by Tiffany Snow
Shit. “I have no idea . . . and I kinda forgot about the gun. But they know where I live because I noticed them tailing me on my way to Wyndemere from home.” I chewed my lip, now worried about Mia.
Jackson pulled out his cell phone and hit a button. “There’s an unfamiliar car in the neighborhood, driving around,” he said. “Possible threat. Let’s get the plate and follow. Don’t detain though.” He listened for a moment. “Good. Keep me posted.” He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“Security?” I asked. He nodded. Of course he had security. He was worth millions. It was a miracle I’d gotten to his door without being tackled to the ground.
I watched him while he watched out the window, both of us silent. The lights from outside cast his face in uneven shadows, making him appear menacing in his vigil. His dark eyes glinted slightly and his jaw was set in a sharp line. He was still dressed for work, in slacks and a button-down shirt, but he’d undone another button at the neck. I could see the curve of his Adam’s apple in the line of his throat.
It hit me then, now that my panic had passed, that I’d felt safe the moment I’d seen Jackson. An odd thing that was. Maybe because he was my boss? Or perhaps because he always seemed so capable and in control. Nothing fazed him and he was the smartest person I’d ever known. And not just book smart. He’d built his company from the ground up. He was street savvy as well—his success was proof of that. Watching how well he’d handled that gun this morning didn’t hurt either.
“I think they’re gone,” he said, dropping the curtain and turning toward me. “Are you okay?”
My fists were clenched and my heart was still pounding, but I didn’t particularly want to share either fact with Jackson. I wanted to appear as in control as he was, even if I had to fake it.
“I’m fine.”
Jackson studied me for a moment. “You look like you could use a drink,” he said. “Follow me. And you can explain to me how you ‘forgot’ about a semiautomatic in your possession.”
It didn’t sound as though I should argue with him, so I didn’t. He led me out of the foyer and down the hall, our footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor.
His house was massive and beautiful, but it had an empty feel to it, as though it wasn’t lived in very much. It was a lot of space for just one person.
He opened a set of double doors and stepped aside to let me precede him. I took two steps inside and stopped in my tracks.
“Wow.”
It was a massive library. Like Beauty and the Beast kind of massive library. A circular room, there was even a winding staircase that went to a second level that lined the walls, leaving the center ceiling stretched high above us into a turret. Dark wood was everywhere, and leather, and the smell was deep and rich without being musty.
“Do you like it?” Jackson asked, startling me. He’d come up right behind me while I’d been staring in awe.
“It’s fantastic,” I said, which was still inadequate.
“It’s the reason I bought the house,” he said, heading to a table in the corner. There were several glasses and a crystal decanter half-filled with amber liquid sitting on the table. “It’s too much space for just me, but I couldn’t resist the library.”
“Don’t you have any staff? Like a housekeeper or something?”
“I have a man—Lance—who takes care of the house. He cooks and handles the day-to-day upkeep.” Jackson poured an inch of the whisky into two glasses.
So not a maid but like a male maid, I guessed. Butler? I could see that. Perhaps more comfortable for a bachelor than a woman would be.
“Where is he now?”
“He lives in quarters out back.” Stoppering the decanter, Jackson handed me one of the heavy glasses.
Separate “quarters” for the manservant and real crystal glasses in the two-story library. I felt like I’d stepped into an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Maybe Robin Leach was hiding behind the curtains.
“Cheers.” Jackson tapped his glass against mine, then took a sip. I mimicked him, taking a deep gulp.
Fire. Fire and burning acid down my throat. I coughed, choking. My eyes watered and my insides felt as though I’d swallowed molten lava.
“Whoa there,” Jackson said, hurriedly taking my glass and setting it and his aside. “Bet you’re not used to that, right?”
I wanted to say, Ya think? but couldn’t, because I was still trying to remember how to breathe.
It seemed like all I ever did around Jackson was embarrass myself. It was a wonder he still thought me competent enough for employment.
“I’m okay,” I finally managed to say, though my voice sounded half-strangled. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it was my fault. I should’ve offered you wine or something.”
Oh now he figures that out. “It’s okay. I’ll just sip it. Just took too large a drink, I think.” Yes, when one drinks battery acid, one doesn’t suck it down like a Coke from McDonald’s.
“Okay then, why don’t you sit down, take a breath, get your bearings back.” He handed me my drink again and took a seat on the cherry leather sofa. After a brief hesitation, I sat by him, again carefully putting what I thought was an appropriate amount of space between us, eighteen inches, per the cultural norm.
I took a deep breath and caught a whiff of his cologne that I’d gotten to smell up close and personal this morning. It was a deep musky scent that perfectly accented the room, having taken on more of the flavor of his skin during the day. Yum. I always thought Jackson looked most at home behind a computer monitor, but he looked so at ease here, maybe I’d been wrong. He looked very . . . male . . . in the best possible way.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” I said. “First last night, then this. If they’re trying to scare me to death, they’re doing a very good job.”
Jackson was silent, appearing deep in thought as he stared into the distance. I took a careful sip of my whisky. It didn’t burn quite as bad this time, now that I knew what to expect.
