by Tiffany Snow
It looked as though Jackson had come to the same conclusion because when I instinctively glanced at him, his mouth was set in a grim line and he didn’t speak.
Okay then.
“Of course,” I said. “We’ll continue operating according to . . . protocol . . . and meet separately. We’ll begin this afternoon and I’ll e-mail you the time.”
“Are we meeting with you or him?” John asked, motioning toward Jackson.
“You’ll be meeting with China,” Jackson answered. “She’s project leader, not me. Defer to her for direction and if you have any questions or problems.”
“But . . . you’re Jackson Cooper,” John said. “Surely you’d be best suited—”
“Actually China is the most qualified to step in here,” Jackson interrupted. “We’re working together on this account, but she knows more about the language than I do.”
That silenced them . . . and me. I knew I shouldn’t look so surprised at his recommendation—I just couldn’t help it. It took me a moment to recover.
“So I’ll e-mail you all and we’ll meet this afternoon. Individually. Please bring whatever materials you think I’ll need.”
Various nods of assent from around the table. I stood to leave. “Thanks, everyone. Good to meet all of you.” I let out a sigh of relief. It was over and I hadn’t collapsed from nerves.
They filed out, leaving Jackson and me alone.
“I appreciate your support,” I said to him. Women in IT were rare, so I was used to my abilities being questioned, especially factoring in my age. I’d gotten over being offended about it years ago.
“I wasn’t being nice. I was being truthful.”
Well. He’d effectively planted himself on my Good Side again. Dammit. And I didn’t know what to say except, “Um . . . okay then.” Picking up my things, I walked back to the office, not checking to see if he followed. As it turned out, he did.
“I’m heading back,” he said as I set my stuff on my desk. “Let’s meet tonight and discuss your meetings this afternoon.”
“Tonight?” It was Thursday. I’d texted Bonnie last night and she’d gotten irritated that I’d waited to cancel until the last minute, but the moment I’d said “date,” she’d gone all squealy on me. I’d sworn to her I’d fill her in tonight.
“Yes. Why?” Jackson’s expression had gone all hard again. “Another date? I do hope your job isn’t interfering with your active social life.”
Was I imagining the snide snark in his tone? It was so damn hard to tell. Was he being a jerk or just blunt? I went with the latter but I suspected the former, though why he cared if I had another date was beyond me.
“Yes, actually. With my friend Bonnie. But she’s a chef so I doubt she’ll be interested in my work.” I sounded just this side of bitchy, but I didn’t care. Why had I never noticed what an ass Jackson could be? Oh yeah, I’d been too blinded by hero worship.
“I see.”
When he didn’t say anything else, I said, “So do I need to cancel, or can we talk tomorrow?”
“First thing tomorrow. My office.”
“Yes, sir.”
I watched him leave, feeling my whole body relax when he was out of sight. I absolutely could not figure Jackson out. Yesterday, he’d seemed so nice. Then it was as though he flipped a switch. Maybe it was me? Maybe I’d been too familiar with him or something and he was reminding me of my place? Either way, he was as intimidating as hell.
But I had a job to do, so I shoved thoughts of Jackson aside and got to my e-mail, which was really Tom’s e-mail but now mine.
There were four distinct parts of the project and Terry was responsible for Software Integration. I met with him first.
“. . . and all current web browsers are ready to go. My team is still working on social media software. Gaming consoles are proving the toughest to crack.”
I could believe that. Gamers—some of the most suspicious people on the planet—had their own encrypted communication via their device of choice.
“And of course each has their own proprietary method,” he continued. “But we’re making progress.”
“Does your team need additional resources?”
“Not at this time.”
Terry was matter-of-fact and professional, both qualities I appreciated. We talked through more specifics and he gave me an inch-thick packet of papers. It was the better part of an hour before we were through, then it was on to George, who was in charge of Tracking, Lana who was Testing Coordinator, and finally John with Deployment.
By the time I was finished, it was after five and my head was throbbing. I was sick of talking. And I had a stack of papers on my desk nearly a foot tall.
There was so much to process, I decided to deal with it later. I needed a break, and I had a best friend cooking a bad dinner just for me.
I called Mia on my way home.
“Hey, Aunt Chi! I got bored today, so I rearranged your closet. I hope you don’t mind.”
The car swerved and I nearly dropped my phone trying to right it.
“You did what?”
“I cannot believe how many T-shirts you own,” she went on. “Seriously, where do you get them all?”
“You rearranged my T-shirts?” Oh God, it was hard to breathe. “They were by fandom!”
“Well now they’re by color.”
“By color? Why? That’s a ridiculous way to arrange a closet!”
“No it’s not. It makes perfect sense. Just wait until you see it. You’re going to love it, I promise.”
I didn’t love it, but she was so pleased at having “helped” me, that I didn’t have the heart to put them back the way they had been. I invited her with me to Bonnie’s, but she said she’d met another girl her age who was coming over to watch Pitch Perfect with her and order pizza. That was fine with me. I’d rather pluck the hairs on my arm one by one than watch a chick flick.
“It’s about time you got here,” Bonnie said as she opened her door. “The kale’s almost ready.”
