11. Elodie

Iget back to our room an hour before we’re due at the dinner. It’s empty; Calder’s nowhere to be seen. Ignoring my stab of disappointment—it’s unreasonable to expect him to wait here for me—I head into the refresher for a quick shower.

Current Harte fashion leans toward dresses and suits in eye-popping bright neon shades. Hence Foder’s outrageously green shirt from yesterday. I love color, but not for this gathering. The dress I bought for this dinner is dark gray, close-fitting on top and flared at the waist.

I slip it over my head, adjust the fit tabs and study my reflection in the mirror. It’s not bad. I won’t win awards for avant-garde dressing, but that’s not my goal. Tonight, I don’t want to be fashionable as much as I want to project an image of calm confidence. I want to be the person who doesn’t give a shit about Foder Throop or anyone else. I want to float through the evening on Calder’s arm, impress the crap out of everyone, and leave.

Calder’s back when I emerge from the refresher. “I didn’t hear you come in,” I start to say, and then stop dead.

Because Calder has also dressed up for tonight. And unlike my inexpensive synthesizer-made outfit, his suit screams money, power, and danger.

He’s dressed in black from head to toe. His jacket perfectly molds to his broad shoulders and nips in at the waist. Three sets of tabs decorate the front, and his pants are exaggerated at the hip and taper to his ankles. Black combat boots complete the outfit. This isn’t syn-made. It’s artisan work—I’m sure of it. Artisan fabric is woven. It has warp and weft and minute imperfections. Syn fabric is. . . Actually, I have no idea how it’s made, but you can always tell the difference.

Artisan work is astronomically expensive. The cost of Calder’s outfit would keep me in real meat and fresh vegetables for a year.

My mouth falls open.

He quirks an eyebrow. “Too much?”

I swallow. “You look. . .” I shake my head helplessly. I don’t have the words to describe it. He looks like the embodiment of darkness. Like a stunningly handsome apex predator. “Where did you get the suit?”

“Zayd.”

“How rich is Zayd again?”

“Rich enough. His full name is Zayd Pereira Jama.”

I jerk my head up. “Jama. As in Jama Biotech?”

“The same. It was founded by Zayd’s grandmother. His mother owns thirty percent of the corporation.” He gives me an indecipherable look. “Zayd was interested in you.”

Is he jealous? He has nothing to worry about. My fingers itch to touch Calder. I’m fighting the urge to step closer to him, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him. Screw the dinner, I want to say. Let’s spend the evening in bed.

I don’t do any of that. “No, he wasn’t,” I reply. “His type flirts with everyone. I’ll be fascinating to Zayd as long as I appear indifferent to him. The moment that changes, he’ll lose interest.”

“That is a surprisingly accurate read.” His gaze moves down my body. Slowly, appreciatively. “You look beautiful. The outfit just needs a little something. . .” He hands me a square box.

I flip it open. A glowing orange gemstone the size of my thumb is nestled inside, surrounded by intricate star metal filigree work. The gemstone glows like a sun, and the star metal tendrils are glittering particles of shimmering light.

This is a stunning piece of art. It is the universe made into an ornament for my neck.

My breath catches. Calder buys me presents all the time. Chocolate. Senza. Insanely expensive fruit. But this is on another level altogether. “Calder, I can’t accept this.”

“Sure you can.” He fastens it around my neck. His fingers stroke my skin, and I shiver. My breasts brush against his chest, and the smell of him fills my nostrils, spice and smoke and male. I breathe him in, desire making my head swim. The bed is right there. If only I didn’t have to go to this dinner. . .

“Done.” Calder pulls back, shattering the moment. He offers me his hand. “Shall we?”

I’ve dreadedthis trip to Luxaria since I found out Foder Throop would be there. But the moment we walk into Nebuluxe, Luxaria’s hottest cocktail venue, and Calder puts his hand on the small of my back—an undeniably possessive gesture—an odd giddiness claims me.

We’re going to kick ass tonight.

Nebuluxe’s decor evokes a jungle. A haunting melody fills the air, occasionally interrupted by the roars of unseen predators. Luminescent vines crawl along the walls, lighting the area in a soft green glow. Exotic flowers with radiant hues act as dividers, separating the floor into sections.

On the ceiling, a nebula glows, constellations pulsing and shimmering across the sky. Large bubbles drift overhead, each enclosing a table filled with well-dressed patrons. Some of the bubbles are clear, the customers eschewing their privacy in order to see and be seen, but a few are opaque. Maybe the inhabitants inside are having an orgy.

Calder steers me toward the middle of the room, where a jeweled bar counter encircles a giant glowing tree with leaves sharp like crystalline swords. Behind it, a dozen bartenders deftly craft shimmering cocktails. “Shall we get a drink before joining your coworkers?”

I look around and catch sight of the cluster of Onel employees a safe distance from me. Jarel Onel is holding court, Throop on his right, laughing like a sycophant at Onel’s jokes. Sarai is standing next to him, her shoulders stiff and her face wooden.

“I don’t think one drink will do the trick,” I murmur. “Look at the way Throop is sucking up to Jarel.”

He glances over, and then his gaze slides back to me. “I’d rather not look at them,” he says. A drunk man weaves close, and Calder pulls me protectively against his chest. “Not when I can look at you instead.”

My pulse speeds up. Is Calder flirting with me? I should flirt back, right? But first, we should talk about this morning. What did it mean? What does Calder want? I wish I was better at broaching difficult conversations.

A smile grazes his face. “You’re staring at me with the strangest expression, Elodie.”

Every time he says my name, his voice lowers to a husky caress that heats me up from the inside. I clear my throat, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. “I don’t know if you’re flirting with me,” I whisper, too quiet for the noisy bar. “Is this an act? Are you pretending, or is it real?”

