“Good evening,” Sheila says in her fake automated computer tone. “You are the lucky winner of a free trip to—”
Beep, beep, beep.
“Oh, darn, she hung up.”
“You’re a bitch,” I say. But I say it through a laugh.
“I am,” Sheila says with a smile on her transparent face. “Every good woman has a little bitch inside her. I’ll have the cleaning bots press your tux before I morph them into my engineering minions. Now please accept my request to run your life so I can make sure you get laid sometime in the next century. People can go months, but you’re straddling that line between frustrated and desperate.”
Fucking Sheila. She’s been around Case too much.
But I get out from under the bike and walk over to the main computer terminal so I can accept the request. Because women, right? Every man wants one. Even me. And maybe Sheila’s not real and she’s more like a mother than I’d like to admit, but she’s all I’ve got.
Chapter Twelve - Molly
I hang up the phone and look at it for a moment. The voice sounded familiar. It was a computer, Molly, the rational person inside me says. But it did… feel… familiar.
My phone rings again and I snatch it up and tab the answer button. “Hello?”
“Ah, Miss Masters.”
Fuck. Atticus Montgomery. I spent all week avoiding the Blue Castle, but I should have known better than to think I’d slipped under his radar.
“Mr. Montgomery. How nice to hear from you again. I’m sorry, but I have no news about the case just yet. I’m—”
“It’s a personal call.”
Shit. “Oh. Well, how can I help you?”
“Our date, remember? To see the stars.”
“Mr. Montgomery—”
“Atticus.”
Whatever. I roll my eyes. “Atticus, I’m afraid I have plans tonight.”
“I know. Big party for the new kid in town.”
I laugh. “Surely you’re not trying to tell me you’re going?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
I sigh. He’s not going to make this simple. And what did I expect? He’s the son of a billionaire. It’s easy to make snap judgments about people and see them as ridiculous, or snide, or lacking in manners. But people at the top like Atticus Montgomery are where they are for a reason. And silver spoon aside, he’s well-educated, fearless, and persistent. “Well, it’s a party for the new satellite company—”
“SkyEye.”
“Right. SkyEye. They’re something of a direct competitor, aren’t they?”
“Satellites,” Atticus says with a pfffft. “Expensive tech built for the super-rich. It’s just not practical. So no, we’re really not competitors. And we were invited.”
“Oh, God, is your father going to be there too?”
“You’re going then?”
“Oh, I have to. I’m in charge of security. So yes. But I’m afraid if you think we can use it as our date, I have to decline. Duty, right?”
“Right.” I can almost hear the smile and it sends a shiver up my spine. I’m not sure why he’s sorta creepy to me, but he is. That tower. I really don’t want to see the stars from that thing. It’s just weird. “But you’re dressing for the occasion, I hope? I’d like to see you cleaned up. No offense to your everyday wear. But the tan slacks and white blouses are kind of… ordinary. You’re definitely not ordinary.”
I huff out a breath. “Well, no offense taken. I do my best to be as ordinary as possible. I’m afraid it suits me.”
“All pretenses. No ordinary woman wears saddle shoes.” He chuckles on the other end of the line. “It says fearless nine-year-old. But in all the right ways.”
I burst out laughing. “Jesus, Atticus. You have a way with words. I’m not sure how to take that, but—”
“Some children just naturally feel invincible and immortal. Like the world is at their beck and call. Like it owes them nothing but a challenge and no wall is too high, no obstacle too large, and no enemy too close.”
I stand there in silence for a moment, thinking about how right he is. Or was. “Well,” I say after several long seconds. “I might’ve been that way once. But today, they’re just comfortable shoes.”
“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that. And even though you’re working, I’m sure you’ll be able to spare a moment to say hello when I seek you out. Have a nice morning, Miss Masters.”
The line goes dead.
I press the end tab just to make sure the call disconnected and slump down in a chair near the front window as I think about what he said. He’s been checking up on me, obviously. And why not? I’m the detective in charge of a major case that involves his billion-dollar business. It’s only logical that he went looking.