Standard? She’d been working since her sixteenth birthday, including a stint at a major pharmaceutical company, and she’d never been asked to sign any agreements.
No sense in arguing until she read the form. “Fair enough. I’ll read it and get back to you. Regarding my access to the database, if I need information, do I speak to your assistant?”
“Start with her. If she can’t help you, I’ll get on it. And, Jillian, nothing is set in stone. If we find you can’t perform your job without access, we’ll work something out. We don’t want to destroy our efficiencies. Okay?”
So not okay. But she’d be the dedicated employee, the good little worker bee, and slap on her perfected happy face. “No problem. Hopefully it won’t be an issue.”
* * *
Jack rang Jillian’s doorbell at exactly 6:30. Punctual. Of course he is. Superheroes were always on time.
She swung the door open, happily anticipating his presence on the other side. After the odd day at work, she found herself craving company. Something she typically didn’t need. That alone could have been enough to send her into her emotional cave. To withdraw to her safe zone, reinforcing the layers of cement around her untrusting heart. Alone time always refocused her. She’d grown to thrive on it, but lately, as her twenty-eighth birthday loomed, she’d started to resent her self-imposed oneness.
Except tonight, Jack stood on her doorstep wearing Levi’s, an unzipped leather jacket and a faded blue T-shirt that made his eyes sparkle. Being alone suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea. The man should wear old shirts more often. 24/7, in fact.
“Hi. Am I late?”
“Right on time. Come in.” He moved through the doorway and for the second time today, she snatched a glance at his perfect ass. What was it about Levi’s that made a man’s ass look so good?
Heat shot up her neck and she stuck her head out the open door for air. Whew.
He turned to her, his eyes questioning. “Everything good?”
If everything looks like your ass, it’s more than good. “Yep. Just checking the temperature. Outside.”
Not in my body. That temp would fry a thermometer.
He followed her to the kitchen.
“Chicken tonight. I’ll make some mashed potatoes and salad with it. Sound good?”
“Oh, yeah.”
The drill he’d abandoned earlier in the day remained on the floor where he’d left it and he squatted to retrieve it. “How’d the rest of your day go?”
It sucked.
She set a tomato on the carving board and sawed through it. When the thing disintegrated into a squishy mess, she decided to move on to the cucumbers until she could control herself and not destroy the last-standing tomato. “My day was...odd.”
One perfect cucumber slice. Very good.
Jack marked a spot on the top inside of the doorframe. Obviously, he knew what he was doing. Handy around the house. A plus for a growing list of pluses.
“Odd how?” he asked.
Another perfect slice. Excellent control. “I went back to the office and discovered my password for the distribution system still didn’t work.”
“You said it worked this morning.”
“At 7:00 a.m. it worked. Not at 11:30. I called IT and they told me my access had been changed.”
He finally looked at her. “Really.”
“Yep. I went to my boss and he said the company is realigning who has access to what. I still have access, but only to certain things. I was told not to worry about it and that he would funnel any important reports via email. Oh, and I get to work with his assistant.” She waved the knife. “His assistant. I know we’re experiencing turmoil right now with Greg’s loss, but how they expect me to keep track of all the deliveries without having access to the system, I have no idea. And what if there’s a problem with a shipment? I have to run to Ned every time I have a question.”
Jack picked up the drill, gave the trigger a test squeeze and the motorized sound filled the kitchen. He let go of the trigger. “That’s dumb.”
Another cucumber slice. This one extremely less than perfect.
“During the same conversation, I was told the company is also asking all employees to sign confidentiality agreements.”
With that, Jack abandoned the drill and walked to where she stood at the counter. Another slice. Smack. Dead cucumber. One for the garbage. Fearing for the safety of the remaining vegetables, she set the knife down. “I’m killing this food.”
The crushed tomato she’d set aside drew his attention and he scrunched his nose at it. “Have you been asked to sign anything before?”
“No. I told him I’d look at it and get it back to him. I’m not signing anything until a lawyer okays it.”
“We have a corporate attorney on staff. Give me a copy of the agreement and I’ll have him look at.”
Superhero. “I’ll pay for his time. I just don’t know any lawyers.”
He waved the suggestion away. “No big deal. Did you read it? Is anything jumping out at you?”
“Besides the whole thing?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, besides the whole thing.”
“Sorry. I’m irritated. I read it, but it’s legal speak. The gist is, I’m not to discuss anything—there’s a specific list in the document—regarding company business with anyone. So, if I sign this thing, the conversation we’re having right now could get me in trouble. I mean, what is that about?”
“Was everyone asked to sign this agreement?”
“Yes. Ned called a meeting and told everyone they’d receive a copy. I didn’t want to make a stink so I didn’t talk to anyone about it. That place is a gossip mill. If I ask someone, before I know it, I could be labeled a troublemaker. I’d rather play it safe and wait for someone to come to me.”
“Not a bad plan.”
