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Chapter Eighteen

Luke

Not Delivered

I stare down at my phone, my hand trembling like any second I’m going to curl it into a fist and crush the thing. I’ve tried to text Sera several times, and it keeps giving me that same message. Whenever I call, it cuts out without even ringing. Is her cell turned off? Or is she ghosting me?

My day is a busy one. Those suspicions won’t let up, whispering in my ear, telling me she lied to me, that this has all been a game. My heart, my instincts, and my soul – something I never thought about before Sera – tell me she would never do that. But my head can’t ignore the possibility.

Andy approaches me backstage. He seems on-edge, shifting from foot to foot. When he opens and closes his hands nervously, my assistant’s Michael Faraday tattoo shifts around.

“Relax,” I tell him. “You’re not the one who has to charm her. I do.”

“Cynthia Linx?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Sorry, boss, but if I had to charm her, I wouldn’t be complaining.”

“Is something wrong?”

He averts his gaze, shaking his head slowly. It’s like he can’t bear to look at me. I wonder if the stuff with Sera is making me suspicious about everyone and everything.

“The company,” he says. “We need this to go well. It’s not just your job on the line.”

I look at him, but he still doesn’t face me. He’s acting weird. I don’t buy the company angle, either. It’s like he’s saying what he thinks I want to hear.

But life is too busy to give me time to ponder this. I check the message I sent to her socials, but I remember she said she doesn’t use them often. She hasn’t seen that message, either… or she has, but she simply didn’t open it. Perhaps she’s already got what she wanted; perhaps now she and her team are working out how to get away with the sabotage.

“You’re up, boss,” Andy says. “Break a leg.”

I walk into the studio. Cynthia is renowned for flirting with guests, a woman of around thirty with a bob of blonde hair and a healthy – or the opposite, depending on a man’s perspective – layer of plastic surgery. She crosses her legs, raising a stenciled eyebrow suggestively at me.

Behind the camera, my PR manager is giving me a serious evil eye. Her suggestion was that I flirt with Cynthia because it will make me seem more human, approachable, and that’s what we need right now. But the thought of flirting with her feels like a betrayal to Sera: a betrayal to the woman who refuses to text me back.

“Are you ready?” Cynthia asks.

I adjust my tie. “Sure.”

“You can take that off if you’d be more comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” I say stiffly.

“Have it your way.” She flutters her eyelashes. I’m sure she’s used to men fawning over her… and she is. “Ready for the countdown? It’s not live, but I like my guests to be comfortable.”

It’s not live, meaning she can cut it any way she wants, meaning I have to be on my A-game.

After the countdown, she becomes even more animated, gesticulating so that her shiny bracelets catch the light. I wonder if this is a purposeful tactic to blind and disorient her guests. Because it’s working.

“Luke Cross, I have to say, this is an absolute pleasure.” She beams. “For a long time, you’ve been the enigmatic playboy of the tech world.”

“I’ve never been a playboy,” I say, and my PR manager glares at me like she wants my head to explode.

“Forgive me,” Cynthia goes on. “A turn of phrase I’m too accustomed to. You’ve certainly been enigmatic, though, releasing a series of wildly successful self-driving cars, rarely giving interviews or seeking the spotlight.”

“Being a CEO is about hard work,” I tell her. “With billionaires seeking the limelight and clambering of their fifteen minutes, obsessed with politics and social media clout, it’s easy to forget that. But real work happens in the dark; genuine work happens during long stints in the mine?—”

“Yes, well,” she cuts me off. “You’ve got your fifteen minutes now… with me. A more polite man might say thank you.”

It’s only when she leans forward that I realize how close the chairs are. A waft of perfume attacks me. Nothing compared to Seraphina’s natural scent. I try to get my Sparkplug out of my head, but it’s impossible.

When Cynthia tries to touch my arm, I lean away as much as my chair will allow. It must make for a strange sight. I appear as if I’m trying to run from her. She frowns.

“Do I stink?”

“No,” I say stiffly.

“So I smell nice, then?”

