Page 4

I wake up soon after sunrise. The remains of a dream fade from my mind like wisps of smoke, and as I blink awake, I try to grasp at them, pulling them to me for comfort.

It was a sweet dream, familiar, like sinking into a warm bath.

But I can’t remember the details. All I recall is a feeling , and arms around me, and knowing I was safe.

Rolling over onto my stomach, I groan into the pillow as the waking world takes hold. And then I remember last night.

I take a moment to wallow in embarrassment, staring out at the fog-thick city. It’s still raining. My head hurts, but it’s nothing a little water won’t fix.

Groaning, I roll out of bed and rummage in my duffle. I haven’t properly unpacked, and my duffle and the surrounding floor already look like an explosion site. Locating a comfortable pair of jeans and my favorite sweater, I dress quickly, shoving my recording device into my back pocket.

As I brush my teeth in the en suite, I stare at myself in the mirror, eyeing my dyed blonde hair and its dark roots.

I stand out like a trashy thumb in these expensive surroundings.

I wish I could undo all the mistakes from last night.

The booze, the kiss, the pathetic invitation to bed.

But if I’m already wishing, I may as well wish to undo all the other nights just like it.

Sighing, I pull my hair into a loose braid. Then I wash my face, swipe on some mascara, and call it good enough. If I make too much of an effort, Ian will think I’m trying to seduce him. He already thinks that.

“God, Katherine,” I say aloud to my reflection. My eyes are red-rimmed, my pale skin flushed with emotion. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

Unable to stand the sight of myself any longer, I turn back to the bedroom, staring listlessly out the window.

The clouds are so low they’re almost on top of us, neon advertisements lighting up their undersides.

I go to the window, determined to overcome the fear I felt last night.

Maybe I can make myself into someone useful, piece by piece, if I try very hard.

I press my palm to the glass. It’s cold, foggy with condensation, and I imagine I can almost feel the rain on the other side, wind-lashed and icy.

Something buzzes through me all at once: excitement?

Terror? Arousal? I gasp, closing my eyes, and suddenly I’m falling again.

Tumbling out into the morning, the skyline needle-like below me.

And then the abyss rises up, swallowing the skyline.

Black. Endless. The abyss is a crack in the sky, or in my chest, and I’m drawn into it, slowly crushed under the pressure, unable to—

There’s a sharp knock at my door.

I jerk back to the moment, breathing hard.

“Just a second!” I call out, sitting on the edge of the bed. I take a few deep breaths, waiting for my adrenaline to chill. It’s the height. It’s fine. I’ll just stop looking out the windows.

When my heartbeat finally starts to slow, I go to the door and open it.

Ian stands outside, holding a steaming mug. He looks just as appealing this morning as he did last night, I notice with a pang of annoyance. “I thought you might need help with your early start.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the mug. He seems… normal. Not avoiding my gaze, and he’s obviously not planning on kicking me out. Maybe my drunken antics really weren’t that bad. By the time we get downstairs, my spirits are a little higher.

I also can’t help but notice that Ian is dressed just as impeccably as last night, in black slacks and a grey Henley that looks like cashmere. But unlike last night, the round glasses are perched on Ian’s nose.

I swallow dryly, then take a much-needed sip of coffee. I was such an idiot to let him kiss me. Now that I know how good he tastes, I’ll never stop wanting him.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I have eggs, bacon, toast. I don’t cook much, but when I do, breakfast is my specialty.”

My stomach turns, a memory of too much to drink. I wrap both hands around my mug. “I’m okay for now. Just coffee’s good.”

He nods, smiling. “Sleep well? Ready to get started? Ready to meet Eros?”

“Yes,” I blurt, skin tingling with anticipation. Just the mention of Eros revives me, energizes me. “Of course, yes to all of it. May I start recording?”

Ian steers me away from the kitchen, toward a nondescript door in the far wall. “You may.”

Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my recorder and press the red circle. The light flashes on, and I check to make sure I have enough battery life. Everything looks good.

“I have a question to start us off,” I say, sliding the device back into my pocket.

Ian unlocks the door by typing in a code on a small panel. Cool air rushes out to greet us when the door swings open. He ushers me inside a dark space, one hand at the small of my back. My skin alights at the touch. What is his deal ? Is he teasing me?

