image change will affect Origin. It’s a big deal. My schedule is booked with publicity events the entire first half of next year, and they expect Sam Owens. CEO.”

  The bummer fire brigade showed up and snuffed out her heart-fire in seconds. Desire and anticipation seeped out of her like air from a deflating balloon. Lillian suddenly felt very dull and gray and tired. Normal. And normal was safe.

  Sam had done exactly what she wanted. He’d been honest. But there were two kinds of honesty—the kind she wanted to hear, and the kind she needed to hear in order to stop herself from making another huge mistake.

  Lillian rolled off the bed. She picked up his sweater from the floor and then held it out to him before coolly countering, “I understand. But packaging our relationship according to the desires of your company doesn’t work for me. I think you should leave.”

  He groaned. “C’mon, please don’t do this. I meant what I said—I do want you, and there’s something real between us. Keeping our relationship out of the spotlight has nothing to do with how I feel about you because I do care. I can be what you need . . . but I need to let the rest of the world believe the same old story for a little while. For Origin.”

  Every ounce of strength in Lillian’s body went into attempting to remain calm. “I’ve been the other woman, and I’ll never be that again. There’s no way in hell I’m in the mood to compete.”

  Sam stood up on the bed, the mattress wobbling and jerking under him, and then jumped off onto the floor. He started to come to her, but she held up the sweater between them. Proximity to Sam weakened her resolve.

  “Wait,” he pleaded, the worry on his face widening the crack in her broken heart. “I realize I’m not saying what you want to hear, but I'm being honest. My life may be complicated, but we can make this work.”

  “I understand you have a complex life . . . and I don’t want to make it more so.” Lillian stepped aside and pointed toward the living room. “It’s very late, and I’m tired, and I want to go to bed. Alone. Go home, Sam. To whichever one you prefer.”

  The quiet in the room had so much gravity Lillian thought the walls must be straining from it. A black hole of silence sucking everything into the dense center of the room. Sam must have felt it, too. He let out a heavy sigh and stood there, sweater in hand, with a strange, broken sort of look.

  And then he walked out. A few seconds later, Lillian heard her front door open. Close. Then more silence.

  Every time she let Sam Owens walk away, it felt thoroughly wrong. She wanted to run after him. Give in and have fun and worry about the ending later.

  But in the roar of noise inside her brain, all those terrible little insecurities screamed their ugly slings. Can’t find another job. Getting older. Might be the last chance. Six-pack abs . . .

  “Biology is such a bitch,” Lillian muttered, fanning herself.

  She slung a pillow across the room, then crawled into bed under her messy covers. Her ears rang from the emptiness of her home. She closed her tired eyes and listened, hoping for a sound.

  A knock.

  The wiggle of the front doorknob.


  Sam calling her name.

  A sound simply saying she wasn’t alone.

  Chapter 23

  Misery and Company

  The handful of times Sam had taken a day off from Origin usually meant illness, and required slumming around in his robe and pajamas. Maybe conquering another intense level of Firespawn. Pretty much always finishing his leftover, week-old Chinese takeout. Heaven.

  But instead of the pearly gates of Saint Peter, Sam walked through the automatic sliding glass doors of Port Bristol International Airport on his way to a little café outside the main terminal. Time for an espresso at Blowhole Coffee and a shot of parental hell.

  The name of the place was actually Bowhead Coffee. His dad had lost his glasses somewhere in the airport in Stockholm, and his mother refused even to acknowledge the fact she needed glasses. So when they called to let him know where to meet them, they’d referred to Bowhead as Blowhole.

  It didn’t matter. Sam knew what they meant. And meeting up with them was never hell. He loved them, and looked forward to briefly seeing them before they flew to California for the holidays. But it took a lot of effort to keep them occupied, and the alternative meant allowing his mother the opportunity to examine his life a little too carefully. He couldn’t afford the Sam-sized magnifying glass.

  The Bowhead Coffee sign, a big blue whale with coffee spurting from its blowhole, came into view midway down the dining annex. Sam glanced at his watch. Ten minutes late. Never gonna hear the end of it.

  The crowds in the annex slowed him down, but not as much as his sore body. It had turned out to be an actual sick day. Underneath his grunge band T-shirt and old, ripped jeans, he suffered from a full-body heartache. All thanks to Lillian Walker.

  He walked like a cowboy after a weeklong ride. His own fault, though. Everything he never realized he wanted had been right there in front of him. On a bed. Ready for and wanting him. All Lillian wanted was to be put first. Treated the way she deserved. And Sam managed to screw it up completely.

  As he approached the café, Sam saw a distinguished silver-haired man seated at the tables outside the café doors. Dad kept his azure eyes on Mom, who sat across from him at the tiny metal table. Her shock of bobbed white hair fluttered as she gestured prolifically. Sam smiled and tried to walk naturally to avoid suspicion, but a specific kind of pain located in his crotch made it more than a little difficult.

  “There he is!” Mom shouted, jumping up from her chair.

  She briskly walked over to him and . . . Mom Smash. Similar to the classic comic book move, but with more love and no green skin. He didn’t even have a chance to get his hands out of his pockets before it happened.

  Mom took no prisoners when it came to hugging, and so Sam stood there captive until she’d finished. Once she had, she leaned back and felt of his forehead.

  “You’re very cold. Are you sure you aren’t—”

  Sam hushed her with a big hug. “Like I said on the phone, I’m fine. I’m cold because I walked in from Maine in the winter.”

  His mother dragged him over to the table where his dad stood waiting with an outstretched hand. Sam shook it, and braced himself for the inevitable recoil. Then Dad jerked him over. Sam went flying forward for another hug, followed by a fatherly slap on the back. When his parents were satisfied they’d broken enough bones with their love, the three of them took their seats at the café table.