Kale. Yippee. So much for my hinting that waffles and bacon sounded really good.
Bonnie lived in a nice upper-class neighborhood in a house that was about two thousand square feet too large for one person. She had a gourmet kitchen with all the bells and whistles—gas stove with hood, double oven, copper pots and pans hanging above a granite island in the middle, and a professional knife set that had cost a small fortune.
I sat at one of the leather stools at the expansive breakfast bar, smelling the aromas that were a combination of good . . . and a hint of bad. Something was burning. I hoped it was the kale.
“So tell me about this date,” she said, stirring a steaming dish on the stove. Bonnie was tall, her skin a warm honey that perfectly matched her hair. She was also the only woman I knew aside from Giada on the Food Network who looked good in an apron. “Who’s the guy?”
“He’s my new neighbor,” I said, reaching for one of the little bites from the tray on the counter. I couldn’t tell what they were, maybe dumplings. I took a small bite and gingerly chewed . . . not bad. I stuffed the rest in my mouth and talked around it. “Name’s Clark. Looks like Superman.”
Bonnie stopped stirring to glance at me. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Wow.” She stirred some more. “That’s pretty cool. You haven’t had a date in forever. It’s about time there was a guy with a big enough set of balls to ask you out.”
I ate another dumpling. “Yeah, because that’s the reason why I don’t get asked out.” Bonnie was funny and smart and pretty. She had dates on a regular basis.
“You don’t get asked out because all you do is work,” she retorted. “If you’d come out with me sometime, you could meet people.”
“I don’t drink, you know that.” Which wasn’t exactly true anymore. “Though I did drink last night.”
“You drank on your date?” She removed the pan from the stove and poured the contents over chicken breasts spread out on
two plates. “What happened?”
“Nothing . . . just that it probably explains why I let him kiss me in the car.” I’d hoped for a good reaction, and I got one.
“Oh my God!” she squealed, giving me a blinding smile. “That’s awesome! Good for you.”
I grinned at her like a lovesick loon.
“So?” she asked.
“So . . . what?”
She rolled her eyes. “So how was it? Was kissing Superman everything you’d thought it’d be?”
Her teasing had me blushing, but I still nodded. “Yeah. Better, actually.”
Bonnie laughed. “This calls for a celebration.” Opening a miniature wine refrigerator, she took out a bottle. “Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”
So I did, adding in the news of my new houseguest as well. Combined with her questions—“Mia did what to your closet? Is she crazy?” because of course that was one of the first things I told her—catching her up on my life took the entire dinner. But that wasn’t a bad thing. It helped distract her from the fact that I wasn’t eating very much. The sauce was really good, but the chicken was overcooked and dry, and the kale tasted like a soggy mass of seaweed in my mouth. I’d managed to spit it into my napkin when she wasn’t looking.
“So what do you think?” she asked, motioning to my plate. “Is it a repeat?”
“The sauce was amazing,” I said. “Definitely a repeat.”
“And the kale?”
I hesitated, then just made a face. She looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry!” I blurted. “You know I’m not a greens kind of person!” Bonnie had been trying to get me to eat cooked greens forever, from spinach to collard and now to kale.
“I know, I know,” she sighed. “Weeds with good PR.” Which was my line for said greens.
“So what do you think about Clark?”
“He sounds like a hottie, and that he’s got baggage if he’s had money problems. But if you’re looking to get in the dating scene, he sounds like a better prospect than most.”
“What about the kissing stuff?” I’d been honest with her about the episode in the car. Bonnie and I didn’t keep secrets from each other. “Was it . . . normal . . . for him to try for second base?”
She laughed and refilled our empty glasses of wine. “Men will try to get away with whatever you’ll let them get away with, no matter the timetable. Don’t get me wrong. You’re beautiful, and a genius, and have an awesome job, and you’re fun—”
“Stop it,” I interrupted. “You’re embarrassing me. Get to the point.” Bonnie was my biggest fan who loved me as much as I loved her, but I thought that probably biased her opinion of my fabled beauty and charm.
“I’m saying, I want you to have fun, but you should be careful. This is new to you.”
Okay. She was probably right. I should be careful. It just seemed so strange to me, given my sadly lacking love life, that this incredibly gorgeous guy I’d just met would be so smitten with me. Romance novels weren’t real life. Things like that just didn’t happen, which was of course why women read so many of them, including me.
I really needed to ship Grandma the latest stack I’d bought, even though I was right in the middle of Forbidden Enchantment.
We chatted some more and Bonnie told me about her latest cooking mishaps in class while I made sympathetic noises.
“. . . but I may have an in on a job at a new restaurant downtown,” she said.
“What’s the in?”
She grinned. “Another guy in the class, who’s totally cute. His sister is the one with the restaurant and she’s looking to get good help cheap. It would be good for the experience in a real restaurant kitchen, you know?”
“That’s great, yes, it would,” I agreed. Bonnie definitely needed more experience if she was going to make her dream of being a chef come true.
We discussed the pros and cons for a little while as we finished the wine, then it was time to go.
“Gotta get home by bedtime, right?” Bonnie asked with a laugh. “You’re so predictable, China.”
