Stranded With My Ex Crush Pt 01

Chapter 1

Lainey

This suitcase feels like it's filled with bricks; if I don't get a chance to set it down immediately, I'm convinced my arm will detach from my body. I wrestle with the cumbersome luggage as I trail behind Eve, stepping across the gangway onto the massive ship. The cruise promises to showcase the latest advancements in technology, both in hardware and software, which means my past is poised to catch up with me. I enrolled for this event fully aware of the inevitability. Nixon Walsh, one of the keynote speakers, is set to present on a subject I absolutely cannot afford to miss, as I am his greatest rival, unbeknownst to him.

"Look, that's Walsh," Eve hisses and gestures sharply towards him. I swivel around to see a man standing confidently in crisp white slacks that almost gleam under the sunlight and a navy polo shirt that clings to his frame. The deck shoes on his feet, spotless and pristine, seem to complete the overly curated ensemble. His attire screams of effort, a desperate attempt to capture attention. I can't help but roll my eyes at his choice of outfit, and Eve notices my disdainful expression immediately. "You have a problem with him?"

She falls back, coming into step with me. I can't help but notice him kissing a boy on the forehead, an older woman standing with them. I don't recognize her at all; it's not the boy's mother--she ditched them before I even met Nixon the first time. God that's a horrible memory. "Not something against him, no." I don't feel like coughing up details, especially not to a work colleague, but something tells me Eve isn't letting me off the hook.

"Well you sure rolled those eyes hard enough. Do you two have a past? Or is it because your facial recognition algorithm is about to smash his out of the water, quite literally?" She wags her eyebrows at me making me chuckle.

It's true. After college Eve went straight into a paid internship with one of the biggest cyber security companies around while I started my own firm. With the help of several coding geniuses, we've developed a facial recognition algorithm that uses more than one hundred twenty nodal points as opposed to the standard eighty. Nixon's firm is so far behind this curve, he'll never see it coming and after what happened with Kent, I can't wait to launch it in his face.

"Okay, so I dated his younger brother for a few years. It didn't work out. Nixon is a jerk, plain and simple." I avert my eyes, focusing on where I'm going instead of where I've been. She glances back over her shoulder then stutter steps to catch up as I move ahead. Nixon is in my past; there's nothing anyone can do to undo what's been done. Though I feel a tinge of jealous over that woman standing with his son.

"He's got a brother?" Eve's stuttered steps keep up with mine, flipflops slapping on the bottoms of her feet. I'm supposed to enjoy this trip, not rehash a past I wish I never lived.

"Yeah, avoid him too. Both of them are rotten eggs." The hefty bag hangs heavily on my shoulder, forcing me to switch arms to gain some relief. If only the blasted cruise line permitted more than one piece of luggage, I wouldn't have been compelled to cram all my belongings into this cumbersome, oversized bag that strains under its own weight.

"Okay, but look how hot he is." She shrugs. "That's got to count for something."

Now onboard the ship, I turn down the first corridor with a range indicating my stateroom number and an arrow showing which direction. Eve follows along, though I'm not sure where her room is. "Yeah, well you're right. He's hot. Truth is I had a major crush on him first, but he told me I was too young for him. He set me up with Kent, then later came back and broke us up. Real jerk move..."

I stop in front of my stateroom door and use the key given to me at the check in desk on the dock. "Here's my stop. Want to meet at the bar in about twenty minutes?" The door swings open as I look up at Eve's puppy dog eyes. I can tell she wants every detail of the brief history I share with Nix but unless I get a few drinks in me she's getting nothing, nada. I have no interest in reliving that.

"God, yes. I need a margarita." Eve grins and nods down the hall. "I'm down here a few rooms. I'll see you at the bar. Wear something slinky. I hear there are hot guys here." Again her eyebrows wag and I roll my eyes at her. I'm not here to pick up men or find a fast fling. I'm here to dominate the entire tech world and no one even knows it. My beta software is so close to being perfected I can taste it.

