Competitive Instincts Read online

  He doesn’t grin back, which is rare for him. He’s either angrier with me than he’s letting on… or he’s being serious for once.

  I’d rather he be angry—I’d have to take Serious Finn… well, seriously. I like having him at arm’s length. Finn in close quarters would be dangerous to my health.

  “And sometimes your moves are too erratic to match your personality,” he says. “Tell me, how long have you been working on that AI that you set on me?”

  “How long have you been working on your AI?” I counter.

  He crosses his massive arms, emphasizing how wide his chest is. He’s wearing a button-down shirt, open at the collar and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The poor, strained fabric can barely contain the mass of him—all that muscle and hair and the sheer, aggressive masculinity that crackles off him.

  I suppose that’s another reason I always find myself poking at him. In an industry notorious for bad male behavior, he insists on being the most masculine guy in the room. He’s got a long, thick beard, close-cropped hair that’s almost a buzz cut, and muscles that can only come from an intense weight lifting regime.

  I’m not attracted to guys like him. I’m not. He’s just too close to me right now—that’s why my body is popping and humming.

  He narrows his eyes. “How do you know about my AI?”

  I hold my triumph inside. I wasn’t exactly certain he had an AI, but now he’s confirmed it—an unforced error on his part.

  “It plays differently than you,” I say. “It thinks further ahead, and it isn’t as brilliant”—I clear my throat hard—“it isn’t as arrogant as you are.”

  He sets one hip against my desk, arms still crossed, everything about him emphasizing the power differential between us. The dark fabric of his pants pulls tight against the muscles of his thighs, which are thickly tensed. “I’m brilliant, huh?”

  Oh God. I roll my eyes—there’s that undented arrogance again. My brother was the same way about his intelligence, thinking he could conquer the world solely through his brain. Until the illness lurking beneath broke out and took over.

  I force out a short breath. Finn might remind me of Ray, really painfully remind me of him, but I can’t let my guard down here. “You know that you are. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

  “No, I don’t.” He grins. “But it’s always nice to hear.”

  I snort. Not very elegantly but he’s not elegant himself, so I don’t worry about it.

  “Why are you working on an AI?” he asks.

  “I could ask you the same.” In fact, I’m desperate to ask him about it. He’s a venture capitalist, not a programmer. At least not anymore. Before, he was more famous as a hacker than a programmer, breaking into systems and messing with them just to prove he could. There’s a rumor he used to break into the NSA system on the regular and leave annoying memes on all their computers. I can definitely believe it.

  Ray used to do unsolved math theorems for fun. Not as exciting as hacking the NSA, but Ray wasn’t a rule breaker.

  Isn’t. I correct myself furiously, silently.

  Finn shrugs. “I get bored.”

  Of course. Someone like him would get bored and decide to use this amazing lab with all these toys to develop a machine that can think. All for shits and giggles.

  Finn is here, playing in his own private kingdom, and Ray, who’s just as brilliant, is in prison. Simply because Ray came up with the losing ticket in the genetic lottery.

  It makes all the work I put into my own AI seem silly. Heck, it makes my entire life and my family seem silly, pointless. I tamp down my jealousy since I know my AI is good—it beat his a few minutes ago. And it’s not Finn’s fault Ray got sick.

  “I guess being super-duper rich just doesn’t keep you busy enough.”

  His expression is pleased, like I’ve figured something out. “I need a lot of stimulation.”

  I want to laugh, because it’s such a ridiculous double entendre, like a fifteen-year-old’s idea of seduction. And he knows it’s ridiculous. But he already gets enough ego strokes in life, so I don’t.

  He shifts on the edge of the desk, the muscles in his thighs playing like tiger cubs—Jesus, what is wrong with me that I’m thinking that? “So, why are you designing an AI?” he asks. “It doesn’t seem like something January would need.”

  It’s true. The company I work for, Ultra Encryption, does security stuff, protecting people’s information and data. No AI needed.