“Yes, I know.” I gave her a hug. “It’s part of my charm. Thanks for dinner, as always.”
“Let me know about Superman.”
“Will do.”
I waved as I headed down the sidewalk to the driveway. It was a pretty dark neighborhood and I heard a dog bark somewhere nearby. My breath made puffs in the cold night air and I wrapped my arms around myself. Unlocking my car door with my remote, I slid behind the wheel, wincing as the chill from the leather seeped through my jeans.
A click by my ear startled me and I jerked, instinctively turning my head.
“Don’t.”
Hard metal pressed against my temple and I froze. Someone was in my backseat. The thought hit, then the fear and adrenaline. It felt like ice water had been shot into my veins, an immediate rush that I’d never felt before. Part of my mind was analyzing this physical reaction while a second part was assessing the situation and yet a third was busy having a panic attack. I went for door number two.
It was a man. He had a weapon, obviously a gun. It was pointed at my head and chances were high that it was loaded. He didn’t want me to see him. That fact plus that he hadn’t killed me yet gave me a better than even chance that he wasn’t planning on killing me. Which left the question of what did he want? Was this a carjacking?
“I’m here to deliver a message,” he said. His voice was a low rasp and sent a chill through me. “You’re involved in a project that’s very important to us.”
Wyndemere immediately came to mind. Dammit. I knew nothing good would come out of working for them.
I swallowed. “I work on a lot of important projects.”
“This is a special one, and we want it finished.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Not your concern. But you should know that Tom was a casualty. It’d be too bad if you were, too.”
Tom. Apparently not a suicide after all. My heart sank. “Why would you kill Tom?”
“Tom was having second thoughts about turning over the software to us,” he said. “We want to make sure you don’t follow the same path.”
“Why wouldn’t I give the customer the software?” I asked. “And who is ‘we’? Who do you work for?”
“You can say I work for your . . . customer. Indirectly.”
Sneaky, damn government agencies. All that crap you saw in movies about just how deadly the government could be . . . was absolutely true. So a government mercenary. Even better. “And if I don’t?”
“Do I really need to answer that question?” He paused. “Think of this gun I’m holding to your head.” He pressed it harder against my temple and I winced. “Then think of identical ones pointed at everyone you care about. Have I made myself clear?”
Tears stung my eyes, which pissed me off. Being bullied at a young age combined with my overall lack of height and strength had made me feel vulnerable for much of my life. I hated feeling that way and the tears were more from frustration than fear.
“Yes.” My reply was simple enough, but laced with fuck you.
“Good. Just so we’re clear. Tell no one about this. I’ll be in touch.”
He was out the door before I could retort. I whipped around to see him, but the shadows had already swallowed him up.
I gripped the steering wheel, trying to control my shaking hands. I’d never in my life had a gun pointed at me, much less had one held to my head. My immediate reaction was that I wanted to run back inside Bonnie’s house, but that wouldn’t be doing her any favors.
After taking a few more deep breaths to slow my racing heart, I started up the car and headed home, my brain already puzzling together the pieces of what I’d learned today. I was missing something big about the program, obviously. Something someone would kill for.
7
I had another surprise when I got home.
“Clark came by,” Mia said as she poured powdered cocoa mix into a steaming mug of m
ilk. “He said he’d be up for a while if you wanted to come over.” She waggled her eyebrows at me.
I didn’t know if I was up for that, not after my unexpected non-carjacking.
“You’re going, aren’t you?” Mia asked when I didn’t reply.
“Um, I don’t know. I’m pretty tired.” And still recovering from my close encounter.
“Don’t start the hard-to-get thing so soon,” she said. “Especially when he came by. You don’t have to stay long. You should go.”
“I don’t look like I did the other night,” I said with a sigh. Plain-China was back, my hair in a ponytail, and wearing my Driver Picks the Music & Shotgun Shuts His Cakehole T-shirt.
She reached over and, in one quick grab, pulled out my ponytail. “That’s better,” she said, fluffing my hair with her fingers until she was satisfied. “You look great.”
I rolled my eyes as she took a careful sip of her cocoa, but I obediently headed for the door, unable to be anything less than pleased that Clark had come by, regardless of Bonnie’s warning inside my head.
Maybe romance in my life wasn’t so farfetched of an idea.
Clark answered the door right away and I stopped breathing.
He was bare chested, just wearing jeans, and had a towel slung around his neck. His dark hair was wet, the water making it black, and tiny rivulets were tracing leisurely down his neck to kiss his chest.
“Hey! It’s you! Come in.” He stepped back, which is when I realized my jaw was hanging open and I was staring.
“You look . . .” incredibly sexy and mouthwatering “. . . like you’re busy,” I hedged, not moving from my spot on the stoop.
“Not at all. Come in and have a seat.”
He turned away and I ogled his back, the muscles rippling as he dried his hair some more and grabbed a white T-shirt.
Wow. Even with his hair all mussed, Clark looked like a model. And his arms were much bigger and more defined than his shirt had let on. Like, only-seen-on-TV kind of defined—the trapezius muscles above his shoulders were curved and there was an actual indentation between his deltoids and biceps.