The alarm blared out at six like an alien invasion. Zoe blinked in surprise at the insidious digits—what the bleep was going on? Then it started to dawn on her, the incredible pieces of yesterday evening, clicking together like a jigsaw puzzle depicting a sumptuous scene from heaven.
A wave of pleasure washed over her, then one of pride. They hadn’t gone beyond kissing last night, but they didn’t need to when they had fingers and tongues and so much newness of each other to explore. After one more kiss and one long cuddle last night, Max had left to go home, just before midnight, and it had felt natural, not panicky, not threatening. How she’d managed to fall asleep with that level of excitement surging through her veins she had no idea. But slept she had, like a princess, until now.
Amphetamines had nothing on this. It was the kind of happiness that made her wish she had a trusted sister to giggle with deep into the night as she recounted every detail to her. But she had the next best thing. She couldn’t wait to tell Laura once she reached the office.
“Put me in your calendar for tonight,” Max had said. Yes, not to be clingy or anything, but she’d already slotted him in for the rest of her life, so hopefully he didn’t have any other plans. She hugged the pillow to her cheek and sighed in a new type of bliss.
No games.
No panic.
No hangover.
So this was what it felt like to be in a normal, adult relationship.
• • •
Laura was elated when she heard the news. “But what are you doing down here with me?” she scolded. “You need to be up there with him in seventh heaven.”
José happened to wander by. He possessed that astute boyfriend ability to know when girlfriends were getting excited about something important. “Red or green?” he asked.
“Green,” Laura said, grinning.
José clenched his fist. “Yes.”
“I’m glad you have my love life reduced to traffic signal mnemonics,” Zoe said, “but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” She looked meaningfully at Laura.
“Okay, orange,” Laura said.
“Good enough for me.” José strolled off toward the coffee machine, humming.
Then Zoe turned the conversation to Tyler’s departure, because Laura had been away on an external assignment yesterday and hadn’t heard that one yet either. Besides, words couldn’t really do justice to what Zoe was feeling about last night. It was relief to talk about something else in a semicoherent way.
“Whoa, I’m officially speechless,” Laura said. “It’s not like Tyler to be decisive. I’m just pissed off you didn’t push him out the door first.”
“It just didn’t seem fair when he hadn’t much disposable income.”
“Tyler’ll never have much disposable income. You’re not his mommy.”
“I thought he was your friend, too.”
“Oh, totally, in a hey-I-know-this-cool-rock star-guy kinda way, and I do like the guy, but he’s seriously cramped your style the past year, and it was my duty as a friend to keep reminding you of that, not that you ever listened to me. And I’m glad I don’t have to do that anymore. Promise me you won’t let him back in until he’s got at least six months’ back rent in his hand and has figured out how to use a washing machine.”
Zoe hesitated.
“Come on,” Laura urged. “Let Tyler have his Vikki, and may they both have horrid little thrash babies and enter into thrash-rock heaven. What’s it to you?”
Zoe laughed, picturing little Tyler sprogs with long, floppy hair and tiny leather jackets playing plastic guitars. “You know what? You’re right.”
“Now get into that elevator and dig your claws into a real man.”
• • •
There was little sign of her “real man” in P-12. His coat and scarf weren’t there either, but his freshly showered scent lingered in the dry, computer-fanned air. He’d been here this morning at some stage. She checked his agenda, and it was full of server-room duties. That would keep him cool—ha, ha.
What would keep her cool? After last night, how were they supposed to act like normal colleagues, each sitting primly at their desks, pretending nothing was going on between them, until it was time to go home again? It wasn’t like there was a switch she could just activate and deactivate. She should’ve picked up some expert tips from Laura, because she and José managed it somehow. Maybe Max had some ideas himself on the subject. If it weren’t for this damn project with its imperative deadline, they could take a week off, go to a tropical island, and just float away in ecstasy.
If he were just sitting there in his usual chair, his hands gliding over his keyboard in that dexterous way of his, that peaceful, intent look on his face, watching him would be enough to make her the happiest creature in the world. Because even when he was getting on her nerves, there had always been something about him, something deep that grounded her and made her feel less like a hot-air balloon careening wildly off course. Now that they’d become intimate, that feeling had intensified into something almost overpowering, something that felt suspiciously like need. She wasn’t equipped to deal with need. Fun, yes. Lust, yes. Excitement, too. But need? That was a new one.
His empty chair caused a heaviness in her chest. Every heartbeat seemed to be heralding imminent cardiac arrest. This couldn’t be healthy, this power he had over her. And yet, she was petrified he’d walk in, because it might break the spell. She might discover it had all been in her head. One night of fun, or whatever, two colleagues letting off some office steam. In which case, well, she’d be so mortified it wouldn’t be possible to sit in this office ever again. She’d have to ask for a transfer. And working with him would be out of the question.
