Calliope should have been accustomed to waiting by now; she’d certainly done plenty of it the past few years. But she’d never been especially patient, and didn’t intend to start today.
Her stacked jade bracelets slid down her arm as she propped herself on one elbow to glance around. The Nuage sundeck had one of the best views in the Tower, with its sparkling infinity-edge pool seeming to stretch all the way to the horizon. Yellow-and-white umbrellas dotted the space, solely for ambiance: the soaring blue ceiling overhead was lined with solar lamps that projected an even, UV-free sunlight. Calliope remembered that once, when she and her mom had been at a pool in Thailand, it had actually rained on them, because the local government didn’t even bother to control the weather. Calliope and Elise had loved it—it felt like some glorious adventure out of a romance novel, as if the sky were breaking open, and suddenly anything was possible.
She heard a door open overhead and risked a glance up. Sure enough, there was Atlas, walking from the executive offices onto the hotel’s famous suspended bridge, which looped over the pool and the surrounding interior vineyards. Like the umbrellas, the vineyards were mostly just for show, barely producing enough wine to make a few barrels a year.
Calliope had chosen her seat with excessive care. She waited until Atlas was directly above her. “Atlas? Is that you?” she called out, a hand raised as if to shade her eyes. She hadn’t seen him or heard from him since that party as his parents’ apartment last weekend, so here she was, resorting to a staged run-in. It was a little bit desperate, but every great con has to start somewhere.
“Calliope. What are you doing here?” Atlas stepped onto one of the edges of the bridge. “Down, please,” he added. Calliope’s mouth twitched a little as his segment of bridge detached itself to float down. Only Atlas would say please and thank you to a robotic control system.
She debated standing up to greet him but decided against it. It gave Atlas too much power, and besides, she looked better from this angle.
“I live here. What’s your excuse?” she said archly, with a glance at his suit and tie. “All work and no play?”
“Something like that.” He ran a hand through his hair in that absentminded way of his.
Calliope gestured to the chair next to her. “Care to join me, or do you have to hurry back?”
Atlas paused, probably checking the time. It was almost evening. “You know, why not,” he decided, shrugging off his jacket and sinking gratefully onto the chaise.
Calliope lowered her eyes to hide her excitement, letting her long lashes cast shadows over her face. She lifted one shoulder toward the windows, where the sun was dipping behind the jagged man-made mountains that crowded the horizon. “It’s almost time for sundowners. Champagne or beer?” she asked, and tapped the side of her chair to call up the menu.
As she’d hoped, her words elicited a reluctant smile. Sundowners had been a tradition back in Africa—the staff at the safari lodge would all climb a hill to watch the sunset, bringing salted crackers and beers in zippered backpacks. The moment the sun disappeared into the horizon, they would break open the bottles, raising them in a toast as the sky erupted in a fiery blaze of color.
“Beer,” he concluded. “There’s actually a local Joburg brew on the menu, if you can—”
“Done.”
Their eyes met, and maybe it was Calliope’s imagination, but it felt like something leapt in the air between them.
“So. How did your meeting go?”
“Not that well,” Atlas admitted, “but let’s not talk about work right now.”
With any other boy, Calliope would have followed the cue and changed the subject to something else—probably herself—but she’d learned the hard way that Atlas wasn’t like any other boy. Instead she forced herself to look into his bottomless brown eyes. “I hope the hotel wasn’t demanding a renegotiation of their lease terms. You shouldn’t give them one, not right now.”
It was always risky, choosing not to play dumb. Calliope’s heartbeat echoed around her rib cage. “And why shouldn’t I?” Atlas asked, clearly intrigued.
“Their occupancy rates should be higher. It’s the holidays, and they aren’t even at eighty percent. Besides,” she added, lifting one long leg and pointing her toes, “their customer service is woefully inadequate. You know I slipped on a drink and sprained my ankle when we checked in here?”
Atlas’s eyes followed her motion for an instant, then looked away. So at least he found her attractive. She’d almost started to think she’d imagined it. She lowered her leg and leaned forward. “All I’m saying is, I’d think carefully before renewing their lease at the same terms. Especially given current interest rates.”
“You’re not wrong,” Atlas admitted. They went back and forth for a while about discounted cash flows, and even though Calliope was talking the whole time, she was also watching Atlas’s body, the way his pupils danced when he talked about certain things, the way his hands gestured to make a point. All summer she’d expected to feel those hands on her, yet Atlas had never touched her, not once.
Why hadn’t he wanted her, she thought frantically. Why was he the only boy who hadn’t tried to make a move on her—the one boy she’d failed to trick?
A waiter carried their beers over on a silver tray. The glass was pleasantly cold in Calliope’s fingers as she lifted it to her mouth and took an enormous sip. She still hated beer—always had—but she’d gone to far greater lengths for a con before.
“What have you been up to lately?” Atlas asked. “You’re not in school, right?”
For an instant Calliope wondered if she’d made a mistake, turning down her mom’s offer to enroll her in school. It would have given her more time with Atlas’s sister—but then she reminded herself that girls gave unpredictable assistance at best, and besides, it was always better going directly to the mark. She knew that if she stayed around Atlas long enough, she could figure out a way to get something from him.
“I’m not in school. But I assure you that I’m quite capable of entertaining myself,” she answered, with what she hoped was the right amount of naughtiness.
“Atlas! What are you doing here? And who is this?” There was something familiar about the boy who approached their chairs, Calliope thought. He was tall and classically good-looking, with high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes.
“Cord! How are you?” Atlas grinned and stepped up to greet the other boy. “Have you met my friend Calliope Brown?”
Friend, really? Calliope considered that an opening bid in negotiations. Luckily she was one hell of a negotiator.
She swung her legs over the side of the chair and drew herself up slowly. “It’s a pleasure,” she murmured—just as another boy walked into the pool area, and she realized with a sinking feeling why Cord felt so familiar.