“I can’t help thinking I did something wrong.”
Jack whistled. “And they call me King of the Paranoids. You said everyone has to sign the agreement. What about the restricted access? Is that everyone?”
“Ned wasn’t specific about who’d be affected, but, yes, there were others.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, then. Trust me, I’ve worked in politics. Crazy shit happens in the workplace and there’s no explaining it.”
She supposed that was true. He definitely had more experience in this area. She went back to assembling the salad. “I guess for tonight, you install that bolt, we have dinner and I get to pretend I haven’t been through a meat grinder these past few days.”
Chapter Five
The grinding of Jillian continued the following morning. By 10:00 a.m., she was half out of her mind. She’d been sitting at her desk since eight and literally had nothing to do.
Not. One. Thing.
If she couldn’t get into the database, she couldn’t work on her month-end report for Ned. Nor could she check the delivery schedule for the day or do the myriad of other things that required her to log into the system.
How was she supposed to do her job under these conditions? With her luck, she’d get in trouble for lack of performance and wind up losing a position that could fast-track her career. Then there was the importance of health insurance and paying the mortgage. With the economy being what it was, she couldn’t be out of work.
She glanced at her laptop as the rainbow screen saver swirled. What could be going on in the database that she wasn’t permitted to see?
For kicks, she’d try getting into the system again. Couldn’t hurt. Maybe Ned had changed his mind about revoking her access. She clicked on the icon and punched in her password.
ACCESS DENIED.
So much for Ned changing his mind. Not that it would deter her. She’d visit Mary and see if she could pull a report for her. M
aybe the phantom delivery from Friday night would finally be logged into the database.
She wandered the long corridor lining the epicenter of the warehouse. A truck was being loaded and, once again, because she couldn’t get an updated report, she had no idea where that truck would be headed.
Well, she’d remedy that. She found Mary sitting at her desk.
The no-nonsense secretary looked up from the note she was jotting. “Hi, Jillian. Ned is at a meeting.”
Even better. “I actually needed your help.”
She set her pen down precisely at the top of her blotter. “Of course. How can I help you?”
“I can’t print the latest distribution report. The one I have is from Friday. Would you mind pulling up the report for me?”
Mary spun sideways to her keyboard. “Certainly. I’ll print you one also.”
Perfect. By the time Jillian had gotten around the desk, Mary had already started typing her password. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the last two digits. The letter A and a capital Y.
Quickly, she averted her gaze. Being locked out of the system was not productive, but snooping over Mary’s shoulder wasn’t the answer.
“Here it is,” Mary said. “Do you want to look at it or just have me print you a copy?”
“It would be great if you could sort it by date and print it. I can get what I need from the report.”
“Sure thing.” Anticipating the printer spitting out the report, Mary set her hand on it. “Ned mentioned you took a photography class the other day. Was it fun? My husband is an amateur photographer.”
Jillian thought back to Saturday and the time spent with her beloved camera. “It was amazing. A long day, but one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences. The instructor has one scheduled for the Colorado Rockies next year. I put myself on the waiting list.”
If she got into the class, she didn’t know how she’d pay for it, but she’d make it happen.
“Good for you.” Mary handed over the report. “Here you go.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
On her way back to her office, Jillian stopped in the kitchen to grab a pop and found Debbie, one of the HR assistants, pouring coffee. Debbie had been the first person Jillian had met when she interviewed with Stennar Pharm and, although they couldn’t be considered close friends, they occasionally grabbed lunch and chatted about the mundane trappings of life.
“Hey, Jillian. I was wondering where you’ve been. I stopped by your office yesterday, but you were out.”
“I had to deal with something at the house.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Just an installer. Did you need something from me?”
Debbie dumped sugar into her cup and stirred. “Nope. Just thought we could have lunch one day this week. The weather has been so nice. It’d be good to get out some.”
Given the current goings-on, it couldn’t hurt to make nice with HR. “I’d like that. I’ll email you and we’ll set it up.”
Minutes later, behind the closed door of her office, Jillian scanned the first column of the report, her gaze traveling down the list. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.
Friday.
She grabbed a ruler, lined it up on the spreadsheet so she could check the Friday deliveries one by one. Two asthma drug deliveries. Those she recognized. One was a high-blood-pressure medication they didn’t do much of. The last two deliveries of the day were for an anesthetic and Baxtin, a blood thinner that had grown significantly in sales over the past year. She checked the times for both deliveries. The anesthetic came in at 4:30 p.m. That was the one the warehouse crew had been unloading when she’d left on Friday.
Which meant the Baxtin came in after she’d left for the day. That delivery had not been on her earlier report, but here it was. Delivery time: 11:10 p.m.
She pushed back from the desk and tapped her foot. The phantom delivery wasn’t so phantom after all.
* * *
Jillian had just walked in her door and dumped her briefcase on the kitchen chair when the doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock. 6:15. Probably Jack. He’d called an hour ago and said he’d be by in, yes, an hour, and here he was. One thing she could appreciate about this man was his courteous nature when it came to being prompt.