He leans in to answer, his lips brushing my ear. “It’s?—”

“Elodie, there you are,” a familiar voice squeals, and I jump back on instinct. It’s Danica. Stars, what terrible timing. “I looked for you everywhere this morning but couldn’t find you. And you weren’t on the company shuttle either.” She hugs me and looks around before adding, “Trust me, you weren’t missing much.”

She catches sight of my podmate, who’s turned away from me and is now ordering drinks, and her eyes widen. “Hang on, is that Calder?” she hisses. “What’s he doing here?”

Ah, crap. With everything going on with Throop, I totally forgot to give Dani a heads-up about my fake dating situation. Although, upon reconsideration, telling her the truth is a dreadful idea. Dani is a good friend, and I trust her, but the moment she has a drink, she turns into the chattiest person on Harte. She will not be able to keep my secret.

“He’s with me,” I confess. The bartender is mixing a bright purple concoction that sparkles like stardust, and Calder is leaning against the bar, conversing with Maro. “We’re dating.”

“You are? After your repeated denials? I don’t know why I’m surprised. It was pretty obvious, really.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ever since he moved in, he’s all you talk about.” She gives me a sly smile. “Calder made me breakfast. Calder gave me a ride. They sent Calder on a delivery to the Aztec Sector, and he got hurt. Are they crazy?” She gives my podmate a thoroughly appraising look that raises my hackles. “Calder doesn’t look like he gets hurt. He looks like he causes the hurting.”

Huh. Now that Dani mentions it, there’s something different about Calder tonight, and it’s not just the suit. I stare at him as he talks to Maro, trying to figure out what it is, and then I have it.

It’s the way he’s holding himself. Calder’s a big guy, but usually, he acts as if he’s almost embarrassed by his size. His shoulders hunch, and he walks in a way that doesn’t draw attention to himself.

Not tonight. Tonight, he carries himself with relaxed ease. His posture’s not cocky. Instead, he holds himself with the calm certainty of a man who knows he can take on anything that Luxaria throws at him. He’s dressed like an apex predator, and he’s acting like one.

That’s weird.

There’s no conspiracy here, Elodie. He’s acting like a bodyguard because you told Throop he was one. That’s all.

But my thoughts continue to gnaw at me. I thought Calder was a broke courier, someone who needed money enough to share a pod with a stranger. A generous man, but not one you counted on in a fight.

Except he told me today he used to be a soldier. He knows how to fly a ship and has a bounty hunter friend, an heir to a biotech empire, who casually lends him a top-of-the-line racer. He never lets me pay for anything, and I know the fueling costs of the Wraith 9000 are significant.

Something isn’t adding up.

Ugh. Throop’s spotted me. He makes his way toward us, but Calder is at my side before he arrives. He hands me one of the glittering purple drinks, and I take a quick gulp to armor myself. “Foder,” I say curtly. Tonight he’s wearing blue, and his hair is dyed turquoise, styled into spikes meant to look like waves. As much as I loathe the man, whoever did his hair did a good job.

My nemesis ignores me to focus on Calder. “Nice outfit,” he says. “Looks expensive. What did you say you did again?”

Calder takes a sip of his drink before he answers, his giant hands making the glass look tiny. “I’m a bodyguard.”

“Interesting. I’ve been wondering how a bodyguard can afford a Wraith. Family money, or did you steal it?”

My mouth falls open at Throop’s rudeness. Calder doesn’t react. “My skills are specialized,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist in a casually possessive gesture. “And I’m well-paid for them.” He turns to Sarai, who’s also joined us. “Your glass is empty,” he says. “Do you need a refill?”

“I’d love one,” she admits. “But it’s hard to get the bartenders’ attention right now.”

“It’s the Suleman twins,” Throop says, a sour look on his face. I’m still in shock at his blatant rudeness. “Everyone’s too busy taking care of them to attend to the rest of us. Assholes.”

Barri and Elena Suleman are A-list celebrities. They’re the lead actors in Desert Rose, currently the most popular show on the holos. Barri’s character Diya has been abducted by pirates. Last season, her twin sister Elena almost died in an attempt to find her, but a Karven medic found her and healed her injuries with nanobots. The Crill Empire promptly banned the show and wrote to the creators, demanding they take down their Karven propaganda filth immediately. Their words, not mine. The resulting publicity sent the show shooting up in the ratings.

Calder turns to the bar and raises his hand. A bartender hurries up. A flush creeps up Throop’s neck, and I bite my tongue to hold back my laugh.

“Could you get us a round of drinks, please?” he says affably, handing the bartender a coin. Stars alive. Did Calder just tip him a hundred credits? There’s no way—I must be mistaken. “Sarai, what are you having? Foder?”

“Another Green Galaxy Blast, please,” Sarai says. “Thank you, Calder.”

Foder’s face is as green as the drink his girlfriend ordered, but he’s too cheap to pass up an opportunity to drink on someone else’s tab. “Senza,” he chokes out. “Neat.”

The bartender moves away to make the cocktails. Jarel Onel disentangles himself from the other Onel employees—the maintenance heads of the Class C and D divisions—and comes over to say hello. Calder orders him a drink as well.

Drinks are followed by dinner, where I find myself, for some inexplicable reason, seated next to Onel, with Calder directly across from me. Onel finds out Calder’s a bodyguard and presses him for stories about his clients. Before I can panic, Calder launches into an anecdote about an unnamed client and her eighteen emotional support attack birds.

It’s a hilarious story, but I don’t laugh along with everyone else. It’s all a little too surreal. Calder’s really selling the bodyguard thing. I’ve been his podmate for six months and thought I knew him. I thought I had him pegged. But as I watch him effortlessly charm everyone at the table, perfectly at ease in this opulent space, I wonder if I ever knew him at all.

What else is Calder hiding from me?