Trade Me (Cyclone #1)(16)

“What’s really going on here?”

He runs one hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he says for a fourth time. “It’s just… Look. I don’t know how to explain this to you. Maybe that sounded like a lot of money to you. But over the course of this conversation, random stock market fluctuations have changed my net worth by a lot more than sixty thousand dollars. We’re talking about a heartbeat’s amount of money for me. I don’t need money. I gave up—easily—several million dollars in compensation when I went to school. That’s how much I’ve already paid to get away.”

He almost shivers as he speaks, like he’s being blown by a wind I can’t feel.

It’s strange. For the first time since we sat down to lunch together, I believe him. I don’t know why he’s so desperate to get away—but I believe that he is. And that scares me, seduces me, and pisses me off, all at once.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” he says. “This is a little unusual. But my father always says that the person who can walk away from a deal is the one who is in control. That’s where you are. You’re in control. You tell me the terms you need to make this work.”

“All right,” I say slowly. “But that only answers half my question. Why can’t you let me walk away? Why me?”

“I need someone to come up with a script for our newest product launch,” he says. “And—I don’t know if you’ve ever watched Cyclone product launches?”

I shake my head. It’s not like I could afford their products anyway.

“You’ll see, then. They’re…personal. The launches. Whoever it is that I ask to help me will have access to our old scripts, complete with the change logs, and those will let you know a lot about me and my father.”

I think of that commercial—of Blake running away from his home, of his father sending him a sorry. I wonder if his entire life has been turned into publicity for products.

“There aren’t that many people I’m willing to let that close,” he says, “and most of them work at Cyclone and would tell my father. My options are limited.”

But you don’t even know me.

He takes a deep breath. “Also, if you’re going to write the launch script, you’ll need to get Cyclone prototypes. It’s not like you can write a launch for a product you’ve never held. And there’s only one way for a non-Cyclone employee to get a prototype. You’ll have to meet my dad. Which is bad enough in and of itself. But. Um. He’s pretty protective of our new tech, and that’s a huge understatement. It’s not like he just hands out prototypes at my request.” He glances down. “When you meet him, you’ll have to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

A wash of heat goes through me. For a second, I imagine what that would be like. And even that second’s imagination—of Blake touching me, holding me, kissing me—is too much.

“Whatever you’re imagining,” Blake says, “it won’t be like that. Just one afternoon. And Dad thinks PDA is gross, so no kissing even. Just holding hands. Nothing else; I promise.”

I swallow. “You still haven’t answered my question,” I say. “Why me? I doubt I’m the only person in the world who could pretend to be your girlfriend.”

Blake looks me over. It’s the kind of look that makes me think of lottery tickets and unicorns, of things that don’t happen in my world. I can feel his gaze like a caress.

“I’m shit at lying to my dad,” he says. “I can only pretend so far. It needs to be someone I have reasonable chemistry with.”

Reasonable chemistry. That’s what this is for him?

“As for the rest…Tina, when do you think we first ran into each other?”

I swallow. “In class? A few weeks ago?”

“Last September. In the library. You helped me find a book.” He looks over at me. “Like I said. I’ve been seeing you for longer than you’ve been seeing me.”

I don’t know if I believe him because I want to believe him, or because he’s so genuinely sincere that I can’t help myself. All I know is that if there is a chance in hell that this is legitimate, I can’t say no. I can’t afford to.

“If I do this,” I say slowly, “I’ll have to quit my job. I need a written guarantee that I’ll get the money you’ve promised me for the entire semester, even if you can’t hack it and quit after the first week.”

“Done. Anything else?”

This still feels incomplete. Dangerous. I bite my lip and consider.

“You offered me a trade,” I say next. “Not a purchase. You’re not hiring me. You just told me that the thing I want is worth millions to you.” I still don’t understand how that can be true, but I know that if I don’t insist on it now, it will never be recognized. “That means that what I put in has value.”

He nods.

“So we come into this thing equally. I’m not going to spend three months listening to you bitch about how pitiful my life is. The things I care about, the things I have to worry about—for the rest of this…thing, whatever it is, they’re as important as anything you have going on. I’m important, too.”

“Agreed,” he says. “You’re important.”