Chapter 44

It would have been foolish for Oriana to hold out any hope that life would go back to normal just because she and Eddie had returned to Blackwater, and it hadn’t. Between settling inmates into her prison, being brought up to speed on everything she’d missed during the war by the Commissioner, and attempting to enlighten the news media about the atrocities she and her team had faced as a result of fanatical extremism, only to have to turn each outlet away as she realized they were somehow still only interested in updates regarding her private, sexual life, she felt like she was still in the Commune–or, more accurately, that she’d taken a piece of it home with her that she’d never be able to excise.

But, after a week sleeping in her own bed, cooking in her own kitchen, she was coming to realize she had a lot to be grateful for.

It was salmon filets over the pasta tonight, topped with a generous pour of white wine sauce mixed in with capers, artichokes, and sun dried tomatoes. For her first attempt at a picatta, it looked pretty damn good, and what a refreshing relief it was to cook something that hadn’t come out of a can. Reflexively, the whole while she was making dinner, her ears stayed straining for any hint of enemy fire, but if she was lucky, she’d get over the habit one of these days.

She’d just finished fixing two plates when Eddie came home from work.

“You know, I was a little nervous about revealing my secret identity,” he said, hanging his suit jacket on the back of a sturdy kitchen chair before sitting and eagerly picking up his fork, “but I think it’s gonna be good for business. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve gotten some fat shame in my personal email, but I’ve also got correspondence from a woman who’s apparently a fan of Big Tech, who sent me ten or fifteen messages trying to arrange a meeting and talk about investing in Salvidar Solutions.”

“What kinda woman, what’s her name?” asked Oriana. “Cause as great as that is, we really need to get better at screening for supervillains.”

“It was something like Baylor Elizabeth Sharp…this is delicious, by the way–”

"Wait. Bailey Sharp?" Oriana stared at him, stunned and incredulous.

"Where have I heard that name before?"

"Okay. This is Bailey Sharp." She pulled her phone from the counter and looked up a picture of the world-famous pop star onstage, arms in the air at the microphone, the audience going wild. She held her screen out for him to see. "I can't believe you don't know who that is! I mean, if she wasn't so famous, I'd believe I only knew about her because she was at Bellvue with me, but she's a household name. Little girls got as many posters of her on their wall as Scarlet Flame." Back at Bellvue, the willowy blonde starlet had still gone by Baylor, but her nickname was Lonely Girl, on account of her habit of dating jerk jocks who left her heartbroken. She and Oriana had never spoken. Back in college, they were both introverted creatures, keeping to their own circles. But they'd probably recognize each other.

"Wait, she's a--?"

"Yes, a compulse. Her singing voice makes people feel good."

“In that case...will you come to the meeting to help seal the deal? It might help that you two were classmates."

“From the sounds of things, she’s more interested in you than me, but yeah, I’ll come.” She settled onto his lap and pulled her plate from across the table.

There was more room there than she remembered, but she didn’t know whether or not it would be kind to mention as much.

***

Bailey Sharp was a force to be reckoned with, plain and simple.

She strode into the office tower with her head held high in her button-down and formal skirt, shoulders squared...perhaps a little too squared, as if she was overcompensating for some insecurity. But what could she possibly have to be insecure about? She was a famous singer, looked like a model, had an empire to her name, and everyone knew it.

"I need to speak to the CEO of Salvidar Solutions. I have an appointment. Sharp, 3 PM," she stated plainly to the temp who was working at the reception desk.

"Right. Elevator’s behind us," said the nervous nineteen-year-old.

"Thanks a billion!" She bounded into the elevator and blew him a kiss, careful not to mess up her bright red lipstick, just before the doors closed.

***

Ms. Sharp was nothing like Eddie had imagined. Firm, direct, she shook his hand head-on with a grip stronger than her small build would suggest she was capable of. "Big Tech, I presume?"

"Eddie, please."

She turned to look at Oriana, sitting in the corner of the office in a spare chair. "Wait...you sat behind me in Nutrition. Adriana? Was that it? You're Bombshell?"

"Close. Oriana."

"Huge fan of the both of you. Anyway, Eddie: talk to me about FL.A.B."

"Well, it's simple," Eddie began. "A network of titanium alloys fused together at the molecular level, controlled by smart technology--"

"Whoa. Whoa," said the lovely Ms. Sharp. "I never actually finished college, so you'll have to translate. I may not be dumb, but I ain't smart. So, from the top. Never mind how it works, just tell me: what's it do?"

"It wraps around your body and conforms to it, providing super strength along with a full range of motion, even if you don't have that on your own," Oriana cut in.

"I see, I see. Thank you Oriana. Tell me, Eddie: how much money would it take to get this project into mass production?"

"Well, Oriana's done the math, and--"

"You know what? Fuck it." Ms. Sharp brandished her checkbook, scribbled her signature, and handed Eddie a check for 94 million dollars.

At first, all Eddie could do was stare. This was way more than he and Oriana had estimated they'd need. "Ms. Sharp, there's no way we can take this much--"

Oriana stood. Laying a hand over Eddie's, she said, "What he means is we'd like to know what we can do for you in return, in terms of stock options, or possibly a position on the board?"

"Oh, you guys. I'm not going to sit here and pretend I have the expertise to be part of this endeavor. I will, however, ask that I be guaranteed access to this technology, and anything else you produce that might be useful to me, should I ever need it in the future, for a price not to exceed my initial investment."

"Oh, there's no way it'll cost that much, it's for the disabled," said Eddie. "But it won't be a problem, we'll hook you up any time!"

"Great! Now I just need that in writing." She slapped a manila folder on the table and started busting out contracts.

Eddie happily signed, despite the strangeness of her request. What business did a perfectly able-bodied, mid-twenties pop star have shopping around for mobility aides? "You seem rather convinced you'll need to cash in on this agreement," he remarked.

Suddenly, she blushed crimson. "Yeah, well...stage accidents happen all the time. Best to be prepared, right?"

For ninety-four million dollars, Eddie knew he shouldn’t have questioned it, even internally, but there was something about Bailey's intentions he felt like she was leaving out. He just couldn't put his finger on it…

"I'm gonna need you both to sign this NDA: I was never here."

"No problem," said Oriana, taking the document and signing it. "Ninety four mil,” she muttered. “This is like something out one of your songs. Bay, you are a dream come true.”