Page 14 of So Close

“We ran every possible combination through the same in-house aesthetic team that helps shape our avatars’ appearances.”

“That’s a great place to start,” she says smoothly. “I’d like to run through all those possibilities myself, though. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Your image is your brand, and we understand that. You’ll both be granted access during testing and can utilize all the features without restrictions. You’ll be able to see those flagged for removal and add or subtract from that list.” Ryan’s smile doesn’t waver, but his gaze on her is noticeably more intense. “Our software is proprietary, so we ask you to test the app onsite.”

“That’s quite an inconvenience. And likely to be incredibly time-consuming, given the number of possible combinations.”

“It’s a precautionary step and protects us both.”

The focus with which he studies her might lead someone who didn’t know better to think he’s attracted to Eva. After all, she’s a lovely woman, with blond hair and deep gray eyes. Petite and slender, she’s got the figure of the moment: full breasts, nipped waist, overly curved derriere. I’m unsure whether those curves are as natural as the shade of her hair. Eva also has an overt sensuality about her that’s evident in the way she moves, the lustiness of her laugh and the throaty tone of her voice. It’s all too much, really.

But Ryan is devoted to his wife. What simmers between him and Eva Cross is enmity.

It’ssomuch fun watching them work together.

“But we don’t want users to get hung up playing with your photos,” he goes on. “We want them to buy, so after every three combinations, the app prompts them to upload their photo to play with. You can see what that looks like here.” He watches them as they stare at the monitor, then he glances at me. He’s smart enough to know that while the girls are the faces of ECRA+, I’m the driving force behind Rosana. She always takes my advice.

“Once they follow the prompt,” he continues, “we lay out detailed instructions for the selfies they upload, and then the software takes them through how the colors work on them. They can choose whatever combinations they like for their photos. No limits.”

“You’ve thought of everything!” Rosana exclaims, bouncing excitedly on one of my aqua leather club chairs.

While the color palette of my office is beachy, with shades of taupe, teal and cream, the design is mid-century. Wood-paneled walls and vintage furniture warm up what would otherwise be a starkly modern office space. The overall feel is masculine, which disconcerts visitors just enough to give me an advantage. It also serves to exaggerate my femininity, which is always a plus.

There is no sofa. The designer had argued for two, saying a cluster of individual chairs would look cluttered. She knew design, but she didn’t know me. Just the thought of having an inviting horizontal surface to lie on in my office makes my skin crawl.

The sky darkens to a deep gray, and raindrops begin to splash against the windows.

“We think so,” Ryan concurs. “But we can never be too careful. We’ve been beta testing for months, but it’s time for you both to give it a spin. Once you’ve determined you’re ready, we’ll do a soft launch with the models and influencers who contributed during the development stage. We’ll integrate their feedback and then take it live.”

“Will we hit our timeline target?” I ask. Launching a cosmetic line is a celebrity trend, making the beauty space more crowded and competitive by the day.

“That depends on how long it takes to receive your feedback and how extensive any requested changes may be.”

“I love it already.” My daughter reaches for and squeezes Eva’s hand, her beautiful face alight with joy.

I sigh inwardly. She hasn’t yet experienced enough adversity in life to be wary. She can’t picture future falling-outs, lingering disagreements or opposing visions. I should’ve given her more roadblocks to stumble over as she matured, as I did with her brothers, but then Kane’s resurrection of Baharan started making waves – and money. I’d had to circle back to my eldest to begin rebuilding the company as a family. There was no way I was going to lose Baharan a second time.

And so Rosana is naively optimistic. Eva looks just as hopeful, but that wolf she married ensures she’s protected.

I’ll just have to work harder on Rosana. So far, the seeds of distrust I’ve stealthily planted have failed to take root, but I won’t give up. A good mother doesn’t shelter her children from harm; she throws them into its jaws so that the scars toughen their skin.

A flash of brightness distracts me, drawing my attention to the storm outside. The sunlight has been blocked by roiling gray clouds, blanketing the city in dusk-like gloom. It’s the middle of the day but feels much later.

As I look back at the presentation, I see a text notification lighting the screen of my muted phone. I pick it up with my thumb on the fingerprint scanner, and the message displays.

She’s awake.

11

WITTE

With a soft rapon the open door to Mr Black’s office, I announce the arrival of the tea service I prepared in advance of Dr Vanya Hamid’s arrival. At my employer’s nod, I wheel the trolley in and set to work, measuring the appropriate amount of Nilgiri tea for the pot of freshly boiled water.

Mr Black sits behind his elegant yakisugi desk, the charred wood a deep, lustrous black. It’s bespoke to accommodate his long legs and torso. The chair, too, is custom-made, with arms that pair with the desk and cognac leather upholstery. He’s settled in with an avid gaze, his intense focus on every word that falls from the doctor’s lips.

The knot of his tie is loose, the clip askew. His hair needs a trim, and the shadow of a beard darkens his jaw. I usually address his barbering with fixed regularity, but he is too restless of late to sit for proper grooming. That he looks so dishevelled during video conferences worries me, but I also grasp the unintended benefit of planting at least a seed of doubt in the minds of the detectives. They drop by every few days to see if they can question Mrs Black. Instead, they see a man who looks as if he’s hanging on to sanity by his fingertips, a husband consumed by fear and worry for his wife.

Undoubtedly familiar with facing anxious family members, Dr Hamid’s posture is relaxed and at ease, although concern threads her melodic voice. Her dark hair is elaborately upswept, and her trim figure resplendent in a pale blue shalwar kameez, a traditional South Asian trouser and tunic ensemble embroidered with glittering gold thread.

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