Page 71 of Black Heart
“You don’t have to be involved. I just need a ride to the conference. And maybe your security pass so I’m not flagged by using mine to access the basement, then plant a virus in this AI that every employee at Pulse, including you, has helped create.”
“Excuse me,what? I’ve been creatingwhat?”
I can’t help the laughter that bubbles up. It’s not funny, not really, it’s dangerous and potentially life-ending, but the look on Ethan’s face is too much. “Keep your eyes on the road before you get us both killed.”
He throws up his hands defensively, although one quicklyreturns to the wheel. “You tell me you’re breaking into a high-security tech event held by our boss who’s apparently involved in some Mafia scheme and expect me to just drive perfectly? I’m stressed, Layla!”
“No one will know,” I reassure him.
Ethan scrubs a hand down his face and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘why me?’.
“You realize this is not like hacking into your neighbors’ Wi-Fi because they forgot to lock it, right? This is some James Bond level shit and there’s no way you can do this alone. I’m coming with you.”
My stomach drops. “No. No, you’re not. You’re going to go to the event and mingle and kiss ass like every other employee and stay safe.”
Ethan catches my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine tightly. “James Bond needs a Q, Layla.”
A surge of warmth floods my chest at my friend’s steadfast support. “You would really want to be Q?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, he’s a genius who saves Bond’s ass multiple times, so…”
That earns him a chuckle. I squeeze his hand before letting go. “I could use someone as a lookout for anyone who goes into the basement, but at the first sign of trouble, you have to promise me you’ll find someplace safe.”
“Only if you promise the same,” he counters, and I can see in his eyes that he means every word.
We pull into Main Street, and the suspicion that pulled me to this conference tonight settles around me again. Greycliff is an abandoned fishing town recently discovered by millennials and Gen Zs, both for the crazy deals on real estate and the idealism attached to reviving and modernizing a quaint, spooky town. It’s why Pulse Dynamics moved in. The start-upcompany bought up an entire building with six floors and renovated it to their specifications for a quarter of the cost a start-up in New York City would require. After establishing their success, no doubt Pulse would move to a better location, but that begs the question: Why hold a conference here?
Greycliff is not yet a town you invite prospective clients to, unless they enjoy ghost tours and the stench of dead fish.
Pulse has never hosted clients before or had parties beyond its first December holiday last year that Ethan told me about, consisting of a single keg and tinsel along the walls.
The only explanation is that someone in the clientele they’re courting enjoys the thrill of investing in a risky, fledgling town and the clandestine meetings it promises. It offers the kind of privacy that backing illegal technology and being shown how it operates would require.
As Ethan and I park the van, the sprawling Pulse Dynamics building comes into view. The high-tech glass structure seems almost out of place against the old-world charm of Greycliff. Its sleek metallic lines reflect the blue LED lights inside.
When we come to a stop, I rummage through my purse, then use the sun visor to put in a brown contact over my blue eye. Then I turn to Ethan, blinking a few times. “How do I look?”
“Wait, you do that? I’ve never seen you camouflage your awesome eye colors before.”
“I gave up a long time ago. It was too expensive to buy lenses without insurance, and when I tried the cheap Halloween ones, well, I almost blinded myself.”
Covering the true colors of my eyes started as an attempt to be less desirable and less stared at by Mom’s “friends.” I was too young to know that it wasn’t my uniqueness that drew them to me. It was my age.
I was forced to learn how to stay away from home fast.
Eventhis contact is too old. I can feel its edges every time I blink, giving me a tic. It’s better than being recognized on sight, though.
“Gotta say, you look pretty boring now. Zero superhero aura about you,” Ethan adds.
I laugh, but my smile dies as fast as Ethan’s does. His face is a sickly shade of white, and he’s chewing on his lower lip nervously.
“You can stay here.” I lay a comforting hand on his arm. “I just need your security pass.”
He hesitates.
“You’ll get it back, I promise.”
Ethan’s expression is filled with worry, but there’s trust too. A trust I don’t deserve but am grateful for.