“She does?”

  “Yep.”

  Blake’s eyes flit to Gabriel and back to me, her face positively glowing with love and affection for my brother. “I’m sure she’ll come around; the Mercer men have a way of being irresistible.”

  She ruffles my brother’s hair and I’m shocked by the look of pure adoration on his face as he grabs her hand and kisses her knuckles.

  That’s what I want. That’s what I’ll fight to get.

  Sunday night, as I’m sitting in front of the coffee table surrounded by crumpled Post-it notes, K-2P wheels into the room and asks, “Can I talk to you about my Halloween costume?”

  I lift my gaze to the little robot. “You’re dressing up?”

  “Yeah, you have to as well. It’s a longstanding tradition at the office to go in full costume on the thirty-first.”

  “Really?”

  Condescending beep. “Of course, don’t tell me you didn’t know?”

  “How was I supposed to know?”

  “Fair enough. Anyway, my costume. I was thinking of keeping it simple and just getting cat ears, whiskers, and perhaps a tail. What do you think?”

  “Seems like an excellent idea. You know what Reese is dressing up as?”

  “She hasn’t told me, but from her breaktime Google searches I have a pretty good idea.”

  I lift a finger. “Hold that thought, we’re going to discuss it in a second. But first, there’s something I need to finish.”

  I grab a fresh Post-it note, suddenly very inspired on what to write.

  17

  REESE

  I’m spending my lunch break locked in a bathroom stall with contraband stationery, trying and failing to come up with a message to sneak into Thomas’s messenger bag.

  I should’ve written it at home when I had all weekend to think of something. But after obsessing over what to say for two days straight, I couldn’t draft anything half-decent. So, I thought maybe coming to the office and getting a little visual inspiration would help—Thomas delivered, strutting into the lab looking as impossibly gorgeous as ever.

  Ideally, I should tone things down from where we’ve left them on Friday. Both our messages were bordering on outright flirting. But I also figured that since this week we’ll exchange only two notes, I can keep the flirtation levels up to at least a Thursday if not a full-fledged, end-of-the-week, going-to-make-you-obsess-all-weekend Friday scale.

  But what do I write?

  I stare at a pic of his last message on my phone.

  Just pretty? I thought my eyes were smoldering. And the things I have to say about your butt wouldn’t just cross the line, they’d obliterate it. So my hands are tied here. Have a great weekend, Campbell…

  Should I make a bondage joke about his hands being tied?

  Nah, too much.

  Comment on the alleged smolderiness of his eyes?

  The guy has an already big-enough ego as is.

  I could tease him about something else entirely, but I can’t come up with anything good. My brain is wiped out. Blank.

  I lean my head backward against the stall door, grimacing in frustration. Why is it so hard to write a message that’s witty and flirty but not too flirty? I bite my lip and tap the pen on the paper. Just as I’m about to give up, inspiration strikes. I grab the pen and quickly write:

  I hope you had a great weekend despite the lack of smoldering eyes compliments. I survived without butt-related ones.

  Not stellar, but good enough. Only the note needs a finishing line. I bite the back of the pen… mmm…

  If you want, I can add a flattery drive to K-2P to fully stroke your ego over the weekends.

  It’s not the best, but I can’t come up with anything better and I actually have to grab a bite to eat if I don’t want to pass out mid-afternoon from low blood sugar, so this will have to do.

  I slip the note into my agenda to be planted in Thomas’s messenger bag later and exit the stall. While I’m washing my hands, Maria enters the restroom. She’s late to her lunch break as well, so we decide to grab a quick hot dog from a cart outside. Despite it being late October, the temperature outdoors is mild, so Maria and I sit on a sunny bench to eat.

  “Nice nail art,” I comment, noticing her elaborate black and white polish.

  “Thanks, boss, it goes with my costume for tomorrow.”

  “Let me guess,” I say. “Wednesday Addams?”

  Maria looks at me in mock shock. “What gave it away?”

