Page 28 of Ezra
Billions of dollars went into the refurbishment of one of the oldest skyscrapers in town. It was previously called Astor Tower due to its proximity to the large, ever-glowing, and now popular Astor Arena, home of the New Carnegie Barons NFL team. Bionic Fighting League matches are also hosted there, bringing in revenue to the city. Renamed after Schroeder’s corporation, it’s now the tallest building in New Carnegie’s vast riverside skyline, the company’s logo emblazoned in glowing white light.
Atop that same tower is Schroeder’s penthouse, overlooking the Vanderbilt River, the bridge, and the entire city. He could live like a monarch if he wanted to, surveying his kingdom from the top of his throne of steel and glass.
Katrina seems to still be in disbelief. “There is no way,” she remarks as I park in the garage connected to the tower. “There’sno way he agreed to this. You don’t understand—my dad and Dr. Schroederhateeach other. I can’t stay here.” She folds her arms obstinately.
All that does is push up her cleavage. I appreciate the view, though I’m far subtler than she was checking me out at the hospital. “It’s a place TerraPura will never think to look.”
“I can’t hide out in the android tower,” she replies, exasperated. “It’s bad enough I have to be babysat by the one droid...”
“One droid what?” I ask, frowning.
She switches tactics. “Can you imagine the outrage if Humanity First found out where I was? They’ll make assumptions, say we’ve been in league with BioNex this whole time. It could undermine everything we’ve worked for.”
“Your reputation within your own organization is not my concern. And for the record, I’m not happy about having to babysit you either,” I answer. “But I’m following orders.” I open my door, stalk around the cruiser, and open her door for her. “Out.”
“No,” she counters defiantly. “I’m putting my foot down. I’ll stay anywhere else, but not here.”
“Put your foot down all you like. It won’t make a difference. Either get out, or I’ll be forced to assist you out.”
She squints at me. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“I don’t believe you,” she says. “You’re programmed to care, right? You can’tmakeme do anything. It’d be against your directives.”
“It’s cute you think you know what my directives are, or how I prioritize them,” I reply dryly. A temperature notification pops up in my visual feed, notifying me that a cooling process has begun. She’s stubborn. But so am I. “All right. I warned you.”
I reach into the car, unbuckle her seat, and pull her out of my cruiser like one might carry a bride. She flails as I straighten to my full height, her hands shooting to my shoulders to grip my trench coat tightly. “Hey! Wait!”
I snort to myself. I’m not sure why I equated holding her like this in some way to a bride. If anything, she’s being a pain in my ass right now. And yet, holding her close to me, her body pressed to mine...
I’m enjoying this, Katrina’s obstinance that gives me a reason to touch her. She doesn’t weigh much. At least, not to me. She gasps as I shift her in my arms, staring at me wide-eyed. She stops for a moment, her face flushing as we both still, gazing at each other. I’m not sure if she realizes her hand is resting on my chest.
“Put me down!” she demands.
Heart rate increase. Temperature spike. Cheeks flushed pink as I hold her to my chest. Her words say one thing, but there’s something in her eyes that says another.
But I’m nothing if notnice. I release her. “Have it your way.”
She’d have fallen on her ass if she didn’t grab fistfuls of my lapels to steady herself. She staggers and finds her feet as I head for a glass elevator, then follows me. “I said put me down, not drop me!”
“You’ll have to be more specific in your commands next time.”
That pretty pink blush in her cheeks turns red. “Now you’re being deliberately obtuse.”
I imitate an artificial intelligence voice. “Sorry, I didn’t get that. Could you try again?” I touch the button, and the elevator opens with a ding. “After you, Miss Carson.”
She stalks past me into the lift. “You’re something else.”
“Thank you,” I say shortly as the doors smoothly shut behind us.
When the elevator opens, Katrina heads into the penthouse, heels clicking on the marble-tiled floor, chip still on her shoulder. We’re greeted by the sight of a decorous granite fountain in the center of a reception forum. All that bluster slowly fades as she stops in her tracks, taken aback by the sheer extravagance of BioNex’s founder’s urban home.
“This penthouse has to be at least fifty million dollars.”
“Seventy-five, according to market values.”
“And he doesn’t even live in it.” She bristles. “While people are struggling to survive after losing their jobs. Even you have to see a problem with this picture.”