  “We don’t have to stay here, you know,” Sam suggested. “You have plenty of time before your flight. We could go grab some lunch at that farm-themed restaurant you wanted to try last time you were here and—”

  His mom held up her hand. “Stop right there, Samuel. Something is wrong. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what it is.” She raised her eyebrow and leaned in closer. “And I mean anywhere.”

  An ugly threat. Sam swallowed hard. His blood pressure skyrocketed. Mom had handed him an ultimatum—spill the beans, or Sam would spend the rest of December entertaining his parents. Off the top of his head, he came up with three activities to keep them busy for a total of about two days. That left at least a couple of weeks of intense Sam-focused scrutiny. Way too long.

  He unzipped his hoodie and tugged on his T-shirt to cool off. If he wanted a chance at having a relatively peaceful holiday, he’d have to come clean. Sam leaned back in his chair and stole a glance at Dad’s amused expression before focusing on Mom’s determined one.

  “Okay, okay. I’m having a . . . Well, it’s sort of an interpersonal issue, and I haven’t found the right tools for resolving it. It’s HR, basically.”

  “Interpersonal issue, hmmm?” Mom asked.

  Sam nodded.

  “Human resources?”

  “Yeah. No big deal. Nothing I can’t—”

  “Interpersonal HR issue, my foot. You’re lovesick.”

  “Holy . . . Why would you think—”

  “Honey, it’s written all over your face. A mother knows these things. And you mentioned a woman on your phone call. That has never happened. I’m on red alert.”

  Dad coughed, then gruffly interjected, “Now, Patty, don’t jump the gun.”

  Sam shook his head and sighed. “She’s right, Dad. In the interest of time, I might as well rip this off like a bandage. She won’t stop until she gets the truth.” He aimed his attention at his mother. “Her name is Lillian. She’s an attorney. I’m crazy about her.”

  Mom’s hand went to her mouth. She whispered something almost inaudible.

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I heard that. You said something about grandbabies, didn’t you?”

  “Absolutely not. That’s ridiculous. Let’s get back to the issue between you and Lillian.”

  “I keep screwing things up.”

  “Language, Samuel.”

  “Mom, how is that bad language?”

  “It sounds too aggressive unless you have a cordless drill in your hand.” She folded her arms and sat back in her chair, eying Sam fiercely. “Tell me what happened, Sweetpea.”

  And so began a good thirty minutes of abject humiliation. Sam told his parents, from beginning to end, about his roadblocks and repeated failings with Lillian. From Preston and Mythos to his preoccupation with Origin over his love life, he filleted himself. Red and raw and ugly.

  By the end, he’d sweated through his T-shirt. Mom shook her head over and over again, and Sam waited for the ‘I’ll never have grandbabies at this rate’ speech. Or the ‘She’s not good enough for you, anyway’ speech, since immediately finding something wrong with someone was kind of her superpower.

  But to Sam’s surprise, Mom leaned over and squeezed his clasped hands. Then she smiled that Mom-smile making him feel like everything would be okay.

  “You’ve made a mess of things, but this is not an irredeemable situation. Lillian obviously cares about you. Obviously. Who wouldn’t love you? You’re adorable. And she made it crystal clear what she wanted. If what you want is to move forward with her, you will have to leave some things and certain people behind.”

  Sam didn’t need a second major in aerospace engineering to know what Mom’s raised eyebrow meant. “I get what you’re saying, but the dates and the photo shoots and stuff aren’t real. I’m not involved with every woman I’m photographed with. It’s part of the image.”

  Dad stepped in. “Son, what makes you think you still need the image?”

  “Everything that happened at MIT. I lost something super important to me because I was . . . me. A clueless dork. Origin wouldn’t exist if I was still that guy and I can’t let it suffer because I’m not willing to play a role. People are counting on me, Dad. People with families and mortgages and lives dependent upon the success of my company.”

  His dad leaned against the table and smiled at Sam. “Think about what you said for a second.”


  “I know. I know I’m about to lose something else important. But I don’t know how to make it all work.”

  “Sammy, you are not successful because of the parties you throw or the way you look. You’re successful because you’re smart and talented and you make a product people want. Being yourself will bring the right people to you. The rest of ’em can go to hell.”

  “Harold!” Mom scolded.

  “Give it a rest, Patty,” Dad said, disregarding her with a wave of his hand. “If the boys heard the way you cuss those blue-haired biddies you play bridge with . . . ”

  Sam thought about Dad’s mini-afterschool special while his parents argued over Mom’s secret cursing—a helpful tidbit filed in the back of Sam’s brain for future use. Dad was right. But taking the first step by losing his carefully cultivated image felt overwhelming.

  He’d need to time warp back to being old Sam again twenty-four seven. Work even harder to make Origin stay at the top. He’d have to think outside the box and in another dimension to keep the company in the news. Devote an insane amount of effort to extracting Ravi Ganesh from his gaming lair to get some fucking work done . . .

  She’s worth it. Remember?

  Sam held up his hands. “All right, ceasefire. Let’s focus on the matter at hand. I’m a loser if I lose Lillian. It’s that simple.” He whipped out his phone and unlocked it.

  “Cedric?”

  “Yes, Sam.”

  “Text Jacinda Shields. Tell her I’m sorry, but I have to cancel on the party. Something came up. I’ll call after New Year’s, and we’ll have lunch. Then have a couple of bottles of her favorite champagne sent to her New York address as a peace offering.”

  Cedric dinged. “Yes, Sam. I have ordered the champagne to be delivered today, and I scheduled the text to be sent once delivery is confirmed.”

  Sam grinned. His AI caught on fast when it came to women. “Good thinking, Cedric. Gift first, bad news second. Now, how many blocks categorized under photo shoots, interviews, parties, or red carpet events are upcoming on my schedule?”