Uncovering You 6: Deliverance Page 8

  “Right again,” Jeremy says. He leans forward, eager now. “I’m very proud of it, Lilly. It took years to align all the constituent owners of intellectual property under the Stonehart Industries umbrella. The backing is a new type of poly-carbon plastic. Never seen in a consumer good before. In fact, that phone—” he inclines his head to it, “—is the first time the material’s been seen outside a lab. You know how glossy black plastic always takes on fingerprints, and only looks good when it’s brand new?”

  I nod.

  “Look at the back.”

  I flip the phone over. The entire backside is clean.

  “Whoa,” I mutter, genuinely impressed. I pull two fingers across it, pressing hard to smudge the surface.

  It comes away spotless.

  “Even if the phone is a flop,” Jeremy says. “There are billions to be made in licensing that material. It’s a little secret that Dextran’s been working on for, Jesus, it must be a decade now, at least. That’s the real reason the takeover was so important. With Esteban at the helm, it would have taken another fifteen years before they thought it ready to show to the world. By then, opportunities would have passed them by. Dextran needed a visionary, a true leader, and Stonehart Industries…” his eyes zero in on me, “…will give them that.”

  “Still me?” I ask, uncertain.

  “Still you,” he affirms. “No lies, Lilly. No deceit. I want you there… in time.

  “The chips inside are all standard fare. Owning a silicon provider simply gives Stonehart Industries a manufacturing edge. We will be fully vertically integrated. As die sizes shrink, the specs can be upgraded. We’ll always compete with the upper echelon of phones.”

  “What about the battery?” I ask. “A phone this light can’t last very long.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Jeremy gives me a very smug, very triumphant look. “The battery is the killing blow. A single charge will have that puppy running for seventy-two hours straight—at full brightness, full data, 1080p video playback, whatever. That’s three days, Lilly, with the GPU and processor running at full rate. Compare that to the current iPhone, which is heralded as the best. Its battery would last less than six hours if both were doing the same thing.”

  “That’s ludicrous,” I say. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You should,” he says. “Because you’ve experienced the strength of that battery first hand.” He touches a spot just beneath the side of his jaw. “It’s what powered your collar.”

  ***

  My throat tightens. For a moment, it becomes hard to breathe.

  In that instant… when he said, “your collar”… he definitely shifted back to being Stonehart.

  “I was your guinea pig,” I say softly. I thrust the phone back at him. “Take it. I don’t want it.”

  He regards me. Unblinking. Unfazed.

  “Don’t be foolish,” he says. “We’re not hiding from the past. Remember? Putting the battery in your collar provided the perfect testing environment. I can say that it was a spectacular success. If anything, you should be proud, my little Lilly-Flower. Now you know that your suffering was not for naught.”

  Revulsion explodes within me. “You’re sick,” I hiss. I nearly chuck the phone at his head. Then I remember what happened the first—and last—time I threw something at him. “How can you talk of it so casually?”

  “Because I don’t want you to forget what’s already happened,” he says. He sounds like he’s speaking from a place of deep thought. “I don’t want you to become a victim of our past.” He leans toward me, intense and focused like I’ve never seen. “I know that I’ve done some troubling things to you, Lilly. You were a victim once. You’re right. You were my prisoner.”

  “But no longer. Things have changed, Lilly. A shift has occurred. You are still my most precious Lilly-Flower. And the last thing I want—the one thing I cannot bear to think about—is you carrying heavy emotional scars from what I’ve done.”

  “I don’t expect you to forgive. I don’t want you to stick your head in the sand and pretend it never happened. That is why I bring it up, Lilly, from time to time. I need to gauge your reaction. I have to keep doing it, until I’m sure that you can look upon the past without being affected by it in the present.”

  “That’s a tall order,” I scoff.

  “But it can be done!” he emphasizes. A new fervor lights his eyes. “You are the only person I know strong enough to do it. If you don’t… if you continue carrying the emotional baggage… it will overwhelm you.”