I duck into my room. If by "hot guys" she means Nixon Walsh, she's totally right, but I'm not interested in the least. He is the last man on Earth I'd hit on. So when the door shuts behind me, closing me into the tiny room, I decide to keep my jeans and crop top on. I am not going to send the wrong signal, and I know Walsh will be at the bar like every other person on this ship. He'll have to be. He's too big of an ego maniac to sit in his room studying his presentation notes. He'll have a different woman in his bedroom every night, if I know him at all.

My suitcase is bigger than the dresser, so there is no point in unpacking. And I don't have a porthole, so other than nautical-themed decorations, there is nothing to look at. The TV is mounted to the wall, a good indicator that rough seas are normal--not something I'm looking forward to, but inevitable on a ship. I slip into the bathroom, which is so tiny I can barely turn around. It may as well be a camper trailer. So much for luxury.

As promised, Eve appears at the bar in her slinkiest dress. Her tits hang out enough she should have just worn her bikini. The dress looks like it was painted on worse than my skinny jeans. But she's incredibly sexy, and I'm a bit jealous of her perfect body. Compared to me, she's a runway model.

"I told you to dress sexy," she pouts. "How are you going to be a wingman if you aren't dressed the part?"

I shrug and sit on a bar stool, waving a dollar bill at the bartender. "Sexy is in the eye of the beholder. I'm not here to pick up men; I'm here to glean their wisdom and use it to bury them." My deadpan and dry humor is a hit.

Eve laughs so hard she snorts and I wonder if she's already drunk. The bartender moves our direction, and I shout out an order before he gets over to me. He's already checking me out like I'm the only fit blonde he's ever seen. Kickboxing is my thing, and I'd use what I know to whip a man like that into shape. I hold fast to my assertion that I'm not here to hook up. I just want to learn what I need to, reveal my big idea, and go home to smash it out of the park.

"Literally a bourbon neat. That's all you're drinking?" Eve twirls a strand of her hair around her finger while smacking her gum. Her entire persona screams sorority girl, which is a bit young for her. She's clearly older than I am and I graduated two years ago. But I don't judge her--at least not out loud.

"Yeah, unless you fancy me for one of those mai tai-mojito sort of girls. I'm not a floosy, Eve. I'm a professional." Before the words are out of my mouth the bartender--with his wavy blond hair and stubbled face--delivers my drink complete with a compliment, which I ignore. My eyes are now locked on Nix, who seems to be staring a bit too much in my direction. He probably thinks I'm here to check him out; he's egotistic like that.

"He's looking at you." Eve's voice in my ear startles me, but not as much as the glare Nix gives me as our eyes meet.

"Yeah, he's insecure," I chuckle, turning away from him. I will never admit this out loud, but Nixon is undeniably more attractive than the last time I laid eyes on him. There's an intriguing allure about a man in the prime of his middle age that captivates me. Perhaps it's the subtle confidence or the air of experience that he exudes. There's a certain smoldering quality about him, a magnetic pull that I can't quite put my finger on, but whatever it is, he's definitely got it.

"I'm going to stay as far away from him as I can this entire trip."

"You should just bang him to say you did it." Eve sits next to me, accepting a drink the bartender slides in front of her. I've been so busy staring at Nix I didn't even hear her order. It's a fruity pink drink with a mini umbrella in a hurricane glass already drawing condensation.

"Are you insane? Did you not hear me tell you I dated his younger brother and he broke us up?"

"Well he clearly has it bad for you. He's still staring at you." She sips her drink but I refrain from looking at him. The pull is strong, but my will power is stronger. Besides, that crush ended a long time ago. He's not on my radar anymore and I'm not here for sex.

Instead, I shift my gaze to the television screen mounted on the wall, which displays our cruise itinerary in bright, scrolling text. The schedule lists each port stop we'll make, complete with dates and times, and announces upcoming lectures, including their locations on the ship. A detailed map of the ship briefly appears, outlining decks and amenities, followed by a flashy advertisement promoting a timeshare tour that promises to save money on future cruises. I focus on these details, trying to distract myself, but I can still feel his eyes on me. My fingers curl into fists, and I desperately want to return his stare, but I just can't bring myself to do it.