  I’m not working on this program because I’m bored… but I did want something to work on that was all my own, that wouldn’t need to be delivered on a certain date or coded to a customer’s specifications. I wanted something that was only what I wanted.

  What with everything going on with Ray’s legal appeals, I needed something that had a chance of actually succeeding. Even if it was only making a computer win a game or two against a human.

  “This isn’t for Ultra,” I say. “I’m working on it on my own.”

  “Oh yeah?” He tries to lean over to see the monitor. I tilt it away from him. “You got a specific market in mind? Maybe launching your own start-up?”

  “I’m thinking about… Well, a lot of stuff. It has a lot of applications.”

  It’s a weaselly, corporate-speak answer, but I’m almost ashamed of the real reason because it’s so goody-goody.

  He’s probably working on his AI to better sell shit to people. Yeah, he’s bored, but he also makes money like he breathes. He can’t not do it.

  And I’m working on my AI for something noble and progressive. The tech world claims to like those things in theory but, in practice, not so much.

  To distract him from my nonanswer, I say, “I can’t believe you’re taking time out of your busy schedule of making tons of money to invent an AI just for fun.”

  He raises his eyebrows, which makes him even more devastatingly handsome. “Oh no. I’ll pass this off to some start-up in our stable once it’s ready, let them develop it for more business-facing stuff. Predicting consumer behavior, stuff like that.”

  My heart sinks. Even something he began as a thought experiment, something to keep his too-big brain busy, is going to be used to make money. I shouldn’t be so disappointed. He is, after all, a billionaire. People like him don’t get to where they are by being altruistic.

  Which is too bad, because Ray could use some altruism, specifically in the form of some money for his legal fees. I’ve tapped out my own account and taken loans from friends, and I still can’t keep up with the bills. But I can’t leave Ray in prison—for schizophrenics, prison is the worst place to be. Not that it’s a picnic for anyone else.

  “So.” Finn closes the distance between us, putting us Wow, this is really intimate inches apart. My focus snaps tight on him. “When can I see your source code?”

  I close my mouth. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal to show him, but… it would feel that way to me. He’s hot, he’s a genius, and he’s also incredibly arrogant. Tangling with him would be like defusing a bomb—yeah, it’d get your heart working and the adrenaline surging, but if you screw up, it’s kaboom.

  “Hmm.” A smile teases at the corners of his mouth. “I gotta work for it?”

  My entire body flushes. He makes it sound like he’s going to seduce it out of me, which my body wouldn’t be averse to. But my body is stupid when it comes to him. My mind knows all the reasons why not, but my body doesn’t know any of that. My body only knows that his body would feel amazing next to mine, his strong, clever fingers against my clit would be devastating, and that beard abrading my skin as his tongue tasted me would be heavenly.

  “It’s not a question of work,” I say. “It’s just none of your business.”

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  That catches me but good. To see his source code… it’d be like getting a peek at da Vinci’s sketchbook.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, but I can hear the fluster in my voice.

/>   So can he. “You like games, don’t you? Of course you do—you’ve been playing games with me for months now, haven’t you?”

  I don’t bother to answer that.

  “How about we play for it?”

  I’m not going to be lured in like this. I just won’t let myself. “Right,” I say slowly. “If I win, I don’t have to tell you anything. Those are the rules, right? Yeah, I’d rather not. With those rules, I can also win by just not playing.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of truth or dare.” His eyes darken. “You know that game.”

  I can’t help but let my gaze wander slowly over him. I was right when I figured he’d try to seduce it out of me. Truth or dare between two people with an atmosphere as charged as ours isn’t a game—it’s foreplay.

  “I don’t know how to play truth or dare,” I say primly. Which is kind of true; I’ve never actually played it. But I have a pretty good idea what it entails.

  “The rules are easy, almost as easy as Go. I ask a question, and you either have to tell me the truth or take a dare. And then you get to do the same to me.”