Get a grip, Zoe. This is your dream project, your mission! Okay, all she had to do was compartmentalize her brain into “this freaking amazing thing between us” and “ze normal schedule for today”—do some parallel processing, as Evan would say.
Darcy. Maybe he could help. She had to break the news to him anyway, to have “the talk,” and the sooner the better. It may well be the hardest test he’d face. With any luck, the AI would take it like a man. Besides, his amazing powers of perception must surely have deciphered some clues from their behavior by now.
“Darcy, I switched you off last night. Did you not wonder at this?”
“I noted this, Miss Zoe, as I do all your behavior. However, my curiosity stopped short of escalating into a state of wonder.”
“But what do you conclude from it? I’ve never switched you off at night before.”
Darcy held her gaze with an ironic glint in his eyes. “You either switched me off because you were in somebody’s confidence and had secret affairs to discuss, or because you were weary and lacked the will to converse; if the first, I would have been completely in your way, and if the second, I am happy to contribute to your well-being by allowing you to rest. For I detect a bloom in your appearance and a note of happiness in your voice.”
“Oh, Darcy … ” How to explain? “The thing is—”
“Hi.” Max burst in, fully dressed in his coat and scarf. “Oh my God, it was freezing down there. Come here.” He bounded over in two strides and pulled her tightly to his chest. His lips found hers. All worries vanished in an explosion of twinkling stars and rainbows. So much for breaking the news gently to poor Darcy.
After a long, warm kiss, Max nuzzled his nose against her neck.
“Yeowch, you’re cold.” She laughed.
“I’m warming up.”
She tugged him in, giggling, her hands exploring him blindly under the coat, running along the hard lines of his body, still new enough to be intriguing but familiar enough to bring back a flood of delicious memories of last night. He shuddered, but his skin was hot.
“You okay for tonight?” he asked.
“Already adjusted the planning for it.”
“Aren’t you efficient?” His voice lowered. “And ravishing. I know you have this open-door policy, but this project has some sensitive aspects that need to be discussed”—he reached out with his leg and slammed the door shut—“behind closed doors.”
He wasn’t kidding. His hand had found some very sensitive aspects south of her collarbone. “Max ... ” Her words got swallowed up by her breathing, which was accelerating.
“I advise against this behavior,” Darcy said.
Max’s hands froze in their positions cupping her breasts. “You left him on?”
She clasped her hands over his. “I know. But I didn’t think you were going to … you know.”
Max pulled away and picked up her phone from the desk, holding up the display so he could look at the avatar head-on. “Darcy, old boy, Zoe and I, we’re having a … a liaison, right? You okay with that? Instead of the rampant poetry reading of your day, this is what we do. We’re getting acquainted.” He slid the phone back onto her desk.
“The phrase might’ve picked up some connotations since your day,” she added.
“While I delight in your getting better acquainted, Miss Zoe,” Darcy said mildly, “my advice was given on purely practical considerations, to save you both from certain dilemma.”
“Oh? Do explain.”
“I’ve a better idea,” Max muttered. “We shut him off.”
“I predict, on the basis of camera evidence, that your superior, Bob Chadwick, will enter the door in a matter of seconds.”
“Seconds?” she shrieked, springing away from Max. “How many?”
“Five.”
She made a dive for her chair. Max stood where he was and readjusted his scarf.
“Am I disturbing?” Bob asked, sauntering in.
Yes, very. She kept her head bent behind her monitor.
Max beckoned Bob toward his desk. “Not at all. We were discussing the merits of bespoke emulators for performance tests. Feel free to join in.”
Bob snorted.
One second later and he would have gotten lucky, and the thought of him discovering them having a private moment was nauseating. If she kept her head ducked behind her monitor she wouldn’t have to look at him. Please, Max, don’t encourage him.
Bob approached Max, hands on hips, and surveyed the room. “Very cozy. For the time being.” He homed in on Darcy on her phone. “I trust you have that under control.”
“Absolutely,” Max said.
She closed her eyes and prayed Darcy would keep his mouth shut. If he attempted blackmail, she’d kill herself.
“Good.” Bob rubbed his hands together. “Well, I’ll leave you both to it.” Then he strolled out again.
Max closed the door behind him and leaned his back against it, taking in rapid, shallow breaths, his face bathed in sweat. An allergic reaction? Yes, she couldn’t blame him. His fervent promise to protect her from Bob had come as a surprise the other day, and it was rather sweet in small doses. It had brought out a passionate side in Max she was curious to see more of. Now he looked extremely worked up.
“God, Max, I know he’s bad, but you look positively freaked.”