  I stare at the nail with “resting witch face” written white on black, the one that looks like a high-collared white shirt under a black blazer, and the one with a spiderweb.

  I take in the remaining nails on her right hand, one white and one black. “You’d only need black tresses on that one.” I point to the white one, and then at the black one. “And white WA initials to be any more obvious.”

  She smirks. “I was planning on adding those features tonight.” Then her smirk widens. “What do you think the hot shot is coming as?”

  I shrug, not wanting to give away how much I’ve obsessed over the same question. “Probably something obnoxiously wholesome like Captain America.”

  “Uuu-huu,” Maria hoots. “I wouldn’t mind seeing the big boss in a skin-tight body suit. Bet he wouldn’t even have to add muscle foam pads.” A pause. “Or crotch ones.”

  I roll my eyes. “Maria!”

  “No, you’re right. The selling point would probably be in the rear end.”

  “You’re impossible.” I shake my head at her and take another bite of my hot dog.

  “Fine, fine,” she relents with a chuckle. “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be the worst sight.”

  I laugh. “I’ll try not to picture it.”

  Maria grins. “Good luck with that.”

  We finish our hot dogs and head back to the office building where the rest of the day passes without further mentions of Thomas Mercer’s anatomical perfection or any more Halloween costume speculations.

  Thomas drops in for a quick goodbye after another tour with one of my team leaders and goes home, leaving my chest in its usual fluttery state.

  That night in my apartment, I check my bag and get the familiar thrill when I spot the blue note at the bottom. I read it and throw my head back laughing.

  I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Halloween’s special dress code. If your droid hadn’t told me, I could’ve come to work as the only asshole in civilian clothes. Mean, Campbell.

  I don’t compose a reply straight away. First, I want to see what his costume will be tomorrow.

  18

  REESE

  The next morning I’m sipping the traditional pumpkin spice latte—every year I have them delivered for the entire office alongside breakfast treats—and chatting with Maria at her station while K-2P is distributing the anonymous forms to vote on the best costume.

  But my brain is only half into the conversation. My gaze keeps shifting to the lab’s entrance, waiting for Thomas to make his appearance.

  Maria distracts me with a question. “Boss, do you think we can improve our linear time-invariant control algorithm?”

  “And how do you propose to do that? We spent a year perfecting it, how can we get it any more perfect?”

  “Change the matrix of the set system output in future time.”

  “How?”

  “If we change the control increment as state quantity, we could get an optimized target function.”

  Now she has my full attention. “We could set constraints,” I reason. “And then solve the matrix with quadratic programming.”

  Maria’s eyes brighten and she drops her latte to jot notes on a pad. “So that after solving the equation for the control increment sequence in future time, the system could predict the future output based on current information. That’s brilliant.”

  I’m alerted to a shift in the festive lab’s mood by the room plunging into a sudden silence. Even Maria drops her pen and stares at the door, mouth gaping.

  I turn to the lab’s entrance where a tall, dark, cloaked figure is striding into the lab, heading straight for me. He’s wearing an all-black costume composed of a padded long-sleeved shirt, high-waisted pants, and a hooded cloak billowing behind him. His face is concealed by a battered black combat helmet inlaid with silver. The battle gear of the Knights of Ren.

  Thomas is Kylo Ren… and I’m Rey.

  I wait for his approach, unable to swallow, my throat cotton dry.

  As he gets closer, my heart beats faster. He stops in front of me and removes his helmet, revealing his handsome face. My eyes widen as I drink him in—the intense gaze, the chiseled jawline, and those full lips. He smirks at my reaction, most probably too aware of the effect he has on me.

  “Rey, huh?” he says in a low voice, barely above a whisper. “What are the chances?”

  I immediately glare at the droid shuffling through the lab. Pretty darn high if a cyber mole is involved.

  “Kylo,” I respond, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “Nice costume,” he says, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.