“You’ve been on the project a few days now,” he said at last. “Anything jump out at you as worthy of this kind of attention?”
I hesitated. This was where it could get dicey, especially if I were wrong. And it would be even worse if I were right. “Maybe.”
Jackson focused on me, his dark eyes intent, and nerves fluttered in my stomach. This could be a shot in the dark and I could be completely wrong. If I were, I’d look like a complete idiot. Something I tried to avoid if at all possible.
“The pieces of the software, the different teams,” I began, “none of them know what the others are doing. But when you put it all together, it creates a picture that has me worried.”
“Explain.”
“It’s tracking a user’s online movements through everything—social media, e-mail, their physical location, websites they visit, what they buy—in one piece. Yes, there’s already software out there that tracks websites and shopping. But this analyzes user-generated content and where they go in meatspace.”
“And that concerns you?”
“What concerns me is the part that’s not there.”
“Which is?”
I swallowed. This was the going-out-on-a-limb part. “If someone were to code the right kind of search algorithm, they could predict behavior, rather than just analyzing it.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” Jackson said, finishing his whisky.
“But it’s Big Brother taken to the extreme,” I persisted. “We don’t even know if it’s the DoD, Homeland Security, the NSA, or the FBI who ordered this kind of software. It’s the surveillance that Edward Snowden revealed . . . times ten.”
“So you’re an anarchist now?” he said with a wry smile. “People can’t expect privacy. Not anymore, and certainly not online.”
“I’m not saying it’s violating their privacy and I sort of agree with you, but this takes it one step further. Because right now the big pictur
e is missing that piece. The purpose of the software. There’s been no marketing hook or anything like that for commercial development. It’s just tracking everything.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there,” he said. Getting up from the couch, he refilled his glass and mine. I hadn’t even realized I’d drunk it all.
“I think there is. I think someone is writing that code and they’re going to add that missing piece once everything else is done and it’ll be too late to uninvent the wheel.”
“Your job isn’t to worry about all the possible applications,” he said, handing me my glass. “Deliver the software. Fulfill the contract. Let me worry about who wants it and what they’re doing with it.”
He sat down again and this time I noticed he sat closer to me. Not touching close, but inches apart rather than a foot. That made it difficult to concentrate on what he’d just said, especially when I took a breath and the aroma of his cologne was stronger.
My glasses were slipping and I pushed them up my nose, arranging my chaotic thoughts into order. Important things first. Extraneous thoughts of he’s so sexy and he smells so good would have to wait.
“I’m worried. Not just about which government agency ordered this software, but for myself and my niece, too. Mia’s just a kid.”
“I don’t like this. Two incidents in as many days is too much, even for the damn government. I’ll send security to keep watch at your apartment. Will that make you feel better?”
That was a relief. My only recourse other than Jackson was the police, and we’d already had that discussion last night. They could do nothing and it was likely I’d be in even more danger if I tried to get them to help me, or that would put Mia in the crosshairs. I was sure Jackson’s security people were top-notch and expensive.
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s a load off my mind.”
“Another week and this will be done,” he said. “Wyndemere won’t be on the books anymore.”
“So you think we should still deliver?” I asked. “Despite what I just said?”
“We were hired to finish the software. It’s a little late at this point to pull out.”
He had a point there, but still . . . it was my neck on the line, not his.
“That’s why you just focus on the job,” he continued. “I’ll fill in Freyda on what happened and that they need to increase security in and around the building. I should’ve called her earlier.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Wyndemere likes their secrecy,” he said. “Pushing buttons about which government agency is paying the bills for their contracts makes them itchy.”
I nodded, glad that he was going to have that awkward conversation. Sometimes it paid to not be the boss. Tipping my glass back, I emptied it. Whisky was yummy once you got used to it. My belly was warm like a banked fire burned inside, but in a good way.
“Thanks for listening,” I said. “I’m not trying to be a nervous Nelly and I know sometimes software ends up being used for things that aren’t exactly altruistic, but this just has a bad smell to it.”
“It’s what I’m here for.” He rested a hand on my knee and squeezed lightly, then patted it.
I stared at his hand, still resting on my leg. Jackson didn’t seem to notice the intent attention I was paying to his appendage. He was sitting back in the couch, his posture one of easy relaxation as he took another swig of whisky.
The warmth of his palm seeped through the denim I wore until it felt like a brand. My mind was racing with possibilities, all of which I discarded as ridiculous romantic fantasies. I wasn’t so hard up for a boyfriend that I’d attack my boss in a fit of lust just because he touched my leg. Maybe. But it would be really nice to have someone. Not just for intimacy, but to be viewed as an attractive, sexual woman. Clark had made me realize even more acutely how much I was missing.
All my life, I’d been the smart one, the geek, the know-it-all. The only thing anyone had ever admired about me had been my intellect. And that was okay. I was proud of what I’d accomplished and thankful I’d been blessed with extensive brainpower.
But deep inside, I wanted to have a man look in my eyes and tell me I was beautiful and that he wanted me. It was an embarrassing admission, that I wanted this, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted what I wanted.