"Attention passengers, this is the captain speaking. Just a friendly announcement to you all to remember to set your clocks, watches, and cell phones to Central Time, US. We have passengers from the eastern and western regions of the country and all of our port stops will be in Central Time. Ships don't wait for you at port, so make sure you're on time! And enjoy the trip."

Eve rolls her eyes. "As many of these things as I've been on and someone always gets stranded." She snickers again as the bartender approaches her, a sly grin playing on his lips and his gaze fixed intently upon her. His demeanor exudes a certain charisma, suggesting that he might have taken this job for more than just serving drinks--perhaps to charm and woo a different woman on each weekly cruise, enjoying the fleeting romances that the sea has to offer.

I avert my eyes as her delicate eyelashes begin to flutter, a subtle sign that he's already engaging her in conversation. My gaze naturally drifts back to Nixon, who stands amidst a cluster of men clad in tailored suits, effortlessly blending into the sophisticated crowd. The room buzzes with muted conversations and the clinking of glasses, but all I can think about is the end of this interminable event. Once my announcement is made, I'll be catapulted to the pinnacle of the market, leaving Nixon in my wake, scrambling to catch up for a change. That is the prize awaiting me for enduring this tiresome ordeal.

Chapter 2

"So you see even millimeters of difference in this golden ratio can mean such a vast difference in facial recognition." I look out over the few dozen folks gathered to listen to my talk and can't help but notice that Lainey Bower is very engaged. It looked to me like she even jotted a few notes down while I was speaking. Maybe she isn't entirely averse to learning something from me after all. I wondered when I saw her board the ship.

As one of the keynote speakers, I received a comprehensive list of every passenger who had registered for my sessions. When my eyes landed on her name, I braced myself for what I anticipated would be a shit show of a trip. Her reputation preceded her, and I imagined a whirlwind of drama unfolding. However, surprisingly, more than twenty-four hours into the trip, she has maintained her distance, remaining in her own space. That's perfectly acceptable to me. I believe we function more effectively when we exist solely as two individuals navigating the same vast and intricate world of technology.

"That concludes my session, but I left a bit of time here for any questions." Hands shoot up like fireworks all over the room, but my attention is magnetically drawn to Lainey, curious about what question she might pose. To mask my anticipation and avoid appearing too eager to engage with her, I deliberately choose a gentleman seated halfway back on the right side of the room. He rises to his feet, his voice resonating clearly as he addresses the crowd.

"Mr. Walsh, my question isn't so much about the science of facial recognition as it is to do with the ethics of it. If it's illegal in most states to record someone without their knowledge that you are in fact recording, do you believe that the methods by which we process facial recognition and compare those against databases built--in fact the very building of those databases--can be considered unethical or an invasion of privacy?" The man nods and sits back down.

This isn't a new question to me or anyone else in this field that I know of. The ethics of facial recognition software have been challenged since the very first models emerged almost a decade ago. "Do you want to know if it's ethical to stop a terrorist from bombing a building or boarding a plane that you're on, given that they may be known for hiding weapons and assaulting or murdering people?" I stare him down, no stranger to this game. "I think a lot of Americans may forget that had this software been in use in security screening at the airports where certain bombers and terrorists boarded planes that caused American tragedy, lives would have been saved. It then becomes a matter of American consent rather than ethics."

I gesture toward the next person, their hand enthusiastically waving in the air, and swiftly move on. I know opening the can of worms that discussion might lead to is a path best avoided, so I strive to remain focused on the topic at hand. I address a few more questions, offering concise responses, before I finally point to Lainey. She appears almost too eager, practically springing to her feet with the intention of grilling me with her inquiries.

"Mr. Walsh, with the advance in technology as a whole, the field of facial recognition seems to not be changing much." She presses her lips together in a fine line; that dark shade of lipstick lines them perfectly. It's worn, like she's been eating and drinking all day not bothering to fix it, but the full pout of her lower lip catches my eye and my gaze lingers there.

"That's not a question." I peel my eyes away and meet her gaze. There is a hint of her know-it-all attitude there, hidden behind a half smirk. I want to roll my eyes but I'm standing in front of dozens of people who are watching my every move.

"I'm getting to that." She clears her throat and her shoulders square up like a soldier at attention. "Is it true that there are only eighty nodal points on the human face?"

