I’m in lust with Mark Taylor.
I let my head fall back against the chair as those words roll through my mind. It’s three in the morning, and I can’t sleep, so it’s the perfect time to ponder such thoughts.
Mark is still sleeping—I think, since I’m in the guest bedroom again and he’s not—so I’ve crept into his office with my laptop, intending to do some work. If I can’t sleep, I might as well make the most of it.
Except that my laptop is closed and my mind is full of him.
Lust is an interesting word. I’m in lust is an even more interesting phrase. It starts out almost sounding like I’m in love, then it takes a hard, hissing turn at the end. It’s not hearts meeting like you thought it would be; it’s bodies slapping together.
Or maybe it’s bodies and desires meeting. Carnal, yes, but not crude. There is no romance, but it is intensely felt.
I close my eyes and run my hands down my torso, skim them over my breasts and belly, curl them caressingly around my neck. It’s not even close to Mark’s touch, but I need something. I’ve become an addict for him after only two nights.
Outside, the neighborhood is almost eerily quiet. I thought my place in the Outer Sunset was pretty calm, but now I’m particularly aware of how often cars and people go down my street, even in the middle of the night. Nothing moves outside here, as if even the cars don’t dare disturb a billionaire’s rest.
I should be getting the most restful sleep I’ve had since I moved to the city, but I suppose now that I’m used to noise, the quiet keeps me awake.
Or maybe it’s awareness of him just down the hall. Or at least I assume so. I haven’t yet seen his room.
I feel a bit like Belle in Beauty and the Beast when she’s tempted to search the forbidden wing of the castle. Mark might roar at me, but my curiosity is a powerful thing.
What’s his room like? What’s he hiding in there? Is he even in there? If I find his room empty, would I have the bravery to search it?
But all those questions will remain unanswered tonight. Whatever we have, it’s not a relationship and it wouldn’t survive my invading his privacy. I know that without having to test it.
So instead I sigh and open up my laptop. My email program tells me I have almost two hundred emails waiting for me, and my Slack channel tells me I have God knows how many messages waiting. Hopefully it’s just the ladies of Ultra quoting movies at each other rather than anything serious. Sometimes—often, actually—our work communications devolve into hilarity.
I ignore all that. Work might be calling, but I want to take some time to recall why I’m doing all this.
Once more, I open the files Grace sent to me. Only this time as I review them, I’m not thinking of how to stop Fuchs.
I’m thinking of what to tell Mark. If I should trust him with this.
This is a lonely fight I’ve chosen. I didn’t dare tell any of my team the real reason I started Ultra. Besides Grace, who is God knows where, I’m the sole holder of this massive secret.
I want to share some of this burden, but I’m not even certain if I told Mark about all this that he’d even be concerned. Or maybe he’d be concerned but wouldn’t think it was his place to interfere.
Mark and Fuchs are of the same breed—masters of this particular universe. Grace and I, on the other hand, are both cogs. Mark may be sleeping with me and showering me with gifts, but that doesn’t change our fundamental places in this ecosystem. Fuchs remains his natural ally.
I want Mark to be my ally though. I want someone to finally trust in all this, someone with the strength to fight Fuchs on his ground. If Mark was on my side, everything would be so much easier. Mark can talk to people I can’t, twist arms that I wouldn’t dare to touch. And Fuchs would be afraid of him.
Those considerations are tempting. If it were only me in danger here, they’d be enough to convince me to trust Mark.
But there’s still Grace, out there somewhere, putting herself on the line to pass this to me.
Grace, where are you? Are you okay?
Of course there’s no answer. I close all the files, sighing as I do. It’s time to take the risk I’ve been trying to avoid. But Grace’s been silent too long, and I need to know she’s okay.
I drag a program I’ve been working on into the shared secure file. It’s a simple messaging app, basically a stripped-down text messenger but encrypted up the wazoo. If my testing is correct—and I’m pretty sure it is—Fuchs won’t be able to read the messages even if he can intercept them. Grace herself will have to enter the code to unscramble them. I hope I’ve made the code obvious enough for her to figure out.
