surprise her. It only substantiated her theory of him being some sort of post–human being.
His eyes bored into her, making her feel he’d drilled a hole into her skull and was probing her brain. “The remaining eighty percent of my operations revolve around the more relevant sides of my field of interest, and those of others. Problem is those don’t generate media coverage or capture the market’s imagination. This is just the state of the world. I didn’t invent it.”
“No, you just exploit it.”
At her volley, he tilted his head, as if plunging deeper into her mind. Then those chiseled lips twitched and her stuttering heart burst into a stumbling gallop.
“The pursuit of luxury products tends to trump necessary ones and ‘cash cows’ are such for a reason. Alas, human beings will be human beings. I assure you, I have no role in their condition. So what would you have me do? Not provide them with what they wish for? Judge their foibles and let someone else reap the benefits of catering to them? Benefits I eventually put to uses you might deem to approve of?”
Was he teasing her? Nah. He couldn’t be.
“And aesthetic concerns are not frivolous luxuries. No matter how you view them, they do greatly affect people’s psychological and mental health. I don’t morally grade what people need or consider worth paying for. Who’s to say that products that reverse the signs of aging aren’t as important to a substantial percentage of people as depression treatment? And would you view me and my business any kinder if you knew I also research the latter? And am involved in actual aging reversal research, too?”
Okay, he was teasing her. Poking fun at her, more like, making her criticism sound misinformed and holier-than-thou, or at the very least naive. And seeming to draw appreciation from everyone in the room while at it, adding to the unhealthy awe he’d already garnered.
He only made her feel like a hedgehog with its bristles standing on end. Mostly because she found her own lips twitching, too.
So, the man had a sense of humor. Had he come complete with it, or had he had it grafted as another weapon in his overflowing arsenal? Or did he realize the benefits of manipulating lesser beings with the illusion of ease and indulgence, and had a subroutine written into his program that he could activate at will?
“Among the commendable-by-your-standards investments I can afford to make with the profits of not-so-commendable ones, there are ones in my own field. Restoring functionality, for instance. Thanks to the money-generating machines, I can invest heavily into integrated prosthetics, microsurgery appliances and research, scar prevention and treatment, and lately, muscle and nerve tissue regeneration. That endeavor will be the main focus of this facility in our collaboration. I’m not even putting a limit to the budget for this one. Whatever it takes to reach a breakthrough, I’ll provide the resources.”
Then just as he’d given her his undiluted attention, he took it away, making her feel as if he’d taken the chair and the ground beneath it right out from under her.
Before she realized she had a response to his rebuttal, she found herself sitting up, her pose confrontational, her tone even more challenging. “Well, it’s all quite laudable, I’m sure, that—while not advancing basic science as only someone of your clout and resources can—you invest in advancing your field. But ‘this facility’ already has its own array of ‘commendable’ projects under way, and it would be a loss that can’t be measured in money if we shelved them to head in the direction where you point us. Just because you acquired our services doesn’t mean you can cancel all our efforts, or should dictate which breakthrough is worth benefiting from our expertise backed by your unlimited funds and clout.”
This time everyone in the room turned to stab her on the pointy edge of their disapproval. The canny man had already won them over to his side, promising them shiny new projects, not to mention endless means to frolic in the land of scientific possibilities to their hearts’ content.
This time, Balducci didn’t give her the courtesy of a response. His argument had been designed to win her over, or at least chastise her. From her renewed attack he must have decided further response wouldn’t make a difference. As the epitome of pragmatism someone of his success must be, he’d decided she wasn’t worth the extra effort. He wouldn’t waste more time on a dissenting cog now that he was certain he had the rest of the machine wagging its components awaiting his directives.
Turning his attention to the rest, he directed everyone to read the folder carefully. Everyone’s roles and projects for the next year were spelled out to the last detail. Tomorrow would be the first working day under the new management, and he would be available at the provided email or phone number for any questions, concerns or minor adjustments. Any major suggestions would be discussed in the next general meeting. He closed by thanking everyone in such a way as to have them swooning all over again before he dismissed the assembly.
Everyone rose to shuffle around him, waiting their turn to catch his eye or shake his hand. Lili cursed them for the limpets they’d turned into, and cursed him for turning them into such. Still, she was thankful for the milling crowd that gave her the cover under which to escape. Snatching her bag up, leaving the folder behind, she rose. Head down, giving him the widest berth she could, she made a beeline for the door. To her dismay, he was making short work of everyone, and those he’d dismissed were already squeezing out of the room, hindering her escape. She barely curbed the urge to push through them and forced herself to take her turn walking out. Still she bristled at the censure and pity in their oblique gazes, but mostly at his disconcerting vibe at her back.
In minutes, she burst out into LA’s summer afternoon. She usually hated the transition from the beloved seclusion of her lab and the building’s controlled climate to the hot, humid bustle of the sprawling city. But now she was relieved to be out of what had become a place she’d hate to set foot in again. The place that was now Antonio Balducci’s.
She’d reached her Mazda in the parking lot when she felt as if an arrow had lodged between her shoulder blades.
It was his voice. Calling her.
What the hell!
Though her hand froze in midair with the remote, her thoughts streaked ahead. Did she dread him so much, like a kid dreads the headmaster singling her out, that she was imagining it? Even if he had called her, he must be here only to get his car, too.
In the next millisecond her analytical mind negated that theory. Antonio Balducci wouldn’t use public parking. He wouldn’t have driven himself here in the first place. One of those people who followed in his wake like efficient phantoms must be his chauffeur. He couldn’t have just stumbled on her. Which meant he must have pursued her specifically, and very quickly. Which made even less sense than any other theory.
As her mind burned rubber, his voice carried to her on the warm, moist breeze again, the very sound of forbearance.
“Dr. Accardi, I’d appreciate a word.”
She swung around, her face scrunching against the declining sun in a scowl. “What for?”
She groaned at how petulant and aggressive she sounded. But this guy tripped all her wires. Watching him approach her like a sleek panther sent them haywire. He was so big he made the parking lot claustrophobic, so unhurried he made her feel cornered, so unearthly gorgeous he made her every nerve ache.
When he stopped two feet away, he siphoned the air from the world. Harsh sunlight struck deepest blue and indigo off his raven hair—which she realized had a smattering of silver at the temples—and
