Trade Me (Cyclone #1)

I know we’re just joking. I know this doesn’t mean anything. Still, my body doesn’t know this is a show when I lean toward her. I don’t feel like I’m lying when I inhale the sent of her hair. It goes straight to my groin, a stab of lust. “Trust me,” I murmur.

She’s sitting in my chair. She’s smaller than me and all that dark leather surrounds her, blending in with her hair. But when she looks up, tilting her head toward me, she doesn’t seem tiny. She pulls the first paper-clipped section of pages to her, glances at the first paragraph, and wrinkles her nose.

“Ouch,” she says in a much less sensual tone of voice. “It hurts already.”

“It basically says that if you tell anyone anything about Cyclone business, we get one of your kidneys,” I translate helpfully.

“How sweet.” She hasn’t looked up from the document. “Do your lawyers know you summarize their forms like that?”

“Disclose two things,” I say, “and we get two kidneys.”

“Mmm. Playing rough. What happens if I disclose three? You shut down my dialysis machine?”

“You get a commemorative Cyclone pen,” I say mock-seriously. “Come on. We’re not monsters.”

She cracks a smile at that. She’s not one of those girls who always smiles, and that means that when she does smile, it means something. Her whole face lights up and my breath catches at the sight. I lean in, as if I could breathe in her amusement. But then she drops her head and goes back to reading. When she finishes, she signs with a flourish.

“What’s next?” she says. “Bring it on.”

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.”