“From now until the launch, the majority of my focus will be last-minute preparations for Computronix’s presentation.”
“You work for Computronix?”
“No. I own the company.”
She laughed. “I own your phone. Are you unveiling the latest model or some other gadgets?”
Gadgets? He didn’t deal in can openers or video watches.
“We’ll roll out a line of devices”—he added emphasis to the word to correct her error—“in our business and entertainment arenas, but the HPC will be the featured product.”
She trailed her fingers along the back of a bar stool. “The HPC? You mentioned that yesterday. What is it?”
“I told you that was classified information.”
She rolled her eyes and drank more of the smoothie. The schematics on the screen in front of him may as well have been a toddler’s picture book for the effect it had on his attention, namely an inability to hold it. Chelsea’s presence was kryptonite to his concentration, leaving him powerless to focus on anything except her nearness.
His pulse pummeled in his throat and he cast a sidelong glance in her direction. After placing her empty glass in the sink, she’d settled on his couch with her back against the armrest, her profile a temptation. Her curls were gathered precariously on the top of her head and stray spirals teased her brows, ears, and nape. Thankfully this would be a short-term problem. Once the road reopened, she’d be free to leave and he’d have a much-needed respite from her and this unprecedented attraction.
Perhaps he’d call and volunteer his assistance to the county if it would make the cleanup occur faster.
“Is this all you do?”
His focus widened, shifting from the curl bouncing near the corner of her eye to her entire face. “What?”
She draped an arm over the back of the sofa. “Is this all you do?”
“I don’t understand your question.”
She waved a fluid hand, indicating his workstation. “This. You spend a lot of time working. Do you do anything else?”
“No.”
Why would he do “anything else”? The theoretical study and application of computer science was his calling. It helped him to discover order in a world he often found chaotic. Additionally, it was an avenue for acceptance. In the scope of his work, he was embraced, not judged, for his differences.
“Do you have family?” she asked.
His chest tightened and the back of his throat burned. “Yes.”
He heard her embellished sigh. “Does your family live here in California? Are you close to them?”
He abhorred discussing his family, often burdened with twin sentiments of guilt and responsibility. “My parents are divorced. I’m the youngest of three, the only son. My father and sisters still live in Colorado.”
She tilted her head to the side, creating an acute angle with her shoulder. She did that often. “Friends?”
“Mike and Jonathan.”
“Is that it?”
A deceptively simple query.
Did he have friends other than Mike and Jonathan? People attached to him by feelings of affection or personal regard, not by economic necessity, greed, or sexual desire? He’d been involved with Birgitta, but had he ever considered her his friend? How could he when he’d never invited her here, into his sanctuary?
“I have work to complete. If you require entertainment, you’ll have better luck with the TV. The remote is on the table.”
He forced himself to study the latest HPC income projections, but he couldn’t block out the evidence of her presence. His ears pricked at the pulpous sound of her body sinking into the cushions on his sofa, the heavy thud of the remote landing on the table, the varied voices erupting from the powered-on television. Approving the rollout of his company’s newest device was failing in comparison to his growing fascination with Chelsea Grant.
“I love this movie.”
Do not turn around. Do not turn around.
He swung around to see two women standing in the hallway of a government building or courthouse. Unable to stop himself, he left his desk and perched on the other sofa arm. He frowned, watching one woman wildly gesticulate in her effort to advise her blonde friend. “I’ve never seen this one.”
Chelsea sat up and smiled. The effect caused an unusual tingling sensation beneath his skin. “You’re joking, right? It came out a few years ago and made a boatload at the box office. This woman meets this guy one morning and they end up spending an amazing day together. The next morning, she vanishes without a trace. He goes to the place she said she worked and finds out the superficial stuff she told him—her name, where she works—was a lie. He spends the rest of the movie searching for her, using clues from their brief encounter. Turns out, she was an accountant and was turning state’s evidence against the company she worked for, a front for organized crime. He finally finds her and helps her evade the mob.”
Sounded like the typical insipid, dewy-eyed schmaltz consistently fed to the masses. He crossed his arms. “I don’t enjoy that type of movie.”
“What type of movie?”
“Movies like that. It’s ridiculous. She lied to him and abandoned him yet he wastes valuable time searching for her.”
“He’s in love with her.”
“She lied to him. He doesn’t know her.”
The corners of her mouth turned down. “It was for a good reason. She was trying to protect him.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Things aren’t that simplistic.”
“Yes, Chelsea, they are. A morally right outcome doesn’t justify the immoral means used to achieve it.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
She shifted away from him. “It must be nice to be clear on everything. To never be worried about ethics or morality.”
“Ethics shouldn’t be an issue. If people spoke their minds, instead of hedging and engaging in double-talk, humanity would benefit.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not the world we live in. Sometimes people do what they do because they don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice, even if the options are unpleasant.”