The app itself looks completely innocuous. I’ve disguised it as a Mandarin-English dictionary. The graphics are crude, like something thrown together for a quick buck. Not at all like a supersecret messaging system. In my head, I’ve been calling it “tin can on a string.”
If she’s caught communicating with me, she could be in big trouble. But she’s already left me the files; I’ll leave it up to her to decide if using the app is worth the risk. I close the shared file, praying Grace finds it soon and can install it. I don’t dare leave any instructions in case she’s caught accessing the secure shared file.
I close my laptop, my nerves sparking like downed power lines. I haven’t done anything wrong, at least not technically, but the sense of sick guilt, like Fuchs is waiting around the corner to pounce on us, is horribly powerful.
When the light snaps on in the office, my heart leaps out of my skin.
Mark is there in the doorway, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. Holy hell, I wasn’t wrong about the hours in the gym. His biceps, shoulders, and pecs are like art, and his abs… Is there something beyond art? Maybe miraculous? With the hair dusting his skin, so smooth with a hint of a tan, potency practically shimmers off him.
He looks so solid, so strong, that I want to launch myself into his arms. I want to beg him to be on my side, to help me fight this battle.
Instead, I swallow down my anxiety. It burns my throat as I do.
“You okay?” he asks. His voice is rough, his eyes heavy. He must have just woken up. It’s a good look on him.
I thank God I shut the laptop already. “I couldn’t sleep. You know how sometimes you get ideas and they won’t leave you alone?”
“Yeah. Except it hasn’t happened to me in a while.”
I lean over the desk, wishing he would come closer. “Do you still wish you were coding? Or is that too lowly for you now?”
As if hearing my secret wishes, he comes over, pulls me out of the chair, then sits down, this time with me in his lap. His skin is hot, rough with hair, and he smells… I’ll forever call that particular scent “Sleepy Mark.” It’ll haunt my dreams after this.
“There’s no point in my coding anymore.” He runs his nose down my neck, teasing me with the possibility of a kiss. “I’m too rich to waste the time.”
My first instinct is to tweak him, but he sounds so sad I hold back. “I would think you’d be too rich to not do whatever you want.”
“It’s a funny thing about being wealthy”—this time his lips find my skin, and I shiver even though I’m burning up—“you find that a shit ton of your time is spent managing your money or adding to it. Like a treadmill that won’t stop.”
I tip my head to the side, encouraging him to keep going. “You can always get off the treadmill. If you want.”
I don’t know why I’m pushing him like this. Being the master of the tech universe suits him. Except… there’s that thread of sadness in him. It pulls at me.
“Are you trying to get me to work for you?” He’s amused, but it’s muted. “I don’t come cheap.”
Costs. Expenses. Money. That’s what it always seems to come down to between us. And no, I can’t afford him. This relationship will likely end up costing me more than I ever wanted it to, no matter how hard I try not to fall for him.
“You always wanted to make things in college,” I say. “Do you make anything now?”
“Money.”
“Yes, you do. You’re very good at that.”
He leans close to my ear. His breath tickles in the hottest way. “I’ll tell you a secret—once you have enough money, it just starts making itself.”
“Like perpetual motion?”
“Pretty much.” He’s found the most sensitive patch of skin between my ear and my neck, a place I didn’t even know existed, and he’s making that skin sing.
“I don’t think I’d ever want to stop making things. Even if they’d only be for my own curiosity.”
“When we sell Ultra to the highest bidder, you won’t have to. You can be a woman of leisure. Travel the world.”
“Maybe I’ll become a VC.” I say that to hide how unsatisfying the other stuff sounds. I want my friend to be free. I want the world safe from Fuchs. Traveling the world seems selfish compared to those.
Mark shakes his head. “You’d be miserable. There’re no puzzles to solve, no tricky circuits to design. Only twisting people’s arms over deals. And always chasing the next unicorn.”
No, I wouldn’t like that. And the Mark I knew in college wouldn’t have either.
But he’s clearly not the man he was in college. He’s more confident, more powerful, more dangerous.
More attractive.
I could say no to him then, but I definitely can’t now.