She strode to the front window and, just to be safe, peeped out the curtain. Jack stood on her porch with a brown paper bag that she assumed was the takeout Chinese he’d mentioned.
As expected, the little explosion in her chest happened. She stepped back from the window. He’s a recovering addict. Her reminder to herself seemed to be happening with greater frequency in the last couple of days, but her hormones didn’t necessarily care. They couldn’t give a lick about what her brain thought. They were only interested in what her body thought, and her body thought quite a lot of Jack.
She swung the door open and he stepped through. He wore gray dress slacks and a white Oxford. No tie. He’d mentioned he rather enjoyed the no-tie look after working at State where his boss insisted on a suit and tie each day. Along with the outfit came his typical brooding look.
Jillian held up her hand. “Wait. Step back.”
He drew his eyebrows together. “Huh?”
“Out the door.”
Turning, he did as she asked but stopped on the outside landing. “What?”
“Okay,” she said. “Now, slap a smile on and let’s try this again. The world is a better place when you smile. Right now, I’d like my world to be a better place, so give me a little.”
He didn’t just smile, he laughed. One of those rich belly laughs that caused an entire room to let loose. Her hormones were no exception.
Why do I like this guy so much?
She grasped his elbow and pulled him into the house. “See? I feel better already. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Before she knew it, he’d dropped the food and the bag toppled and crackled against the hardwood.
“Yow,” she said.
She bent to pick up the bag, but he placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. Slowly, he backed her against the wall, his gaze focused on her mouth. Oh, boy, he was coming closer and—whammo—he kissed her. She discovered his lips were great at things other than smiling.
His kiss was warm and gentle, but with a hint of fierceness that left her more than gooey. Particularly when his tongue slid along her bottom lip. For half a second—maybe a quarter—she contemplated easing away from him. Her brain begged for it, pleaded for it really. What her brain understood that her body didn’t was that kissing Jack just might be deadly.
Before her impending death, she decided getting naked—fast—would be a good idea.
Emotional homicide. Call 9-1-1.
Suddenly, he stepped back. Not just one step, but three or four. What was that about? He gets the horse saddled up and then runs from the barn?
He rubbed his hand over his face. “I’m sorry.”
She straightened. “Um, you may have noticed, I didn’t mind.” To this, he smiled. “Be careful, Jack, that’s twice you’ve smiled in the last five minutes.”
“Could be dangerous.”
She raised her eyebrows at the challenge. “Could be a lot of things.”
“I have eight days left.”
Of all the rejections she’d received in her life, what day it was had never been mentioned. The memory of him faced off with his calendar flooded her mind. The red X’s. She scrunched her nose. “I don’t understand.”
“In eight days, it’ll be one year I’m in recovery. One year of...uh...solitude.”
And, oh my, her trips to Al-Anon taught her this lesson. The first year had to be about healing himself first and then his relationships. “People in recovery shouldn’t start new relationships during the first year.”
&n
bsp; He nodded. “It depends on the person, but it’s not advisable.”
“So, that’s why for three months you’ve been sending me mixed signals?”
He winced. “Ouch. Sorry.”
“No apology necessary. At least I know I’m not insane.” She waggled her finger. “You had me going there.”
He pounded his fists against his head. “I lost it a little bit with that kiss, but damn, the whole thing at the front door was a rip and—boom—I needed to have at you. For the record, I’d like to do more of that. I want to. Badly. Very badly.”
She held her hand up. “Stop talking. I get it.” More than you know. “You have a plan. You’ve said you like plans. Eight days and you hit the one-year mark.”
He had no idea how much she understood. And appreciated it. Her father had never once hit three hundred sixty-five days of sobriety.
This is a good man. A man who kept his word. Or at least tried to. All the reasons she should run from him faded. No, they didn’t just fade, they dropped off her emotional survival list like bricks from a tall building.
But she had to be smart about this. Had to take it slow and give her mind time to absorb what her body so desperately wanted. She breathed in and stooped to pick up the bag still on the floor. “I love Chinese food. Apparently, you are on a mission to steal my heart.”
“I took a shot.”
“Bull’s-eye, superhero.”
He touched her arm. “Thank you. For understanding. In eight days, I’ll be all over you. I swear.”
She bumped him with her elbow. “I will eagerly await the swarm.”
Ach. Sometimes her quick wit, usually such a source of pride, got her in trouble. She wanted to believe it was a slip of the tongue, a Freudian slip even, but somehow, she knew her resolve when it came to Jack was weakening. Even if she couldn’t quite grasp the logic of eight more days making a difference, she admired his steadfast dedication to reaching his one-year goal. Eight days wouldn’t be a horrible thing for her either. It would give her time to contemplate the idea of abandoning her rule about getting involved with an addict. Never would she have imagined that. Never.
Opposing Forces Page 6