Page 97 of Ezra
“No,” he says quickly. “Not at all.”
“Then what do you mean?”
He looks at me, hesitant, then sighs. “I’m used to having all knowledge in an instant. It’s strange and uncomfortable for me to let things stay unspoken. But I want to give you time before discussing too much.”
“Is that difficult for you?” I ask. “Waiting?”
“It isn’tfun, but I manage.” His voice isn’t flat, dry, or unimpressed. There’s a softness to it, like he’s tiptoeing around me.
My heart rallies my words before I even realize they’re spilling out of my mouth. “I’m not going anywhere, Ezra,” I insist. “Everything about this—about us—none of it is casual. Or just sex. Not for me.”
It hits me hard then just how lucky I am to have Ezra like this. He always carries himself like a man in control, like he’s in command of everything, including his own programming and responses. I try to imagine beautiful women turning him down, telling him he was moving too fast, that it was just for fun. That it didn’t mean anything to them, when he was hoping for something more. Something concrete. Why wouldn’t he want those things? Seeing Deion and Rashelle, living in their home, witnessing how happy they are.
If androids were made to exude humanity and have evolved into something more, it means Ezra’s capable of loneliness and heartache just like the rest of us.
I remember silently thanking his creators and wonder if the women who had any part in his making enjoyed watching him come to life as much as I love pressing kisses along his jawline.
Studying me intently, he leans back against the seat.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I ask again. “And I won’t argue, I promise.”
“All right,” Ezra replies. He pauses, and for a moment I can almost see the thoughts and questions whirring behind the slight shuttering movement of his pupils as they narrow and dilate. “This is all so different for me too. And I want you, Kat. I’ll be—” He stiffens and stops, sighing heavily.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He shuts his eyes for a moment, perhaps summoning patience. “It’s Deion. Give me a moment.” Everything about his demeanor changes into complete and neutral professionalism. “What do you have for me?”
I can’t hear anything. I try to fix my face as best I can after I roll off him onto the back seat. I reach over when I’m finished to lightly caress his arm. He takes my hand and squeezes it, allowing me a stolen moment to admire our fingers, entwining on top of the backseat.
“I’ll be there shortly.” Ezra looks at me. “I have to go. I have a briefing.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s your father’s fundraiser at the Loft. Jayne said she came across some questionable dialogue in the corners of the dark web she monitors. It could be nothing, but it could also be something. Jacobs has already spoken with the gala organizers, and they’ve agreed to a small police presence tokeep an an eye on things.” He sighs. “Of course, Deion wants me there.”
“Oh, everyone will love that.” I trace his knuckles. “So you’re saying I’m going to see you at the party Friday night?”
He smirks, stealing a kiss. “You’ll see me at the party Friday night.”
We slip out of the car separately, of course, at different times. It takes me longer to ready myself, so I don’t look like I just came from a steamy, afternoon session in the car. When I’m satisfied that my hair doesn’t look ridiculous, I turn toward the fundraiser, only to pause when my phone rumbles in my pocket. I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Hey, Kat, it’s Ashley Barnes.” The familiar, friendly singsong tone of my father’s lead PR lady is one I know well. “I just wondered if I could set up a meeting with you tomorrow about your PhotoGram account.”
“Sure,” I say, though my heart thumps slightly with tentative warning. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, no! It’s just—I’ve noticed you haven’t been posting as much, and I think we should put our heads together and make a consistent plan to grow your social media presence. This is what I do, so I’d love to help with that. How does tomorrow afternoon around two p.m. sound?”
“Sure,” I agree, relaxing a little. “Are we meeting somewhere?”
“Oh, no, we’ll do a video call. You just stay nice and relaxed at your new place,” Ashley replies. “I’ll write you in for 2 PM. Thanks so much!”
“Anytime.” I slip my phone back into my pocket. Dad talks to Ashley Barnes more than I do, and I’m wondering if she suspects change is on the horizon for Humanity First. Maybe he’s alluded to it. Or maybe she’s just that intuitive.
I don’t remember telling her about my new place or posting about it publicly. I dismiss that thought. Dad has always had the gift of gab with people he knows and trusts. I’m sure they’re sick of hearing about me right now. And while an afternoon conference call on the weekend isn’t my idea of fun, I think I need to be open with other members of the organization and do what I can to get them on board.
I’ll tell Ashley all about my plans. After the gala.
My family isn’t rich, so a gala of this magnitude isn’t something I’m used to attending. Dad and I have exhausted every connection we have to persuade, guilt, and otherwise obligate the right people—the people with bottomless pockets and endless streams of money propping them up at the top—to be there. We’ve also managed to get a few national company sponsorships.