His impassioned blue gaze swept over her, making her heart thump almost painfully. God, he was beautiful. It was impossible to work like this. She had to know what he was thinking, where this was going, and whether this felt half as agonizing to him as it did to her. If looks could be trusted, it did.
He held a wrist to his forehead. “Not freaked, Zoe. I think I’m sick.”
“Sick?”
“Feels like the flu. I thought it was just the server room chilling me, but it wasn’t.”
“You can’t be sick.”
“Feel my forehead.”
She did. “Oh, shit.”
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“I always get a flu mid-November. And I did get kind of wet the day before yesterday.”
“If you always get the flu in November, then why didn’t you put it on the goddamn plan?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. Then he turned away from her and sneezed. “That’s it. I’m going home before it spreads to you.”
“But what am I going to do?”
“Wash your hands. Disinfect this place. Wipes are in my bottom drawer. Monitor your temperature. There’s a thermometer in the first-aid box in the closet to the left of the entrance to the canteen.”
“No, I mean the work, your work, the robustness tests.”
“You have to take over.” He was at the door.
She scrambled after him. “You can’t just say that and then bugger off. That’s not an option, Max.”
“Instructions are in my F: partition, folder ‘Darcy.’ Everything’s right there. We can’t let the schedule slip.”
“But—”
“Zoe, be pragmatic. I need to lie down. And I need to leave while I can still drive. I’ll be on the phone if you need me. Call me. Anytime.”
“Wait … ” What she wanted to say was, “I’ll come see you,” but under the circumstances she wouldn’t even see her own apartment for a while, let alone his. And she may well end up sick herself. There was no way they hadn’t shared germs last night, to put it clinically. What then?
Then they could write off the whole project.
“All right, go.”
“You can do this. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“It’s not like I have a bloody choice, is it?” she called after him. What a time to get sick.
But there had to be some way to keep the show running even with the main star absent. It would mean putting her own agenda on hold for a while, because it was more important to keep the essential tests running, those robustness checks he’d been harping on about and she’d turned a deaf ear to. She hated to admit it, but he had a point about not wanting the program to crash. Ever.
She found the antiseptic wipes and went around the office wiping every surface. “Darcy, what was on Max’s schedule for this afternoon?”
“A discussion with Bob Chadwick about resourcing at 3:00 p.m.”
“Pass.”
“Next item, at 4:00 p.m. is—”
“No, wait.” She scratched her neck to rid herself of imaginary fleas. “Just hypothetically, what exactly would that involve, that meeting with Bob?”
“Mr. Taggart has debated resource allocation with Mr. Chadwick for two weeks. As I understand it, he hoped to reach a conclusion today.”
“Human or hardware resources?”
“Both.”
“What happens if Max doesn’t get what he wants?”
“The testing schedule of my code will experience a delay by a month.”
“But we’d miss release! What’s so important about Bob’s project?”
“Mr. Chadwick’s project is of minor consequence. He does not require the resources, and his arguing for them is merely a tactic.”
“A tactic ... But why?”
“Mr. Chadwick desires for my release to be a failure in order that he may further his own agenda, namely to replace Mr. Hampton as chief executive officer of this institution.”
“Whoa. Are you sure about that?”
“I am.”
“Does Max know?”
“He does.”
“And Harry, does he know?”
“That, ma’am, is unclear. I will set it as a task to discover this information.”
Christ, this company was even worse than she thought. No wonder Bob was being such a jerk about Darcy. “Well, push that meeting with Bob out ’til next week. Whatever chance Max had, she had none.
“Consider it done, Miss Zoe. Next on the agenda is a backup of completeness tests and refresh of the memory on server HGZ-2566.”
She blew into her hands. At least this was technical, rational. Not so hard after all. “Okay, I can do that, I guess. Next?”
Together with Darcy, she ploughed through the list, and she reckoned she could cover 70 percent of Max’s stuff. He’d be back soon. He had to be. Surely his recovery would be as efficient as everything else in his life?
• • •
Next day, with a throbbing head, she called an emergency face-to-face meeting first thing with the resistance. Laura, José, and Evan crowded around her desk with concerned expressions.
“I feel like I’m walking in quicksand.” Zoe scrolled through the test results on her monitor. “I’ve haven’t slept a wink. I’m exhausted. That’s why you haven’t seen me in the VR lab the past few days. I’ve canceled a load of meetings Max organized. But hey, at least the robustness testing’s being run back to back and it’s clean.”
“Zoe, you need to take it down a notch,” Laura said. “Now, tell us how we can help.”
“Where do I start? But are you sure? You’ve all got your own jobs to do.”
