by Christa Wick
"Clocking out, kid."
Stefan pointed at his own screen. "The shell for my content library isn't finished."
"So finish it." Shane winked. "You have the book, the time. Keep learning code this fast and you'll have to come work for me."
Stefan's smile faltered, his brown gaze narrowing with suspicion.
Wary of false promises, Shane knew. The kid had been fed them for most of his life. Especially from male authority figures.
"I'm serious." Shane pulled out a business card, flipped it over and wrote down his private cell phone number. "I may be spending a lot more time at my company, but I'm not walking away from you kids."
Stefan pocketed the card.
"If you keep coding and keep your other grades up when the school year re-starts," Shane promised, "I'll give you a paid internship next summer once you're sixteen."
Sensing someone new in the room, Shane looked toward the door. Velda stood with her hands buried in her pockets. For a second, he forgot to breathe or smile a greeting.
After he managed to do both, he nudged Stefan.
"I'll check on your progress later," he said. Making a ridiculous attempt at sounding suave, he tilted his head in Velda's direction. "Right now, it's dinner with the ladies."
He meant Georgia Carter, her five-year-old daughter Daisy, and, most importantly, Velda.
Grinning, Stefan offered a discreet side-five then returned to his keyboard as Shane joined Velda by the door.
For Shane, every step carried with it the knowledge that his days at the shelter were numbered. Velda's request for time had included the unspoken need for space. She and Shane spent most of the day apart and he left the shelter at six.
But he found a way to push back, just a little. He began inviting each mother and her children to dinner at least once. Velda attended every time.
While it might look to everyone else like Velda was the chaperone, the exact opposite was true. For Shane, the families were the buffer.
Of course, he discussed with the women what they wanted in life beyond the necessities. He wanted to learn how he could help them as individuals in addition to the long-term funding he had established for the shelter.
Tonight would be the second dinner Georgia and Daisy attended. Not only had Shane run out of first-time chaperones, but he discovered since the last dinner that Georgia had been halfway through a bachelor's degree in social work before she got pregnant with Daisy and dropped out in favor of full-time employment and health insurance.
A very bad marriage to Daisy's father had cost Georgia the job and several others, creating an erratic work history. For entirely selfish reasons, Shane hoped Georgia was ready to go back to school and back to work on a part-time basis. He wanted to fund another staff member for the shelter and needed someone he knew Velda trusted. Georgia was the perfect candidate to take some of the weight off Velda's shoulders.
"Right here," Georgia said, pulling back the covers as Shane carried a sleeping Daisy into the bedroom that both mother and child shared. "All that food really knocked her out."
"Funny," he laughed. "Because I was certain that slice of chocolate cake would keep her bouncing off the walls past midnight."
"That's why it had to be dark chocolate," Georgia smiled. "And why I didn't have any. Everyone on my momma's side is like that. Something about serotonin-level sensitivities. Dark chocolate is loaded with it."
Catching Shane's gaze on her, she shrugged and blushed sheepishly. "Sorry."
"Not at all," he said, returning to the hallway. "That's exactly why you should be back in school."
Georgia blinked. He knew she wanted to cry like she had at the restaurant. Holding it in this time, she bobbed her head in furious agreement.
Shane extended his hand. She shook it.
"You're going to do great, Georgia."
Leaving the woman to look after her daughter, he went downstairs to find Velda at the front desk.
"Melanie had to powder her nose," she explained before cracking a smile. "And probably grab an espresso."
"Right." He didn't quite feel the smile he pushed onto his face. He wanted to talk to Velda alone. Melanie's return would make that difficult.
Looking at the door, he exhaled slowly, his smile collapsing as the air left him.
"I should get going."
"It is past curfew," Velda agreed as she slid a scrap of blank paper and a pen toward him.
Despite her inscrutable expression, Shane knew she was up to something.
"What's this?"
Velda's beautiful face continued to keep her secrets. He wondered if this was another test. She hadn't obviously set him up since that first assignment in the computer lab, but she also hadn't stopped scrutinizing him.
Had something been said in the past few days that he had forgotten or, worse, that he really hadn't been listening to but acknowledged anyway?
"Velda, I…"
He gestured at the paper, multiple emotions squeezing at his chest. He was never going to be perfect, she had to realize that. But if he couldn't keep on his toes for these crucial thirty days, then he couldn't claim to deserve a second chance at a personal relationship between them.
"Baby, I don't…"
Velda tilted her head, closed her eyes, and made Shane's night with a sexy whisper.
"I was hoping you'd give me your room number."
Chapter 17
For his thirty days in purgatory, Shane had selected a luxury hotel on Amelia Island. The hour-long drive from the shelter ended on a narrow, tree-lined road. Turning into the drive, Velda immediately encountered a security guard.
Ignoring the man's irritated expression as he scrutinized her rusted and battered van, she rolled down her window.
"Deliveries are—"
Velda thrust a small piece of paper at him. Recorded in Shane's handwriting were his room number and the alias he used when traveling.