She stared at him and an expression crossed her face he couldn’t decipher. Then she laughed. “How did we get on to such a heavy topic anyway? It’s just a movie.” She grabbed the remote and sank back into the cushions, changing the channel to another program. “We need to chill out. Relax.”
He shrugged and headed back to his desk. He had too much to do to even consider relaxing. Although there were numerous ways he could unwind with Chelsea.
Sex was the top five entries on that list.
He prided himself on his discipline, so it wasn’t long before the data on his computer quelled the distraction of Chelsea’s movements and he lost himself in the challenge of his work. This launch was the most important one of his career. The HPC was a product with global ramifications. Once it premiered, everyone would forgive his company’s previous disastrous rollout. Maybe then, he would, too.
A small rectangle flashed across the top of his central monitor, capturing his attention and breaking his concentration. It was an email from Anya. He hated being pulled from his work, but this close to the presentation he couldn’t afford to ignore any messages from the company. Countless small problems could derail their launch, and he and Mike needed to stem any issues to prevent them from becoming obstacles.
Accessing his email program, he scanned the message from Anya. The success of the CGR interview led her to determine he could handle several others. She was informing him that more would be forthcoming.
Shit! He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. This was why he didn’t deal well with people. He’d assumed his answers to the interview meant Anya would
cease bothering him about promotions. He’d done what she’d asked, and rather well, so she should require nothing further from him. Instead, she’d seen his achievement as a reason to give him more. And just as egregious was the lack of specificity. What did she consider several? Four? Five? Ten? It made a difference!
The peal of his doorbell dragged him from his mental debate.
Chelsea sat up and swung her legs off the sofa. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.”
He definitely hadn’t been expecting her.
He stood and walked over to the window. A white county work truck, with black rails and piles of orange construction cones, sat in the driveway.
His chest tightened and he rubbed the spot with the heel of his hand. They’d cleared the road. No reason remained for her to stay. She would leave and he’d find himself alone again. Achingly so. He shook his head and pushed the traitorous feelings away. This was the best outcome. Chelsea’s presence extracted attention he couldn’t spare. Too much was riding on the success of the launch.
He descended the steps into the foyer and opened the front door. A young man, wearing the typical county work crew garb of baggy fluorescent-yellow overalls and thick black boots, stood waiting.
“Road’s clear,” the worker said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
Before Adam could respond, the guy tromped over to the truck. He’d barely shut the passenger door before the truck took off, heading back down the mountain. Adam trudged back to the great room to find Chelsea gathering her belongings.
“They’ve cleared the tree away,” he told her, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I heard.”
So this was it. Would he see her again? When the launch presentation was over and he had more time, would she still be here?
“How long are you staying at the Andersons’?”
“A month. Maybe two.”
Tension eased from his shoulders and they lowered. He nodded, trying to stifle any further outward manifestations of his inner turmoil. “Maybe we’ll run into each other.”
“Do you mind giving me your number?” she asked. “In case I need help or something.”
He retrieved his phone from his desk, engaged the appropriate app, and sent her his information. When she received the data, she looked up from her screen and smiled.
His pulse strummed. “The garage is down the stairs and through the door on the right. Your keys are in the ignition.”
“Thanks. For the car and for your hospitality.”
He nodded and held out his hand. She hesitated before sliding her palm against his. As his fingers closed around hers, his heart hammered against his chest, and he was engulfed with a feeling he couldn’t describe. She stared into his eyes for a long moment before squeezing his hand and turning away.
Then she was gone.
That feeling swept over him again, similar to the sensation he experienced when he finished an invention, but different. Less satisfaction, more melancholy. He rubbed his hand against his chest. Whatever it was, he was confident it would soon pass.
Chapter Six
FIVE HOURS AFTER Adam said goodbye to the distraction personified by Chelsea Grant, his mind finally cooperated with his will and turned its full attention to the work he had yet to complete. He needed to be alone and focused. The launch was three weeks away. If he buckled down, and avoided any other interruptions, he could still meet his deadline.
When his doorbell rang, he almost succumbed to a roar of frustration. What now? He pushed away from his computer and glowered out the window.
A steel-gray Jaguar XJ was parked in his driveway.
Fuck.
Adam considered ignoring his guest, but immediately dismissed the notion as futile. Mike was strategic, determined, and persistent. The same traits that made him one of the best COOs in the industry also meant he wouldn’t leave until he’d achieved the outcome he wanted.
Adam took his time descending the steps to his foyer. Opening the door, he found Mike standing on his doorstep, dressed more informally than usual, in khakis, a white collared shirt and a navy half-zip pullover. A partial smile creased the blond man’s countenance while his gaze bounced between Adam’s face and the vestibule.
When a car door slammed shut, Adam’s frown deepened.