  The way he says that makes me think of all the things I can do to him in return, the way I can make his body go crazy—revenge for the way he makes me feel.

  When I find his gaze, he knows he’s got me snared. I love beating this man even if he doesn’t know it’s me who’s beating him. This time I can infuriate him to his face and keep my secrets to myself.

  “The dares can’t involve me taking off my clothes,” I say quickly.

  “I’m a gentleman; I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He’s not a gentleman at all—he’s a Bastard. And proud of it. But I have faith he’ll keep his word. His ego’s too big to allow him to not keep his promises.

  I nod. “All right then. You got a question—what am I doing with my AI? And I choose a dare.”

  He shakes his head. “No, that wasn’t my question. That was before the game started, and it doesn’t count. My real question is this: Why are you testing your AI here?”

  That’s an easy one. He already knows the answer. “Because I want to use the servers. We don’t have computing power like this in our offices. Which you knew.”

  “Just getting a baseline,” he says idly.

  He thinks he’s so damn clever, like he’s going to use this game to pry information out of me. I see red for a moment, then force myself to breathe it out.

  “Okay, here’s my question—why are you harassing me?”

  His eyes widen at my open attack. I admit it’s a little much, but he’s so close I’ve been able to smell nothing but his soap and skin, and it’s starting to drive me a little crazy. Actually, a lot crazy.

  “You’re the one who was stalking me across the Go forums.” His voice drops a degree, but he doesn’t move away. “Never letting on who you really were.”

  Guilt makes my cheeks go cold.

  “That wasn’t an answer,” I say to hide my reaction.

  “No, it wasn’t. I choose a dare.”

  A dare? When we started this game, I hadn’t even considered I’d have to give him a dare. Suddenly the only things I can think of are dirty, perverse, exactly the kind of things I was afraid he might suggest to me.

  He smiles slow and wicked at my confusion. “You know, you can dare me to take my clothes off.” He raises his hand to the first button on his shirt. The chest hair thrusting out hooks on his index finger, and I can only imagine what it would feel like under my fingers as I run my hands along his chest. “The only rule was that I couldn’t make you take your clothes off.”

  “I don’t…” I lick my suddenly dry lips. I know I’m giving too much away, but my brain is working harder than an overloaded circuit. “I don’t want to see you naked.” I say that so faintly he can probably smell the lie before I’ve finished.

  “Really? You don’t think about me naked?”

  I shake my head wildly.

  He leans closer, his hand still playing with his shirt button. “Even just kissing me—have you wondered about that?”

  I can’t look away from his fingers. “I don’t wonder about kissing strange men.”

  “Good. I’m glad I’m not a stranger then.”

  I close my eyes for half a heartbeat. “This is inappropriate.”

  He ignores me. “I mean, I imagine kissing you. All the time.”

  I blink up at him. “You do?”

  I’m not some innocent—I’ve had my fair share of serious relationships—but I’ve never had a man admit so baldly that he fantasizes about me. It makes my knees do funny things. Thank God I’m already sitting down.

  “Of course. I imagine how it would feel sliding my hand through your hair, cupping the back of your head, tilting your face up toward mine, your neck all long and pretty as I do.”

  Oh God. I can see it too clearly, my entire body tightening in response yet also going liquid at the same time. Tight liquid, which makes no sense, which proves how badly he can scramble my brain.

  He’s not done though. “And then once I have your mouth right where I want it, I’ll learn every millimeter of it.”

  Millimeter. God, so much smaller than inches, so much more detailed, so much sexier.

  “You never think about that?” His voice is so dark and sweet I swear I taste chocolate. “Me kissing you, and how I’ll take my time with it, bring my flashes of brilliance to it?”

  Of course I have, which is exactly the problem. Dammit, I never should’ve chased him across all those Go forms, never should have tested my AI against his. I should have run the first moment I saw him.