Alan Babbage
From all the time she and Shane had spent together during undergrad, Velda recognized the name as an homage to Alan Turing and Charles Babbage. The first had pioneered computer-based cryptology. The latter was considered the father of computing. Shane probably thought he was being ironic using such an easily guessed code name for his security.
Whatever Shane's reasoning, the cloak and dagger aspect rammed home the reality that the man doing some of the most menial jobs at her shelter for the last thirty days was both a bona fide genius and a billionaire.
"ID, ma'am."
Suppressing a growl, Velda lifted her ass off the seat, fished out her wallet then flipped it open to her license. He snapped a picture on his phone then pointed at the parking garage.
"Turn left into the structure, continue straight until you see a sign for the Tesla charging station. Turn right and drive until you see the sign for VIP guest parking. Pick a spot."
Hitting the window control, she thanked him. Driving into the three-story building, she slunk lower in her seat. She didn't need the guard's attitude to know she wasn't supposed to be at some platinum, gazillion star, better-than-everyone kind of luxury resort. Well, she amended, maybe she could be there as a maid or some low-level manager. Hell, she doubted the place would hire someone her size for anything public facing.
She parked the van in the first open VIP slot but didn't turn off the engine. Strumming her fingers against the steering wheel, she pondered what the hell she was doing there.
She would have thrown the van in reverse and raced away, but Shane expected her visit. She had to at least show up. She couldn't just slink back to the shelter and tell him with a text or a phone call that she finally, fully, and irrevocably had realized her enormous stupidity in thinking their realities could ever mesh again.
Sure, Shane could slide into her world. He could slide in anywhere. But Velda's background, her body, everything about her, clashed garishly with the life Shane had made for himself.
Still, she had to tell him in person. She wouldn't be a coward ab
out it this time.
Forcing her muscles to unlock, she left the van and entered the hotel. Another security guard, this one discreetly dressed in a black business suit, stopped her before she reached the elevator.
She wasn't the only one there running around in jeans and a favorite hoodie, but she was the only one who clearly bought her clothes at Walmart. There were other obvious differences his trained eye had likely detected. She wore no jewelry. Her makeup came from a dollar store and she didn't spend an hour putting it on. No blond highlights colored her hair. In fact, she hadn't been to a hairdresser for three years. There was always a mom at the shelter who could do a serviceable job when Velda needed a trim.
Wearing the false smile of the recently condemned, she shoved the piece of paper at the guard before he could consider slipping a pair of cuffs on her.
"Ah, a guest of Mr. Babbage," he said, his voice smooth and soft as velvet. A quirk pulled at one side of his full mouth, but it was a gentler contemplation than the scowl offered by the guard outside.
He punched the elevator button, held the door open while Velda stepped past then reached inside and hit the button for the top floor.
"That's an oceanfront room, Miss. Just turn right and follow the hall to the end."
"Thank you."
He nodded, mouth still quirking to one side.
"Have a pleasant visit."
Not likely, she thought, her smile vanishing as soon as the doors closed. Praying she would encounter no one else before reaching Shane's room, Velda toyed absently with the zipper on her hoodie, her gaze avoiding the elevator's reflective panels.
She had cleaned up before leaving the shelter. Fresh change of clothing, everything recently laundered and relatively new. A white t-shirt instead of the dark tees she wore most of the time. A touch more makeup than average. Hair brushed until it shined with hints of copper.
Apparently, she still looked too low-rent for the fine folks of Amelia Island. She had considered putting on her fundraising suit. Polyester, long skirt and matching jacket, flats, everything black except for the white French blouse. Including the shoes, the ensemble had come to less than two hundred dollars. It was the kind of outfit poor people wore when they went to ask rich, socially conservative people for money.
Her wardrobe choices had been bum or beggar, she mused, coming to a stop in front of Shane's door.
He had to see it—had to know on some level that their lives would never fit together. The common threads that had united them in college were frayed or missing after a decade apart.
It was a hard truth, but so simple at the same time. There could be no fairytale ending without a fairytale beginning. Working at the shelter for most of her adult life had shown Velda that much. Shown her over and over.
Paralyzed, she stared at the gold-plated numbers perfectly aligned on the door. She didn't want to hurt Shane, didn't want him to feel even one percent of the anguish that coursed through her like acid.
Part of her denied the possibility he would feel anything.
That was the coward talking again, coaxing her into believing she could sneak away because Shane didn't really care. She couldn't deny how present he had been throughout his thirty days. Even when executives, shareholders, and development teams, tried to blow up his phone, he kept his focus on the shelter. There were mornings when Shane showed up looking like he had pulled an all-nighter trying to balance the needs of his company and Velda's shelter.
Yet he never acted like he was sacrificing something to be there.
He acted like it was a gift, one that Velda had given him.
The door opened, abruptly interrupting the war playing inside her head.
Chapter 18
Carrying an ice bucket, Shane halted a step before he would have smacked into her. His lips parted. A greeting lined up along his tongue then stalled. He studied her face.
She told herself she had to say something, but endless doubt paralyzed her vocal cords.
Shane brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek.