What the hell?
He angled his head, glancing beyond Mike’s shoulder. Jonathan, in his familiar uniform of jeans and a T-shirt, strode up the walkway, a large box in his arms.
Adam straightened, rubbed the back of his neck and inhaled deeply through the tightness in his chest. “Is this your way of solving my reclusive tendencies?”
“Is that even possible?” Mike countered, then shrugged. “I’m due for a visit.”
Adam nodded toward Jonathan. “And you thought reinforcements were necessary?”
“The more, the merrier.”
“In whose estimation? Not mine. I’m the recluse, remember?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not offended,” Jonathan said, coming up behind Mike, smiling widely as he used the box to muscle them aside. The other man always appeared to be smiling, even if his lips weren’t curved upward. “I know this warm greeting is your way of saying you’re happy to see us.”
He winked, shifted the box in his arms, and jogged up the stairs.
“You know I hate sarcasm,” Adam called after him. “And if I were happy to see you, I’d say so.”
“I know,” Mike said, clapping Adam on the shoulder as he, too, entered the house and followed Jonathan up into the great room.
Adam closed the door and leaned his forehead against its cool, smooth surface. A visit from his two best friends three weeks before a crucial product launch? This wasn’t an arbitrary social call. They were here because of his last conversation with Mike but, mentally reviewing the discussion, he could discern no detail that would cause the other man to rush up the mountain, with Jonathan in tow. He didn’t have the time or inclination for this inquest. He concluded his best course of action was to ascertain what they wanted, solve the problem, and send them on their way. Then he could get back to his work.
Climbing the staircase, he found Mike positioned next to his workstation and Jonathan in his kitchen removing supplies and ingredients from the box he’d brought with him.
Jonathan looked up, a wedge of cheese in his hand. “You doing okay?”
Adam shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’m trying to figure out what I’ve done to deserve the influx of visitors to my secluded mountain home.”
“That’s just it,” Mike said, turning from the desk. “The last time we talked you asked if I’d sent someone here, then abruptly hung up. I called back several times but when I couldn’t get through, I was worried. With us being this close to the launch—”
“You wanted to check on your investment,” Adam finished.
“That’s not fair and you know it.”
Adam met Mike’s gaze, lifting his chin to emphasize his point. His statement may have been harsh, but it wasn’t inaccurate. Computronix was doing well. Their shares had rebounded from the debacle of their last big launch and neither he, nor Mike, wanted to become complacent. The HPC would be a game changer, and, as Mike emphasized yesterday, the growth of the company was dependent upon its success. Adam didn’t doubt Mike’s concern, but he was certain interests other than their friendship had brought the other man to his home.
“So, was someone here?” Mike asked.
“It appears I’ve got a new neighbor,” he said.
“How would you know?” Jonathan interrupted. “You’re not the ‘homemade goodies basket, welcome to the neighborhood’ type.”
Adam recoiled. Just the thought sent cold shivers slithering down his spine.
“I met her during the storm.”
“Her?”
Mike’s blond brows shot up into his hairline.
“Yes, her. As in, a member of the female sex.”
Mike turned his head slightly. “Are you making a funny?”
“It’s been known to happen on rare occasions,” Adam said, deadpan.
“She must be attractive if you thought her worthy of mentioning,” Jonathan said.
Was she . . . ? “She’s agreeable.”
Mike shook his head. “If it were anyone else, I’d assume ‘agreeable’ was a nice way to say ‘unattractive,’ but with you, it could mean anyone from a plain Jane to Angelina Jolie.”
The sound of heavy steel hitting concrete grabbed Adam’s attention. Jonathan littered his counter with an assortment of tomatoes, a loaf of crusty bread, cream, onions, and several herbs. And the cause of the initial noise?
“Is that a panini maker?”
“Yup,” Jonathan said, shifting the groceries around.
“What are you making?”
“What does it look like?”
Adam leaned against the bar and assessed the ingredients. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup?”
Jonathan nodded. “Your favorite meal.”
“In college. Although you didn’t need all of this”—he indicated the mess with a nod of his head—“back then.”
“I told you he wouldn’t like it,” Mike said.
Jonathan paused, a sharp knife in his hand. “I was twenty-two and working twelve-hour shifts as a line cook in a college town. This is the version we have on our brunch menu. I guarantee you’ll love it.” He grabbed a tomato and swiftly chopped off the end.
“There was nothing wrong with the way you used to do it,” Adam said.
“No. But I’ve changed in the past ten years. I own and operate a three Michelin-starred restaurant. I can’t open a can of soup and slap some cheese between two slices of bread.”
Adam frowned. Change. Everyone appeared to be happy with the concept, but it was hard to view it beneficially when you were the one people always wanted to change.
“Have you given a thought to what’s next?” Mike asked.
Love On My Mind Page 6