  “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Right now, I know, you think you’re close. They say time heals all wounds. But they’re wrong. The wounds of the type I’ve inflicted upon you will not heal. If left alone, and unchecked, they will begin to fester. Like a latent disease, they take root at the base of your soul and begin to consume your heart. But you don’t see it coming. You think you’re safe. You think that with sufficient time and distance you’ll slowly become immune. That’s where you’re wrong. “

  “Because, left unchecked, those feelings will continue to grow. They will spread through your body like a malignant tumor, until, one day, they will rise up and destroy you. You’ll suffer a relapse. Your mental state will break. You’ll come across some trigger, some event or memory that opens the floodgates. From there, the cascade will never stop.”

  “You sound very sure of yourself,” I say. I’m trying to stay indifferent, trying to remain unaffected by his pseudo psychoanalysis.

  I’m to deny that it even has the tiniest shred of truth… even if I know it does.

  The way his concerns line up with mine upsets me. So, instead of dwelling on it—instead of being a grown woman and focusing on the issue at hand—I decide to turn the tables on him. “Is that because it’s what you did to Paul?”

  Jeremy--damn him--doesn’t even blink.

  “No, Lilly,” he says. “It’s what was done to me.”

  Chapter Six

  “What do you mean?” I breathe.

  “It’s why I am the way I am, Lilly,” he says. “It’s why, even when I knew I was falling in love, I continued to mistreat you. It’s no excuse.” He grimaces. “It’s just the fucked up remnant of my past.”

  Is this the moment I’ve been waiting for? Is this the time that Jeremy might share some of his elusive history? It might be. But, something else steals my focus.

  “Stop. Saying. That!” I exclaim. I squeeze my eyes tight and shake my head. “Don’t, Jeremy. Just—don’t! Don’t say it when you don’t mean it!”

  He looks taken aback. “Saying what? That I am falling in love?”

  “Yes, that!” I burst from my seat. “You can’t love me, Jeremy.” I stalk away from him, pacing the confines of the small cabin. “You can’t! You just can’t!”

  “Why?” he challenges. I thank every God I’ve heard of that he hasn’t moved from his seat. I wouldn’t be able to take his nearness right now.

  “Because, Jeremy. You’re not the type of man who loves. You keep yourself closeted. You’re closed off.” I bark a laugh. “I barely know a thing about you! I don’t even know your real last name!”

  “You know the things that matter.”

  “Then I know that you’re a sadistic, power-hungry freak!”

  “Lilly…” His voice is cold and full of warning. “Don’t go there.”

  “Fine,” I say. I spin around and walk back to him. “I have a new idea. You’re a businessman. Right? You pride yourself as such. You know how negotiations work. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stop saying that about you… if you promise not to mention ‘love’ around me again.”

  The corner of his mouth perks up in amusement. He’s calm and collected again. “I’m not sure you’re in a position to make such demands.”

  “It’s not a demand,” I counter. “It’s a business proposal.”

  “A ‘business proposal’.” He chuckles. “Is that what you consider what we have between us? Some sort of tra
nsaction?”

  I glower at him. “You’re twisting my words,” I say. “That’s not what I said.”

  “But it’s what you implied.” He sighs and stands up. I don’t back off.

  He looks at me. His eyes move up and down my body. A shiver runs down my spine. He’s got that penetrating look in his stare again, the one that makes me feel like he can strip me bare and peer into the very depths of my soul.

  Finally, he focuses on my face. I return his look, unflinching, uncompromising.

  “You remember what I said once?” he asks softly. “The very first time we met in person? On the elevator ride up from the lobby of the Stonehart building, I told you that I wanted…” he steps into me, drawing my hair back to expose one ear, and finishes in a whisper, “…your mind.”

  I fight the flush of arousal that his rustling voice never fails to evoke in me. My body is weak for him, as always. I know better than to expect anything different.

