Trade Me (Cyclone #1)(26)

I hand over the next few pages.

WARNING, the cover sheet states in big, red block letters. YOUR CONDUCT IS GOVERNED BY THE SECURITIES EXCHANGE ACT AND REGULATIONS OF THE SECURITIES EXCHANGE COMMISSION. FAILURE TO COMPLY MAY RESULT IN CRIMINAL SANCTIONS AND SENTENCES OF UP TO TWENTY YEARS IN PRISON.

She holds it up and looks at me. “Don’t lie to me, baby. I bet you make all the girls you bring in here sign this.”

You know what? I have never before found SEC regulations this sexy. I lean close to her.

“No way,” I murmur. “This is just for you.”

“Really?” She manages that look of hurt skepticism so well. I reach out, almost touching her cheek—until I remember that this isn’t real.

“No,” I whisper back. “Not really. Everyone does sign it; it’s company policy.”

“Oh, too bad.” She’s still reading the page. “I was hoping you had a selective disclosure just for me.”

Selective, I realize, is a sexy word when drawn out the way she does it, her tongue touching her lips on the l sound. So is disclosure.

“I can disclose,” I hear myself saying. “Selectively.”

“Maybe you can give it to me in a material and nonpublic place.”

I lean toward her. “You know me. I put the inside in insider trading.”

She’s still holding the pen poised above the paper. I touch my finger to the cap and then slowly slide it down the barrel until my hand meets hers. A shock of electricity hits me, followed by a jolt of lust.

She’s looking into my eyes. If I hooked my hand under the arm of her chair, I could slide her toward me.

She drops the pen and pulls away.

“No, but seriously.” Her voice returns to normal. “I have no idea what any of this stuff actually means.”

I let out a breath. Damn. It’s a good thing this is only going to last an afternoon. More than that, and I’d forget we were pretending.

I clear my throat and straighten. “Basically it comes down to this: don’t trade Cyclone stock without talking to your lawyer. Don’t tell anyone shit about Cyclone’s business without talking to your lawyer.”

“I don’t have a lawyer.”

“Well. Get one before you do either of those things.”

She makes a face.

It takes us half an hour to get through the rest of the forms. I leave her to get them checked off with legal, and then to get Dad’s sign-off on the prototype. Dad had someone stack everything else I need in a bag. Everything but Fernanda. That he hands to me.

“Have fun showing off your baby,” he says.

And you know what? I actually feel nervous at this moment. Nervous, excited—like I’m about to tell her something important to me. Like I want her to approve.

Five minutes later, I heft the bag onto the table in front of her. “There are these.”

“What are they?”

“Enh.” I wave my hand dismissively. “A phone. A tablet. Shit like that. Nothing big.”

“Nothing big?” Her eyes widen.

“I mean, they’re just the next generation versions. No big deal. Early prototypes just mean there are more bugs to work through.” I’m cradling Fernanda in my hands. “And you can play with them all you want. Later.”

“But I have never owned a Cyclone tablet—”

“It’s called a Squall.”

“Whatever. Or any tablet all. Maybe I want to…”

“No,” I say. “You don’t.”

She trails off as I open my hand. Her eyes widen, and she leans in. “Oooh,” she says in a much quieter voice. “The wild rumors are true.”

Fernanda fits in the palm of my hand, the round watch face set in gleaming steel.

“Tina,” I say, “meet Fernanda. Fernanda, this is Tina.”

She waits a beat. “Is it supposed to answer?”

“Of course not,” I say. “She’s a watch, not a portable artificial intelligence. We’re not that advanced. Hold out your arm.”

She does.

I roll up her sweater.

Her wrist is tiny; the bones in her hand seem so delicate. And suddenly in this moment, I’m hit by another wave of want. I want this to be real. I want to be that smiling man who has no plans but to give her a present—the world’s coolest present—and have her agree that it’s awesome.

I knew I was into her. I knew I was attracted to her. But right now, looking into her face, I want her. All of her. Her smiles, rare though they are. Her approval. I can feel her pulse in her wrist. Given everything going on between us right now, wanting what I do is incredibly f*cked up.

Her eyes are on my hands. “Everyone thinks you aren’t making one because you didn’t announce when your competitors put out their first generation smartwatches.”

I slide the band around her wrist. This band is preproduction steel, not one of the stylish bands that will be available for the coming launch. Her skin is soft, and her breath catches as I latch the watch in place.

“We never announce products before they’re ready,” I say. “And she wasn’t ready.”

“Why is the project called Fernanda?”

“Happenstance. All Cyclone products are given production codenames. We draw them in order from the NOAA tropical cyclone lists the year they enter active development.”