"Well, yes. If you were paying attention early in the lecture, you'd have heard that there are only eight nodal points, and it's more than enough to differentiate even identical twins." I wonder what she's getting at. I stand with my hands folded in front of myself, scrutinizing her as she continues with another question.

"So if science unveiled that there are actually one hundred and twenty nodal points, which in fact can differentiate between not only twins, but cosmetic changes done with image altering makeup, contacts, surgery and even artificial intelligence... what would you say?" Her gaze doesn't stir any excitement or anxiety in me. I've already caught wind of the whispers circulating about her impending software release, and my team has diligently set to work, digging into every detail and possibility it might present.

"Like anything else, the science is always advancing. When credible studies are done, we will advance our technology."

"But isn't it true that credible studies have already been done, and in fact, another firm has brought a new algorithm to the table that will dwarf yours by comparison?" A smile plays at the corner of her lips and I open my mouth to respond when the bell chimes.

"That's all for our lecture this session. Please make a note that I am doing a session tomorrow in the blue room on deck three to discuss nodal properties and how they change with age, so we can accurately predict what someone will look like in the future. That session begins at two p.m. I'll see you then."

I can handle Lainey's snarky routine; I've been subjected to it more than once. But this time she crossed a line. Staging herself for a reveal of her own company and their algorithm certainly isn't the way she should be handling herself on this cruise. Not to mention, it's very rude to come into my session and try to advertise her success. She may be one step ahead of me in the field right now, but I'm the giant right now, and she will only see a few minutes of fame before the giants squash her.

The crowd starts to disperse but as I expect, she lingers near her seat with another woman, someone I've never met in person but whom I've seen around. I take more interest in Lainey because she is where my frustration reaches its boiling point. For a moment I just watch her chatting. She's gorgeous; I'll give her that. She's got charm and wit, and she is highly intelligent too--definitely a master rival I'm dealing with even though she's much younger both in age and experience. But her charm only goes so far, and beneath that its spite and hatred.

When most of the room is empty, I walk toward her. I have a few things to say because I refuse to allow this to happen again. She seems disinterested as I approach, still talking to her brunette friend. The friend looks up, but Lainey does not, hiding behind her blonde locks. The friend nods at me, an awkward smile on her face, then jabs Lainey in the ribs. Lainey looks up and I see the distaste in her expression too. So much changed between us when she dated Kent, and for a split second I feel disappointed that I pushed her away back then, setting her up with him instead of dating her myself.

Until she speaks...

"Nixon." Her piercing blue eyes rake across my body, unearthing a hidden emotion that flickers beneath her composed facade. It's an unspoken tension, an electric current crackling between us, and I know it's far from professional. The history we share is tangled and tumultuous, too much bad blood coursing through the past to allow for any semblance of neutrality.

"Lainey," I say, nodding at her then turn to her friend.

The woman offers a smile and says, "Eve," with a nod of her own.

"Eve, nice to meet you." I turn back to Lainey and calmly express my concerns. I don't want this happening again. "I want to remind you that as the leading authority on this subject, you questioning my science and methods puts a dark shadow over my credibility. This cruise is about educating young minds, not proving something."

"Ah, but you see, you've caught yourself in a catch twenty-two." I cannot believe the arrogance of her tone as she continues. "If you are truly wanting to educate young minds, then they must be educated with the truth. My science may not be released to the public yet, but it's verified. It will be in next month's edition of Wired. Wouldn't it be great to break something so revolutionary early?"

The sparkle in her eyes is magnetic. I find myself being aroused by her for no other reason than she is feisty and smart, and fuck is she gorgeous. But I'll be damned if I let her push my buttons yet again. Several years ago, we came to the conclusion that there was no possibility for us because the age gap between us was simply too wide. Despite this, I never once underestimated her immense potential and talent in this field.

"I think we should stick to the science until science has taken the next step." I am trying to keep my cool, but it's like she came on this cruise just to piss me off.

"The science has proven the next step, and it's not a step. It's a leap." She picks up her bag, slings it over her shoulder, and plants a hand on her hip. "Or did you seriously think you held the monopoly on facial recognition?"