Then lights flicker on, illuminating a descending stairwell.

“Ask away,” Ian says.

“Why did you get me drunk last night?” I can’t help myself. I want to know for the sake of my pride. “It wasn’t to seduce me.”

“Did I get you drunk?” Ian says, beginning to descend. He gestures for me to follow, so I do.

“Three cocktails and a shot of tequila?” I prompt.

My slippers pad softly on hard metal stairs. Ian is still, bizarrely, barefoot. He says nothing.

“You offered me a drink the second I got here,” I push on. “And when I let you choose my poison, you served me what amounts to straight whiskey with a dash of sugar and absinthe. And you kissed me.”

He stops on the stairs. I stop two stairs behind him, and when he turns to face me, we’re almost eye to eye. His gaze is mild, amused.

“You weren’t trying to get me drunk, Ian?”

He looks me up and down, smiling softly. “You were nervous when you got here. You were sexy. And I got the impression you liked the kiss.”

I grit my teeth, pushing past him to continue down the stairs. “You put me in a position to humiliate myself.”

He follows close behind. “Humiliate? Where? I don’t see humiliation.

I see a woman who knows what she wants. A woman who’ll take a risk to get it.

You did nothing wrong last night, Kit. And neither did I.

Listen, I don’t need some straight-laced writer with a fear of authority writing my book.

I need someone who isn’t afraid to be herself.

To let herself go. To wonder. To ask. To kiss. To fuck.”

I say nothing. I can’t tell if I’m flattered or annoyed. He kissed me to find out if I’m a slut? Okay. Great. I guess for someone to write a book about his particular product, it makes a sad amount of sense.

I stomp sullenly down the stairs, Ian at my heels. When we reach the bottom, he stops in front of another door. It’s massive, heavy-duty, and armored. It’s intimidatingly important-looking, like the kind of doors I imagine they have in bank vaults.

Ian turns to me. “Are you ready to meet him?”

A shiver rolls down my spine, my moodiness dissipating all at once. I can’t help myself from beaming up at Ian. Finally, I get to meet him. The reason for the book, the reason I’m here. The elusive, the elite, the most sought-after luxury item in the world: Eros.

I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.

Eros is the tech advancement that has changed how we work, how we live, how we view computers as a whole.

There are entire offshoots of philosophy, of ethics, based around Eros.

There are even rumors of a cult that sprang up recently just to worship him.

“Yes. Yes. I’m so fucking ready.”

Ian grins, typing a code into the security interface, and the door unlatches. It opens, slowly, sliding from right to left. And then we step inside.

We’re standing in a wide, well-lit corridor. Like the stairwell we just came down, it’s bland and grey, a nondescript length of cement floor and dreary walls. The only thing breaking up the monotony are sections of wiring against the wall, like intermittent waterfalls of wire from floor to ceiling.

“Welcome to my lair,” Ian says, spreading his hands wide.

“It looks like a hallway,” I say for the benefit of my recording.

Ian laughs. “You’re not afraid of me, Kit. I like that. A lot of people are.” He turns to me. “Did you really want to fuck me last night?”

I freeze, startled by the question. I hesitate, wondering if there’s an answer he’s looking for. But I decide there’s no reason to lie. “Yes.”

He gives me a long look, his eyes roaming across my body without any indication of self-consciousness. “Good. You’ll like Eros.”

If I weren’t about to meet Eros, I would be losing myself in speculation about Ian’s plans for future drunken makeouts. But I’m too overwhelmed with anticipation, vibrating with excitement and nerves.

I’ve seen Eros of course. On television, in ads, even from very far away at certain high-security exhibitions downtown.

But Eros isn’t for people like me. He costs more than a private jet and requires far more upkeep.

I did plenty of research to prep for this.

I know everything there is to know about Eros — everything available to the public, that is.

And maybe… if the book does really well, if I’m really lucky, one day, I could even afford my own Eros.

“And here we are,” says Ian, stopping before a door marked with four letters in all caps: EROS.

“Only one Eros lives with me. The rest are off-site. The great majority of testing and manufacturing takes place in my factories and labs.” He smiles at me, his glasses gleaming in the fluorescent light.

“You’re about to meet my first successful Eros. ”

“What did—” I begin, as if I’m going to ask a coherent question. But all thought flees when Ian opens the door.