slid his hand down her arm and moved her hand toward the icon. She curled her fingers and the image glowed.
“Propel it upward.”
“What?”
He thought for a second then said, “Throw it in front of you.”
She did and gasped when a foot-long illuminated keyboard appeared before the projection of the website.
“Did you see that?”
“Of course. I’m standing behind you.”
She reached out and touched the image. A letter appeared in the air. She snatched her hand back as if burned.
“It’s okay. Type.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t tell you to do so if I wasn’t.”
Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
“Adam! I had no idea. I mean, this is incredible. You invented this?”
He nodded, his chest expanding with pride.
“You’re a genius!”
“I know.”
He tapped the power button on the HPC and the screen dissipated. He took the device off her ear and placed it back in the box on his desk.
Chelsea faced him, her eyes bright, her lips stretched into a wide grin. “This launch has to be perfect. The HPC deserves nothing less.”
“Exactly. I’m glad you understand.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll assemble the information you’ll need to compose the speech.”
This was great. He headed for the storage room where he kept work-related files. His previous worries had been absurd. He’d get her the specs and she could start drafting—
She tugged on his sleeve, halting his progress. “Wait. I’m not writing your speech.”
He frowned. “You said you would help me. That’s the help I need.”
She shook her head. “I think there’s been some confusion.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not on my part. I recall our conversation accurately.”
She shifted her stance, one hip jutting laterally. “I don’t care what you recall. I’m not writing your speech. What I will do is help you make the HPC stand out among all the other products Computronix will launch.”
He clenched his jaw. “The HPC doesn’t need an ostentatious reveal. You’ve seen its capabilities. It will succeed based on the merits of its performance.”
“Your naiveté is amazing considering your intelligence. You will be the face of this product. It’ll be your passion, your words that will link you to it. You reading my words will be fake.”
“Fraudulence will be the least of my problems if I fuck up the presentation, in which case that same focus on me will hurt the HPC.”
She exhaled slowly and shook her head, her lips compressing to create divots in her chin.
A swarm of anger heated him. He was well acquainted with versions of that expression, had seen it on the faces of countless family members, acquaintances, and dates. When his mother begged him to be like the other boys in his playgroup. In the eleventh grade when Annette Connors told him it didn’t matter how cute he was, no girl would suffer through twenty minutes of why the latest video game was more nuanced and mature than 99 percent of Hollywood horror movies. When his first college roommate asked to be reassigned because “this weirdo gets up at 6 a.m. every day to do push-ups. Even when he doesn’t have class!” It was the look that usually preceded a remark used to remind him he was different, odd. But seeing it eclipse her features . . . He clenched his jaw so tightly his back teeth clicked.
He’d accept a spectrum of emotions from her, but he’d be damned if he’d endure her exasperated pity.
“Perhaps I overestimated your abilities. You assisted me with a few pop culture questions, a talent on par with a teenage girl and her Twitter account, but hardly worthy enough to entrust with the HPC.”
She flinched. “You’re an asshole. Good luck. You’re going to need it,” she said, snatching her bag from the bar stool and stalking to the stairs.
Just like that, his anger subsided. Dread clogged in his chest and his feet moved of their own accord, carting him after her. “You can’t leave. You promised to help
“Propel it upward.”
“What?”
He thought for a second then said, “Throw it in front of you.”
She did and gasped when a foot-long illuminated keyboard appeared before the projection of the website.
“Did you see that?”
“Of course. I’m standing behind you.”
She reached out and touched the image. A letter appeared in the air. She snatched her hand back as if burned.
“It’s okay. Type.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t tell you to do so if I wasn’t.”
Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
“Adam! I had no idea. I mean, this is incredible. You invented this?”
He nodded, his chest expanding with pride.
“You’re a genius!”
“I know.”
He tapped the power button on the HPC and the screen dissipated. He took the device off her ear and placed it back in the box on his desk.
Chelsea faced him, her eyes bright, her lips stretched into a wide grin. “This launch has to be perfect. The HPC deserves nothing less.”
“Exactly. I’m glad you understand.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll assemble the information you’ll need to compose the speech.”
This was great. He headed for the storage room where he kept work-related files. His previous worries had been absurd. He’d get her the specs and she could start drafting—
She tugged on his sleeve, halting his progress. “Wait. I’m not writing your speech.”
He frowned. “You said you would help me. That’s the help I need.”
She shook her head. “I think there’s been some confusion.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not on my part. I recall our conversation accurately.”
She shifted her stance, one hip jutting laterally. “I don’t care what you recall. I’m not writing your speech. What I will do is help you make the HPC stand out among all the other products Computronix will launch.”
He clenched his jaw. “The HPC doesn’t need an ostentatious reveal. You’ve seen its capabilities. It will succeed based on the merits of its performance.”
“Your naiveté is amazing considering your intelligence. You will be the face of this product. It’ll be your passion, your words that will link you to it. You reading my words will be fake.”
“Fraudulence will be the least of my problems if I fuck up the presentation, in which case that same focus on me will hurt the HPC.”
She exhaled slowly and shook her head, her lips compressing to create divots in her chin.
A swarm of anger heated him. He was well acquainted with versions of that expression, had seen it on the faces of countless family members, acquaintances, and dates. When his mother begged him to be like the other boys in his playgroup. In the eleventh grade when Annette Connors told him it didn’t matter how cute he was, no girl would suffer through twenty minutes of why the latest video game was more nuanced and mature than 99 percent of Hollywood horror movies. When his first college roommate asked to be reassigned because “this weirdo gets up at 6 a.m. every day to do push-ups. Even when he doesn’t have class!” It was the look that usually preceded a remark used to remind him he was different, odd. But seeing it eclipse her features . . . He clenched his jaw so tightly his back teeth clicked.
He’d accept a spectrum of emotions from her, but he’d be damned if he’d endure her exasperated pity.
“Perhaps I overestimated your abilities. You assisted me with a few pop culture questions, a talent on par with a teenage girl and her Twitter account, but hardly worthy enough to entrust with the HPC.”
She flinched. “You’re an asshole. Good luck. You’re going to need it,” she said, snatching her bag from the bar stool and stalking to the stairs.
Just like that, his anger subsided. Dread clogged in his chest and his feet moved of their own accord, carting him after her. “You can’t leave. You promised to help
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