It would be a fantasy come to life, but a fantasy that was also never going to happen, especially with Jackson. Billionaire, genius, beat-off-women-with-a-stick entrepreneur. He was so far out of my nonexistent league, he’d laugh himself silly if he knew the fantasies I’d entertained over the past few years.
But his hand was still on my knee and he showed no inclination to move it. So I didn’t move either. Might as well enjoy the touch while it lasted. And my bruised ego from last night with Clark could use the TLC.
I was getting sleepy, what with the adrenaline letdown and the two glasses of whisky. My eyes were heavy, and more than anything I wanted to lean over those four inches and rest my head against Jackson’s shoulder. But I knew better than to do that. After last night’s mortifying rejection, I didn’t need another.
Though he had stuck his hand down my bra this morning . . .
No, he’d been helping me not get burned. That was all. Social cues were hard enough without letting my hopes make something out of nothing.
My head was heavy on my neck so I leaned back, resting against the couch. I sighed, my eyes slipping closed. That was better.
“How’s the new boyfriend?”
The words penetrated the fog in my brain, but I didn’t open my eyes. The lids were too heavy to bother.
“Bad,” I mumbled. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Why not? Did something happen?”
I nodded. “It was awful.”
“Why?”
I pried my eyes open. Everything came into focus really slowly. Rolling my head back, I saw Jackson’s face above mine, looking at me. I blinked once. Twice.
“Told him something I shouldn’t have. We’re done now.”
His brows rose. “What did you tell him?”
I could tell right away by the tone of his voice that he was replaying our conversation in his head about me not talking to anyone about work. I rolled my eyes, which was a mistake because it made me a little dizzy.
“Not work,” I snorted. “Told him I was a virgin. He was grossed out. I left. Done.”
Silence. My eyes drifted closed again. So tired. I needed to get home. It was past my bedtime.
“You’re a virgin?”
The question echoed in my head. I nodded. “I know. Pathetic, right?”
“And he was . . . grossed out?”
I grimaced. “Don’t really want to talk about it, ’kay?”
His hand tightened on my leg, squeezing again. “Yeah. Sure.”
Mmmm. I liked him touching me and I was loath to move. But I needed to get home. Sitting on Jackson’s couch, drinking his whisky and letting him touch my leg, was doing nothing to dissuade my romantic fantasies about him. With a sigh, I opened my eyes and sat forward. The room tilted and I waited a second for it to right itself.
“Where are you going?” Jackson asked, his hand tightening on me.
“It’s late. I need to get home. Bedtime was . . .” I glanced at my watch. “. . . an hour ago.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d missed bedtime.
“Bedtime?”
“Ten thirty.” I slipped off my glasses and rubbed my tired eyes. Today had been long.
“You’ve been drinking. You’re not driving home.”
Oh yeah. He was right. That would be bad. “I’ll get an Uber.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Then you’ll have to come back for your car. You’ll stay here tonight.”
I couldn’t have heard him correctly, but he looked perfectly serious.
“That’s . . . that’d be . . .” I searched for the right word. “Wouldn’t that be weird?” I ended up blurting.
Jackson raised an eyebrow. “T
hat wasn’t a badly phrased come-on, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
I flinched. “No, of course not. I didn’t think—”
“The idea of you sharing my bed has crossed my mind,” he interrupted. “But I don’t usually proposition women when they’ve been drinking.”
I stared, my mouth agape. He hadn’t just said that he’d thought about sleeping with me, had he? I replayed the words inside my head. Yes, he had. I blinked. Should I say something? What could I possibly say? Yes, please sprang immediately to mind.
“The house is plenty big and then I’m not liable if you leave and get in an accident.” Jackson stood and took my hand, pulling me easily to my feet. He stood so close, we almost touched, but I could see his face clearly, even without my glasses.
“Um, okay. Thanks,” I said, deciding not to address what he’d said about being in his bed. I was transfixed by the way he was looking at me, his dark eyes fringed in thick lashes that I’d never seen this close. The line of his nose was straight and led to lips that looked very soft.
“Come with me.”
“Okeydokey.”
I trailed after Jackson, his hand still curled around mine. It was easy to pretend we were holding hands rather than him merely leading me to a guest room.
We walked down the hallway to a staircase that arched from one side of the grand foyer to the other, both sides reaching up to the second-story balcony, overlooking the space below. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling and I craned my neck to look at it.
“That’s beautiful,” I breathed, watching the light from the hundreds of crystals dance across the marble floor.
“Thank you. Lance tells me it’s a bitch to clean.”
His wry humor surprised a laugh out of me. He glanced at me, his lips curved in a sardonic half smile. We’d reached the foot of the stairs and Jackson slid his arm around my back as we started up.
“Don’t want you to fall backward,” he said softly.
If I did fall, it’d be because I was swooning, not because I was drunk. The house was amazing and Jackson was even better. If someone had told me last week that I’d be spending the night at his house, I would have had them checked in to the psycho ward. Getting in a car chase seemed a small price to pay for this unexpected treat.