  I blush at his words but quickly recover. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  Then, rather anticlimactically, Thomas smiles and asks, “Is there a latte also for me?”

  “I’ll get it for you, hot shot,” Maria hurries to say.

  As she brushes past me, she whispers in my ear from the side of her mouth, “I’ve nothing against superheroes, but if he doesn’t look darn sexy in that villain costume.”

  Even if I couldn’t agree more, I still roll my eyes.

  Then she goes to fetch a pumpkin spice latte and hands it to Thomas, teasing, “Is that a lightsaber in your pocket?”

  For a split second, my gaze drops to his crotch before I realize Maria is talking about a pocket on the inside of his cloak. I’m a total pervert.

  I quickly avert my eyes as a hot flush rises to my face.

  Thomas just chuckles, taking a sip of his latte. “Sorry to disappoint, it’s just my phone.” He pulls the phone out from his cloak and holds it up for us to see.

  “Pity, lightsabers are so much more fun,” Maria deadpans.

  I take that as my cue to leave. “I’ll go check where K-2P is with those cards.”

  Thomas raises one perfect eyebrow at me, which I bet he doesn’t even have to pluck. “What cards?”

  “The ones to vote on the best costume.”

  “Do I get a vote, too?”

  “Here, take mine.” I hand him the card so that I won’t have to circle back to him. I won’t pretend I’m not a huge Reylo fan. Seeing Thomas dressed up as my biggest sexual fantasy is testing my self-control.

  I reach K-2P and hiss, “You’re a snitch.”

  The robot turns to me, and even if he doesn’t possess facial features, he looks offended. “Why are you doubting my loyalty?”

  “Did you tell Thomas to dress as Kylo Ren?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because you knew I was coming as Rey, you meddling piece of metal.”

  “Ah! But did I know? Nope, because you never actually told me.”

  I drop my jaw, trying to remember if I ever discussed my costume with K-2P. I don’t remember having an actual conversation with him about it. So, I close my mouth and just glare at the droid.

  “That’s what I thought.” It’s his last comment before he wheels away. But I can still smell his metallic fingerprints all over this. I might not have told him directly, but he knows me. He must’ve picked it up somehow, if not from full-scale espionage.

  I drop my hands, fed up with smartassed robots and fineassed bosses and make a round of the lab to talk with all my team leaders to see if anyone needs my input on anything before I leave tomorrow.

  The lab’s festive mood continues throughout my rounds. People are walking around in their costumes, taking pictures, and getting into character. I’m impressed with some of the get-ups. Ari, who looks like a life-sized Lego character, and our head of programming Salim, who’s a giant Rubik’s cube.

  But despite all the distractions, my gaze keeps flitting back to Thomas in his Kylo Ren outfit. No matter that for the entire day, I try to put as much space between us as possible. Even at a distance, he looks so good in that black cloak, it’s totally unfair. He even has the height to pull it off.

  Regardless of how gorgeous a villain Thomas is, the first prize for best costume goes to our robot controllers specialist, Tabitha. She came in as Mystique from X-Men in a skin-tight blue wet suit, her face and hands painted blue. It can’t have been comfortable, but at least the effort has been worth something. I voted for her, too. After I give away the grand prize, it looks like everyone in the lab is ready to call it a day. Me too. I also still have to pack for tomorrow’s trip.

  But when Thomas pops into our shared office to get his things and gives me a simple goodbye, I’m deeply disappointed.

  Doesn’t he know we won’t see each other until next week? Wait, does he know? I don’t think I mentioned the conference to him other than in the parting note I hid in his messenger bag earlier, which is the closest I’ve allowed myself to get to him today. But other than that, I haven’t talked to him about the trip to Rome. As I’m racking my brain, scanning the entirety of our past conversations—sometimes I wish I were an AI and that all I had to do was insert a keyword like “conference” to access all my past interactions on the topic—Maria enters the room, mock-fanning herself.

  “Well, well, well. Aren’t we looking flushed?” the head of mobility teases with a grin.

