Page 136 of The Sterling Acquisition
“Sorry,” Orion echoed, though he didn’t look repentant.
“Mmm.” Her sharp eyes moved between them with obvious amusement. “You know, there are private rooms designed specifically for this sort of... discussion.”
“We weren’t—” Dante started.
“Of course you weren’t,” she said pleasantly. “Just like you weren’t having a ‘discussion’ yesterday in the supply closet, or the day before in the workshop, or last week behind the generator building.”
Orion made a strangled sound. “You knew about—”
“Boy, I’ve been running this collective since before you were born. You think anything happens here without me knowing about it?” She shook her head with fond exasperation. “At least try to be subtle about your foreplay. Some of us are trying to eat.”
The afternoon work with Riot was more challenging, partly because of the technical complexity and partly because Orion kept showing up to “check on their progress” and then proceeding to critique Dante’s methodology.
“That’s not how you calibrate a signal filter,” Orion said for the third time in an hour, appearing at Dante’s shoulder with the demeanor of a particularly judgmental cat.
“It is how you calibrate a signal filter,” Dante replied without looking up from the control panel. “I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been picking locks.”
“Corporate methodology,” Orion said dismissively. “All efficiency, no elegance. You’re brute-forcing the calibration instead of listening to what the system needs.”
Riot, who had been watching their exchange with obvious entertainment, finally intervened. “Maybe,” he suggested diplomatically, “you could show us this ‘elegant’ approach?”
“Gladly.” Orion moved to push past Dante, who caught his wrist and pulled him closer instead.
“Or,” Dante said, “you could stop being a know-it-all and letme finish what I’m doing.”
“Make me,” Orion challenged, and there was that familiar spark in his eyes that usually preceded either violence or sex.
“Tempting,” Dante murmured, his grip tightening on Orion’s wrist. “But Riot doesn’t need to see you lose another argument.”
“I don’t lose arguments, I just get interrupted by—”
Dante spun him around and pressed him face-first against the nearest wall, one hand braced against his spine to keep him there. “By what?”
Orion’s response was breathless and probably not appropriate for their current audience. “By tactical advantages I’m not prepared for.”
“That’s what I thought,” Dante said, releasing him.
Riot was shaking his head in amazement. “You two are exhausting just to watch. How do you have energy for anything else?”
“We don’t sleep much,” Orion said cheerfully, smoothing down his shirt.
“You know,” Riot said as they calibrated signal filters, “when I first saw you in the Neutral Zone, I figured you for standard corporate issue. All polish and no substance.”
“Thanks?”
Riot grinned. “Turned out I was wrong. You’ve got more substance than most. Takes guts to walk away from everything you’ve ever known.”
“I didn’t walk away,” Dante corrected. “I was dragged, kicking and screaming, by a man who refused to let me make the safe choice.”
“Same result,” Riot said with a shrug.
Movie night turned out to be a pre-Adjustment action film that managed to be both ridiculous and entertaining. Orion provided running commentary about the implausibility of the chase scenes, while Riot offered professional observations about the tactical errors being made by both heroes and villains. Granny Lu dozed in her wheelchair, waking occasionally to make sharp remarks about the leading lady’s impractical footwear.
Later, walking back to their house under stars that were visible without corporate light pollution, Orion slipped his hand into Dante’s.
“Happy?” he asked.
Dante considered the question seriously. Three months ago, happiness had been a foreign concept—something that might exist in the abstract but had no practical application to his life. Corporate conditioning taught him satisfaction, efficiency, and the successful completion of objectives. But happiness?