  “So, it’s a deal?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “If that’s what it will take, Lilly…” He steps away. “And if that’s what you truly want of me?” He lets the question hang in the air.

  “I do,” I affirm.

  “Then it’s a deal.”

  He extends his hand toward me. I take it. His grip is strong and firm. I think that, even after all we’ve experienced together, this is the first time Jeremy has shaken my hand.

  “Welcome to the business world, then, Miss Ryder,” he tells me formally. “I have a feeling you’re going to like it here.”

  Chapter Seven

  When we land countless hours later, I feel exhausted. After the handshake, Jeremy donned a professional mask.

  There were no more discussions about feelings, relationships, or personal concerns. Jeremy was completely dispassionate as he told me the terms of use for my new cellphone, and for the continuation of contact with Fey.

  The cell has been rigged so that anything I do on it is captured and transferred, in real time, to a virtual server that only Jeremy has access to. All my actions on it are recorded--from the briefest touch of the screen to the exact second I turn it off at night. It has no data, only regular network access, and of course the Wi-Fi is permanently disabled.

  There are two numbers configured into the contact list. Only two. Neither can be deleted or removed. Others cannot be added, either—at least, not by me.

  The first number is my own. It has an international area code that I don’t recognize. Jeremy said that it’s so that the phone can function globally. It’s programmed in such way that I don’t need to remember it, and I can give it out to others.

  When I’ll get the opportunity to do that, I do not know.

  The second number is what I have to use if I want to make a call. It routes to Jeremy’s cell. I must dial him, and then punch in the number I really want to call. It gives him the opportunity to either approve or reject the call. And, of course, record and listen in on anything I say.

  The phone is hardwired not to dial any number but his. It’s not just a software implementation. It’s a hardware thing. It ensures, as Jeremy pointed out, my complete compliance with his wishes.

  So, honestly, the phone does not offer much. If anything, it’s just a stark reminder of how much control Jeremy has over my life.

  But, it’s nothing I could have imagined holding in my hands even a month ago. For that, I’m grateful. This is definite progress.

  Obviously, phone calls made to Fey would need to be scheduled in advance. That’s the only way to ensure Jeremy’s availability. I would need to arrange them to work with his schedule.

  All in all, it means that my new cellphone is little more than a pretty, expensive paper weight. And an alarm clock. Jeremy pointed that out with a knowing glimmer in his eyes.

  At least now I can keep track of the dates. I bring up the calendar and see that today is January 16th.

  As soon as we get into the limo, Jeremy has his earpiece on and begins making calls. I listen with half an ear. Being privy to just one side of conversation does not give me sufficient context to make use of anything I might hear. Besides, I doubt Jeremy would let slip anything he wouldn’t want me to know.

  Instead, I look out the window at the passing traffic. It feels strange to be back in California. So much has changed in the course of the last few weeks. And yet, so much is still ever the same.

  I remain bound to Jeremy. Whether by force of the illegitimate contract or by my own need to be there, it doesn’t matter. Our lives are inexplicably linked far, far into the future.

  Eventually, we pull up at the estate. When I left by myself, I was so excited to be off the property that I never bothered looking back at it. But now, as we wait for the gates to open, I can see it in all its glory.

  Even from the street, it looks magnificent—almost like a conservation area. The black gate is linked up to a high brick fence that disappears into the shrubbery. I see the tops of all the trees inside and remember just how big the property is. The sense of size is magnified as the limo snakes its way through the twisting lane that leads to the mansion.

  We stop at the front. It’s already dark. All the lights in the house are on. They shine through the open windows making it look like one of those designer properties featured in glossy real estate magazines.

  I half expect to see Rose standing on the threshold, waiting to greet us. She doesn’t show, however. When Jeremy steps out of the limousine, opens the trunk, and takes out our bags, I feel surprised. Simon, our driver, comes around to help with the rest.