More glaring from my PR manager. “Yes, you… uh, you smell nice.” What the hell am I even saying? I regret it instantly, especially when she grins as though she’s won a victory.

“How has this recent disaster affected your dating life?”

“I’ve never had much of a dating life.”

“If you play your cards right, that could change…”

“Doing the right thing,” I go on, side stepping her comment entirely, “is what I attempted. I knew I had to be honest. The truth had to be revealed by me. I still believe this AI model has the potential to improve people’s lives drastically.”

Bored, she sighs. Almost reluctantly, she says, “Okay, so how could AI make your cars even better?”

“AI has the potential to adapt to a person’s personal driving preferences. Instead of relying on decision trees, it will learn traffic patterns, sense the best courses of action, prevent accidents…”

“Or go rogue,” she says. “How can you be sure something like this won’t happen again?” She laughs. “See… isn’t it much more fun when we talk about dating instead?”

“Someone tampered with the AI’s speech patterns—its personality, if you will. We are working to ensure this never happens again.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She yawns melodramatically. “But what about taking steps to ensure that a certain interviewer doesn’t go to bed alone tonight, hmm?”

“That interview was a disaster,” I groan an hour later, pushing the weight bar as Victor – strong as an ox for his age – spots me. “When she finally tired of speaking about the AI, which didn’t take long, she just wanted to flirt with me.”

Victor helps me rack the bar. “Isn’t that a good thing? That’s what your team wanted, isn’t it? That’s Cynthia Linx’s modus operandi.”

“But…” I walk to the edge of the private gym, grab my towel, and wipe the sweat from my face. I can feel Victor staring at me. We haven’t got long until it’s shower time, then more interviews.

“You’re thinking about the girl.”

“Her name is Sera,” I snap. “She’s not just a girl. She’s…”

Victor approaches, the solid, tall, muscular man I remember from when I was a kid, with those same kind eyes. “Listen, son, you’ve been on your own for a long time. Then you finally found somebody who turned your head. Who made you feel alive? I can’t blame you for throwing yourself into it?—”

“You’re making it sound like it was just some fling,” I growl. “But it was so much more than that. I can’t even fully explain what it was. It was…” Magic . “It meant a lot.” I sigh.

“I’d never tell you how to live your life.”

“But?”

“Who said there’s a bu?—”

“Cut the crap, Victor.”

He shrugs. “ But she works for TechGuard and she’s not responding to your calls or texts.”

When my phone vibrates, I quickly snatch it up. It’s a text from my assistant.

Andy: Cynthia has uploaded the interview already.

I click the link, then watch with my mouth hanging open. She’s edited out almost everything I said about the company, cutting it together to make it seem like we just flirted, and that’s it.

“She asked me what I want in a woman,” I growl, showing Victor the screen. I was thinking about Sera when I said, “I want somebody I truly connect with. Somebody I can imagine spending a life with. And yes, I’ve already met her.”

“Are you talking about me, per chance?” Cynthia asks.

“Maybe I am…”

I pause the video. “That part, when I said maybe I am, I wasn’t even answering that question. They’ve spliced it up to make it seem like we flirted more than we did. Those bastards.”

“Relax,” Victor says. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“No,” I snarl. “If Sera sees this… Don’t look at me like that, Victor. I get it. I’m a gullible asshole. I should know better. But what if she’s just having phone problems? That could be why she’s not responding. And she said herself that she rarely uses social media.”

“Lot of ifs in that scenario,” Victor murmurs. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I text her again, but again, I get the message undelivered notification. “This would only happen if she blocked my number or if my cell phone was off.”

Victor hands me his phone. “Try calling her from my cell.”

I take it, type her number in. This time, the phone rings… but she doesn’t answer.

Darkness grips me.

“She blocked my number.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. “I need to talk with her. In person.”

“In person? When?”

“Now,” I snap.

I storm out of the gym before Victor can ask what I mean. Perhaps I’m being a fool. Maybe she’s secretly laughing at me behind my back. But I need to look her in the eye so she can tell me, to my face, that those life-changing days in Vegas meant nothing to her.