“Nothing’s more important,” Evan said. “Beta’s two weeks away. We’re that close to having no jobs. What do we have to lose?”
All heads nodded solemnly.
“Just you and me though,” she said. “Laura and José won’t be fired.”
Laura folded her arms. “We’re leaving if either of you has to go.” José sidled up beside her and put his arm around her waist.
Zoe opened her mouth to protest, but it died on her lips. “Thanks, guys.”
They gathered around her monitor and negotiated their way through the plan. The two men wanted to take over Max’s server-room tests, which meant she and Laura could do more scenarios with Darcy in real life and in Austenland.
When the guys had left the office, Laura asked, “Have you called him?”
“Phone’s been off. I’ll leave him be.”
“Yeah, well, if he’s dead, the neighbor’s dog should be able to smell him by now.”
“No,” Zoe shot back, “he’ll smell good even when he’s dead.”
“You are in love, aren’t you?”
“I’m not thinking straight, that’s for sure.”
“You know what? Give him ’til Thursday and then mosey on over there. He’ll be thrilled. It can’t be nice for him, being stuck there alone. Poor fella.”
“You think I should?”
“Since when do you consult me on major life choices? Come on, you’d do an amazing Florence Nightingale impersonation.”
Yeah, she’d put a damp cloth on his forehead, cool his fever. Rub his chest with lotion, assist him to the bath, sponge him from his neck, down his torso, down, down, down …
Laura laughed. “Earth calling Zoe.”
She blinked the daydream away. “I’m just trying to remember if I have his address.”
“It’s in the staff database,” Laura said.
Three days later Zoe sat in a taxi, a basket of goodies on her lap, heading to Max’s house. Three days were long enough for a quarantine to be effective and almost long enough for her hormones to have settled down. She was racked with guilt for leaving work “early,” but her colleagues had pushed her out the door. “Oh dear, this is very untoward behavior, isn’t it, Darcy?”
“I disagree. People may call on friends spontaneously, particularly when in sickness or distress. It is a privilege of friendship.”
Funny that Darcy still insisted on calling it a friendship. Would they have to copulate in front of him for him to believe it was something more? Or was this just his famous reserve at work? “He might be asleep, and then I shouldn’t bother him. Do you know, Darcy?”
“I do not. Mr. Taggart switched me off twenty-four hours ago. However, I predict, on the basis of prior behavior patterns and the customary symptoms of his malaise, that he is 60 percent likely to be awake at this hour.”
“I’ll have to make do with those odds, I suppose.” She checked her lip gloss in her compact mirror and snapped it shut. “Courtship hasn’t really gotten any easier in the two centuries since you had your heyday. It’s still a big old bag fraught with nerves when it all comes down to it.”
“Indeed.”
She smiled to herself. This was Darcy’s standard answer when something wasn’t connecting for him. It had taken her a while to figure that one out.
The taxi came to a halt outside an attractive, ivy-covered, upmarket apartment block, the kind her father and brothers would certainly approve of. Gravel crunched underneath her ballet slippers as she approached the communal entranceway with the attractive flowerpots and neatly ordered postboxes. No weeds, graffiti, everything nice and orderly. No doubt it had triple-locking systems, twenty-four-seven surveillance, and an active team of janitors and gardeners who actually did their jobs. It suited Max down to the ground.
A peal of thunder crashed in the distance, and a mist of rain covered her face. She bolted for the shelter of the porch.
“Okay, Taggart … Taggart, where are you?” She skimmed down the names on the doorbells. “Darcy, I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Please ring the bell,” Darcy urged. “If he is awake, I daresay he will be most gratified to see you.”
Her finger hovered over the doorbell. “Gimme the odds on that.”
“Ninety-nine percent.”
“What’s with the 1 percent?” she shot back.
“Statistical room for error.”
“Okay. Done.” The bell sounded with an elegant bing-bong inside the building, and then the door buzzed, so she pushed her way through. She chose the stairs. “I’m putting you asleep, Darcy,” she said, panting, on reaching the third floor. “No offense, but we humans need a little privacy, okay?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, Darcy. You’re a pal.”
“Indeed, I am glad to be of service.”
She tucked the phone in her purse and climbed the last steps. A door on the landing was ajar, and welcoming yellow light seeped out. Catching her breath, she walked up to the door and, with a huge grin, looked up at the man standing there.
But it wasn’t Max. It was a man who looked exactly like Max, just with darker, scruffier hair and eyes a lighter shade of blue. Those eyes now perused her mockingly, in a way that Max’s never would.
“Lordy, what do we have here?” he said, in a heavy Northern Irish accent.
“I-I’m here to see Max,” she said out of sheer amazement.
“Will I do?” The man grinned. “I’m Mal, the big, bad brother.”