  I look to see if there’s something I can help carry. Between the two of them, the men have a firm handle on things.

  Simon sets the bags down at the front door and wishes us both goodnight. Jeremy takes out a key and unlocks the door.

  “Have you missed this place?” he asks me.

  “Only a little,” I reply. To be honest, I thought that returning to the mansion would fill me with disgust. But stepping through the front doors does feel a little like coming home.

  We enter the lobby. The inside is scary silent. The air is cool and fresh.

  Our footsteps echo down the length of the halls. They are amplified by the sheer depth of the mansion.

  I look at Jeremy. “Where’s Rose?” I ask him.

  “I told her not to wait for us,” he says. “When we returned from our trip, I wanted it to be just you and me, and no one else.”

  “Oh,” I say. That sentiment can be perceived in so many different ways. And honestly, right now, I’m too tired to decide on which. “I see.”

  I start to reach for the two bags the driver left, but Jeremy interrupts me by taking my hand. “Leave them,” he says. “Rose will see to them tomorrow.”

  “I have some of my things in there,” I say. “I want to lay them out in the sunroom for the morning.”

  “The sunroom?” Jeremy laughs. It’s a rich, rumbling sound that I can’t help but fall victim to. “No, Lilly. You’re not going to be spending any more time in that pit. From now on, you’re sleeping in my bed. With me.”

  “Oh.” That’s actually a surprise. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “I’m bound by the deal you arranged on the plane,” he says, his eyes glinting. “But you know the reason why. Come.” He takes my hand. “Let me pour us some wine. To celebrate coming home, and to commemorate the occasion.”

  “Occasion?” I ask. “What occasion is that?”

  “The day of your arrival in my home. Not as a prisoner. Not as a hostage.” He spins me into him and holds me tight. “But as an equal.”

  ***

  I fall asleep at the dinner table shortly after having the wine. It’s a poor showing on my part. I can tell Jeremy had different expectations for the night… especially since it marked the transition to my sleeping in his bed. He’d want to christen it, after all.

  But he does not complain, or stew over it. In fact, he acts like a sweetheart, tucking his arms under me and
carrying me upstairs to his room. I look up at him as he sets me down on the bed. It might be the alcohol, or it might be my halfway, sleepy state, but right now, I think, that if he tells me he loves me… I wouldn’t protest that much.

  True to his word, however, he does no such thing. After making sure I’m comfortable, he leans down and kisses my forehead.

  “Sleep tight, my sweet Lilly-flower,” he whispers softly. “Tomorrow it’s back to reality for both of us.”

  The implications of those words have no time to sink in before I close my eyes and succumb to a deep and wonderful sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  When I come to the next morning, it takes me an extra second to orient myself. When I finally do, and realize that I’m sleeping in Jeremy’s room, in Jeremy’s mansion, all the feelings that have been building inside since his pronouncement come crashing down on me.

  “Love.” He really means that, doesn’t he? Try to deny it as I will, I can’t just make it go away. It’s not something that can be swept under the rug. Knowing now, when I look at him, that I’m staring into the eyes of the person who has such strong feelings for me shifts the dynamics between us.

  I know he doesn’t expect me to love him back. He can’t. He’s a logical, calculating man. It’d be unreasonable to have such expectations knowing everything that he’s done to me.

  But it makes me uneasy. Somewhere, deep down, I have this niggling sense of… not guilt, exactly, but… pressure. Pressure that weighs me down. Pressure that feels like it won’t relent until I admit that his feelings are not one-sided.

  I roll over and stuff my head under the pillow. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I can never love Jeremy. Never. Not with all that he’s guilty of. Not for the things he’s done to me, to my father.

  I’m alone in the bedroom. I get up, go to the bathroom, and splash water on my face. When I’m there, I catch a lingering hint of Jeremy’s smell. The top of the mirror still has a tiny screen of condensation on it. He’d gotten out of the shower recently. I know he has to go to work, but maybe he’s still home?