  I shake my head, exasperated.

  “Aw, come on. Don’t you think the force is trying to send you a message?”

  I shoot her a warning look. “Don’t even get started.”

  “Fine, fine. I come in peace.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Just wanted to test the temperature after our villain left and ask you for any last words before you’re off to Italy.”

  “Actually, yes, can you babysit Thomas while I’m away? Tomorrow is his last day of shadowing and he’s supposed to follow Garrett⁠—”

  “Uh, and you conveniently chose to flee the country for that.”

  I won’t lie and say that I didn’t cowardly wiggle out of seeing how spectacularly awkwardly that goes. I smile a sweet smile. “Perks of being the boss.”

  Maria’s smile is even more viciously sweet as she mock curtsies. “In that case, it’ll be my pleasure to look after the hot shot. Have fun in Italy and eat a lot of gelato.”

  Maria leaves, and, for the first time since my secret correspondence with Thomas started, I don’t have the self-control to wait until I’m at home to read Thomas’s note, the one where he’ll be replying to my offer of installing a flattery drive dedicated to him in K-2P.

  I rip the blue Post-it right off the bottom of my bag and smile like an idiot as I read:

  If creating the drive will force you to research all my best qualities, sure, why not?

  PS. Did you think Ben Solo deserved better?

  19

  THOMAS

  Tuesday night, at home, I find Reese’s note in my messenger bag, but I don’t open it right away. First, I change out of the Kylo Ren costume, shower, and pull on a pair of sweatpants and a clean white T-shirt.

  But even after I’m showered and changed, I don’t read the note. Instead, I take it with me to the couch where I sit, flipping the folded sheet of paper between my fingers.

  Today went well, I think. I was Kylo Ren, and she was Rey… K-2P’s spying was spot on. And she seemed to like my costume, but then she spent the rest of the day pointedly avoiding me. What is it with her? I know she likes me. Her notes prove it, or she wouldn’t bother responding to them. And the way she looks at me sometimes, like she wants to pounce on me. Her eyes tracing over my body, admiring every inch of me.

  But then she goes all rigid and pulls away, keeping her distance like she fears what could happen if we got too close.

  Why?

  I understand that me possibly becoming her boss is less than ideal, but not unsolvable—even with that darn anti-fraternization policy in place. I’ve been at Mercer Robotics only a few weeks and no official announcement has been made about me taking over as CEO. Only the board knows—I could still switch departments. Another CEO is going to retire from one of our other divisions eventually. Or better even, I could start at a lower level, shadowing the current CEO of another division for a few years before they retire. That would allow me to learn the ropes in less of a pressure cooker environment. Shadowing the man I’ll have to replace for years seems a better approach than this “throw you into the fray” method my dad has forced on me.

  But if I tell Reese all this, would she just laugh in my face? Am I deluded for thinking the only obstacles to a potential relationship between us are our jobs?

  From what K-2P told me, I’m not smart enough to be her type, but I’m not sure genius scumbags are what’s really best for her. Plus, even if I don’t have an engineering degree and can’t debate impedance control—see? I’m already picking up the jargon—with her, it’s not like I’m an idiot.

  Could she ever be interested in exploring something with me? I honestly don’t know. She’s giving me mixed signals. Maybe I should come out and ask her outright.

  I stare at the note in my hands; she’s responding to the message where I called her mean for not telling me about the Halloween costume tradition. Like every new message she sends, this could help me decipher the mystery that she is.

  I unfold the note and read.

  Glad K-2P was there to save the day, and you could’ve always claimed you were dressed as Christian Gray or something, so I don’t feel sorry.

  That makes me chuckle. Christian Gray, huh? Someone’s been fantasizing about naughty billionaires. See? She’s flirting. But the note is not over. I read the rest.

  Since we won’t see each other until Monday, I’m going to leave you with a Star Wars pun to carry you through the rest of the week.

 

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