  Suddenly I realize that I’m sprawled in my chair, my legs wide open as if inviting him in. I was so lost in the fantasy he was spinning I completely lost control of myself.

  In a flash, I smack off the workstation, not giving a shit about shutting it down properly. In the next breath I’m snapping up, sending my chair sailing out behind me. And then I’m grabbing every bit of my work that I can and shoving it haphazardly into my bag.

  “I’m working on an AI to do remote diagnostics for people in areas that don’t have a doctor. Sort of an AI medical assistant.” I say that so fast I trip over my own tongue.

  And then I’m escaping out the door, never looking back at him. It’s only when I’m inside my car, my shaking hands trying to turn the key in the ignition, that I realize I forfeited.

  He won.

  Chapter 3

  I get to see Doc again on Tuesday, which makes me happier than it should.

  She’s at Bastard Capital with the Ultra Encryption team, giving all the partners—meaning us, the Bastards—an update on Ultra’s latest system.

  January is at the front of the conference room, going on about encryption and chips. It’s usually stuff that I eat up, but somehow I can’t do anything but think about Doc.

  She won’t look at me. It’s deliberate, because as much as her gaze wanders around the room, it never once lands on me. She’s ignoring me as hard as I’m concentrating on her. Like my head is just buzzing with her—the way her skirt rustles as she shifts in her chair, the skirt that’s cradling her thighs right now. The scuffle of her shoes on the floor, low heeled with pointy toes in a color of pink so hot it should be illegal. They’re shoes that say hell yes, look at my feet in a way that’s very different from a stiletto but just as compelling. The motions of her hands as she makes notes, her fingers long, graceful, but also determined. She takes notes the old-fashioned way with a pen and paper while everyone else is typing away.

  Smart to do it that way. Your brain retains things better when you write them down.

  Not that her brain needs any help. I tell myself I’m only going to talk to her about what’s in her brain, not about her body and how mine reacts to it. I’ve almost convinced myself I’m telling the truth.

  While I’ve been daydreaming about Doc, the meeting has been going on without me. The great thing about having an update meeting with your partner’s girlfrie
nd is that you can fuck around with your friends while pretending to do business.

  Not that I mind more serious meetings, but I’d rather cut loose if given the chance. And since January, Mark’s fiancée, is giving us the update along with her team, I don’t have to keep my mouth shut and pretend to be the serious one. The Bastards already have a serious one.

  The Bastards are me, hacker extraordinaire and all-around genius; Mark, our deals guy; Logan, the details lover; Paul, the old-money guy; Elliot, our lawyer; and Dev, the mysterious visionary. Of course we play up some of those aspects for the media since it definitely helps our PR. But there’s more than a kernel of truth in these roles we’ve taken.

  “So where are we with the Pixio deliveries?” Mark asks. “And when can we pitch them the new chip?”

  January shakes her head. “The testing hasn’t been going well. I don’t know when we’ll have a timeline for pitching that.”

  “Okay, I’ll plan for chip pitches by month’s end.”

  January gives him an exasperated look. “That’s not what I said at all.”

  He smiles sweetly at her. “But I know you’ll have it ready in a month.”

  The compliment has January flushing and looking down like she’s a shy schoolgirl.

  Next to me, Paul rolls his eyes. I’m half tempted to do it myself. “Could you two get a room?” he says.

  I could add my two cents, but I decide to keep it professional. Doc already doesn’t think much of me, but I’ll show her I can behave myself in a meeting. Sometimes.

  Across the table, Logan laughs softly, his eyes on his phone.

  “Are you texting your wife?” Elliot asks. He and Logan are brothers, so Elliot’s the only one who can get away with that question. Logan’s wife, Callie, is pregnant, and they’ve only just recently reconciled after a bitter separation, so we’re trying to go easy on them. Not scare her off with our loving insults.

  Logan never would have answered texts in a meeting before Callie came back. Now he’s leaving work early and taking the weekends off. It’s crazy.