Release Me

vanish.
    “I’m looking at the quarterlies right now,” Stark says, snatching a sheaf of papers from his desk. It’s huge, and every inch of desktop is covered with papers. From where I stand, I see neat stacks of magazines—
Scientific American
,
Physics Today
,
Air & Space
, even the French
La Recherche
. Charts and graphs are spread out in the middle, both marked up with handwritten notes made with red and blue pencil. A stack of correspondence rests on the far side of the desk, the corner of the pile held down with a battered copy of Isaac Asimov’s
I, Robot
.
    “I’m not interested in excuses,” Stark continues. “I’m interested in hard, cold numbers. Yes, well, tell him that the time to ply me with projections was when he pitched the project in the first place. And the time for excuses is never. If he can’t live up to the schedule we agreed to, then I’ll put in my own team. Hell yes, I have that right. No? Well, have him read the contract again. Then we’ll talk. Fine. No, I think this conversation is over. All right, then.”
    He clicks off, and turns to me, and it’s as if I’m watching a computer graphic of a man shifting into the form of another. The executive seems to melt before me, leaving only the man. Albeit one insanely sexy man in a tailored business suit that probably cost more than Jamie’s condo.
    “What a wonderful surprise,” he says as he crosses the room, his long strides bringing him right in front of me. He looks so cool, so fucking
innocent
that the anger that had been fading spews back up like hot lava out of a volcano.
    “God
damn
you,” I snap as I lash out and slap him hard across the cheek, shocking myself as much as him.
    The way his expression shifts from pleasure to shock to anger and then, finally, to confusion would be amusing if I didn’t feel so sick to my stomach.
    “Oh, God,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I’m speaking from behind my hand, which I’ve pressed to my mouth. “I’m so, so sorry.”
    “What the fucking hell?” he asks. His body is rigid and his eyes are burning. The amber one seems to hold some compassion, but the dark black one looks like it could suck me down, down, down.
Dangerous
, I think.
Ollie’s right. That temper is dangerous
.
    “Carl fired me. Don’t even pretend like you didn’t know.”
    “I didn’t,” he says. The tension leaves his body. “Fuck, Nikki, I swear that I didn’t, though I probably should have expected it.” He reaches for my hand, and I’m numb enough that I let him take it. He presses his lips to my fingertips, and the contact is so gentle and sweet it makes me want to cry. “I’m so sorry.”
    “Why did you say no? The proposal was amazing. The product is amazing. You were impressed—I know you were. And now Carl thinks that I snubbed you or fucked you or otherwise got under your skin enough that you want to get back at me through him.”
    “He told you that?”
    “He hasn’t told me shit. He didn’t even have the balls to fire me himself. But I’m not an idiot. I know what it looks like and what he must think.”
    “You have gotten under my skin,” he says. “But that’s not why I said no.”
    “Then why did you? I mean, come on, Damien. It’s a damn good product.”
    “It is.” He pulls a small device out of his pocket. It takes me a second to realize it’s a remote control. He pushes a button and the room grows dark as the lights dim and the windows shift from clear to opaque.
    “What are you—” But I don’t bother to finish the question. A menu appears on a drop-down screen. Damien scrolls down to select one entitled
Israeli Imaging 3IYK1108-DX
.
    A moment later, a grainy image appears. It’s difficult to seeeverything, but it’s clear that what Damien’s showing me is a product similar to the one Carl pitched.
    “An Israeli company called Primo-Tech has already received a patent on a similar product. They have a marketing plan in place, and they’re deep into beta testing. They expect to roll out the full product next month.”
    I shake my head. “Carl doesn’t know anything about this.”
    “No? Well, maybe he doesn’t. Or maybe he was hoping that I would invest so that there would be enough capital behind his product to beat Primo-Tech in the marketplace.”
    I look at him. Carl can be a shit, but surely he wouldn’t do that. Would he?
    “I don’t play those kinds of games, Nikki. When I invest, it’s because I have a clear path in the market. I said