"Don't cry, baby."
"I'm not." Her throat squeezed on the denial, choked the words.
"You're ready to."
Velda bobbed her head in admission, every word strangled on its way out. "I don't know how this is going to work."
Concern danced across his face. He erased it with an easy smile and a laugh.
"Well, it starts with you coming inside my room…or the two of us going someplace where you’re more comfortable. There's a coffee bar downstairs."
She hadn't noticed a coffee bar, but she doubted it offered the sort of intimacy needed for a caring goodbye. In contrast, his hotel room was probably too intimate. She couldn't tell because he had been in the process of pulling the door shut when he realized she was standing in the hall.
The door remained open, but only a crack. The only thing visible was a textured, off-white wall. Shane stepped to the side, pushed the door wide.
The wall ended a few feet from the threshold. A large sitting area waited beyond that. The interior blended into the exterior with a sliding glass door that opened onto the terrace. On a table separating two loveseats, someone had placed cans of Coke and an assortment of bottles from a Pennsylvania brewery Velda and Shane had spent too much time and money at during college.
"So, coffee bar, room, or corridor?" he asked, a jitter beginning to run through his words.
"How can I turn down a Slow Hand," she deadpanned.
He pulled a face, his brows nipping together, then he laughed. "Oh, you mean the beer."
Looking at Shane, Velda smiled. She trusted him, doubted herself. Falling into a fairytale was easy. Climbing out would be soul crushing.
"Yeah, the beer," she said, stepping into the room.
Shane closed the door, guided her to the loveseat. Jiggling the ice bucket, he poked his chin at the table.
"The beer is already cold."
She looked at the colorfully labeled bottles. The Pennsylvania breweries they had sampled in their youth were all about "high point" beers, the alcohol content several times that found in the "three-two" states. Anything from the Slow Hand brand was easy to get drunk on.
"I can arrange a driver…or get a room for you here…"
He left the third alternative unspoken.
So did Velda.
"It's been so long since I had one," she said, sinking onto the loveseat. "I can't remember which was my favorite."
He plucked the only somber colored bottle from the assortment. With white text on black, the name ran vertically within the outline of a coffin.
Oblivion.
A faint grin pushed at the corners of Velda's mouth. Shane broke the cap's seal then handed her the beer. The bottle was sweating. So was Velda. She took a sip, closed her eyes then settled more deeply against the cushion.
When a full minute passed without a word between them, she opened her eyes to find Shane intently studying her face.
"What did you mean about this working?" he asked.
She smothered a shrug. He deserved an honest answer.
"It seems like we’re even further apart than we were in college," she said, her cadence full of regret.
Shane's fingers came together as they often did when he had a puzzle to solve but no keyboard available to deploy his brilliance.
"I don't understand. We've spent at least forty hours a week in close proximity. I would have spent a lot more…a lot closer proximity if…"
He trailed off before his words turned into an accusation. She knew the barriers erected at the shelter were hers. She knew she had spent the first half of the thirty days actively hiding from him. Her actions were meant to protect both of them.
"You've seen my world," she said. "I haven't seen yours…beyond what's out in the public."
A deep sigh lifted his shoulders.
"You want to see my world, baby, look in a mirror."
Velda closed her eyes, rolled her lips. After a few seconds tryin
g to hold it together, she shook her head. It all sounded wonderful, didn't it?
Too wonderful.
She heard Shane move from his side of the table to hers. His hand landed gently on her knee then remained motionless. Slowly, she opened her eyes, met his dark gaze. Her lips parted, tried for words, tried for a smile.
His hand found hers, his touch ghosting back and forth along the sensitive webbing between her thumb and index finger. Heat traveled up her arm, across her shoulders. The muscles of her chest tightened. Her eyes grew heavy as a deep need opened a chasm within her.
Velda already knew she wouldn't escape Shane's visit without a broken heart. What more could one night cost?
He lifted his hand, erased a tear with his gentle caress.
"I loved you then," he said. "I love you now."
Her mouth trembled with the effort of not speaking, not sobbing.
His gaze narrowed. With a slow shake of his head, Shane lifted up, loomed over Velda. Her hair was down, swimming around her shoulders. He gathered up a fistful at the back, forced her to arch her neck.
"Use your words, baby."
How could she? It was too easy to say the wrong thing because she had no clue what the right thing was.
"Do you love me?" he asked.
She blinked, lips parting once more, her full breasts lifting and diving in a rapid cycle of admission and denial.
"Fuck it," Shane swore right before he claimed her mouth.
He broke the kiss, tightened his grip on her hair then kissed her again. His teeth captured her flesh, pulled the fat swell of her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked on it. His strong, sinuous body maneuvered until he perched atop Velda, his shins pressing on the cushions around her, the broad chest pushing hard against her breasts.
He wrapped his free hand lightly around her throat. His thumb pressed against one corner of her jaw, his finger the other.
No trace of panic flickered inside Velda. If it tried, the fresh heat filling her torso and limbs would turn it to ash.
Really, she wondered again. What would one night cost her?