by Ruth Owen
Her one hope was that Chris’s absence would put an end to her ridiculous fascination with the man. The opposite happened. Images of Chris invaded her consciousness on a regular basis. A honking horn would make her turn, searching the traffic for Chris’s silver convertible. A scent of musk in the hallway filled her mind with the memory of his cologne. And the sudden shock from one of Einstein’s shorted electrical circuits had made her think of that day in the kitchen when Chris’s touch had ignited her skin. Sugarcoated dynamite.
Einstein was no help at all. He missed Chris as much as Melanie, but, unlike her, he had no problem saying it. He constantly asked her where his friend was, his questions stinging at her like incessant, angry bees. Disappointment, combined with lack of sleep, stripped her of her usual caring patience. She lost her temper more than once with him, throwing him into a byte-driven looping iteration. In human terms, a sulk.
She’d hoped that out of sight would equate to out of mind, but the sorry truth of the matter was that neither she nor Einstein was capable of forgetting Chris.
On Wednesday she sat in front of her terminal at work and reflected on her dismal situation. Even her appearance had suffered. She had rolled out of bed at the last possible moment, throwing on the simplest outfit she owned and giving her hair only a cursory brush before heading for her car. Worry about Einstein was keeping her up at night. Worry, and other things.
Last night she’d dreamed about Chris, a particularly vivid dream that caused her to wake in a tangle of sweat-dampened sheets. The harder she tried to forget about it, the more often it came back to her, playing over and over in her mind like a movie on perpetual rewind. The graphic scenes, and her reaction to them, sent her logical mind into a tailspin. Even the antiseptic atmosphere of Sheffield’s data-entry department couldn’t drive those images from her head.
“Chris Sheffield …”
Lord, Melanie thought glumly, now I’m even hearing his name.
“That’s right. Chris Sheffield.”
She had heard his name. For one horrible moment she imagined someone had read her incriminating thoughts. But it was only Shelley Perkins, two desks over, relating the latest gossip.
“I heard he’s come in late every day this week, looking like something the cat dragged in. Bill—you know my friend Bill in finance?—well, he said when Chris came in yesterday morning he hadn’t even shaved.”
Her neighbor Rhonda Macauley tapped her plump, manicured fingers against her chin. “Really? And he’s usually so immaculate,” she said. “What do you suppose he’s been up to?”
“Doesn’t take much imagination. Some new conquest, no doubt. Or several. Who knows?”
Melanie’s hands stilled above the keyboard, and despite her better judgment, she found herself straining to overhear their conversation.
Rhonda spoke. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he’s been out with a different woman every night of the week. He has no scruples, none whatsoever,” she finished, her voice thrilling with innuendo.
“That’s not true.”
Two sets of eyes swung toward Melanie. Damn, she thought, why’d I say that?
Shelley and Rhonda’s surprised expressions told her that they were wondering the same thing. Shelley spoke first, peering at Melanie through her glasses. “Did you say something, Melanie?”
Keep quiet, Melanie’s inner voice warned. Yet how could she sit idly by and not defend the man who’d spent most of his free time getting spare parts for Einstein? “I said that’s not true. About Chris, I mean.”
“Is that so?”
Melanie squared her shoulders. “Yes. I mean, you have to think about it scientifically. Chris may be handsome, and popular, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’s a … a …”
“Casanova?” Shelley supplied.
“Well, yes,” Melanie agreed, pleased Shelley was following her discussion. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out so badly after all. “Consider the evidence. You haven’t actually seen him out with all these women, have you?”
Shelley looked at Melanie over the rim of her glasses. “No, I haven’t.”
“In addition, no one you know has seen him out with these women, have they?”
“Well, no, I guess they haven’t,” Shelley answered.
“Then, logically, you can’t conclude that he’s gone out with these alleged women, or even that he’s gone out with anyone at all.”
Rhonda shook her head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Melanie had a crush on Chris herself.”
“That’s not true,” Melanie stated. “I was only pointing out the logical—”
“Now, now,” Shelley interrupted. “Having a crush on Chris Sheffield is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“But I don’t—”
“Of course you don’t,” Rhonda intoned, patting her arm. “And don’t you worry. We know what it’s like to be young and in love. Your secret is safe with us.”
Melanie turned away, her cheeks burning. She tried to cover her embarrassment by concentrating on the mound of paperwork at her side, but her mind kept replaying the conversation and her foolish defense of Chris. Why hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut? She didn’t care what anyone said about Chris. From now on, people could talk about him all they wanted, accuse him of anything they liked. They’d never hear a peep out of—
“Rollins!”
Melanie winced. Things were getting worse by the moment. She looked up, not surprised to find the department supervisor Mrs. Hardcastle bearing down on her. Hardcastle, nicknamed “Hard Case” by her subordinates, had a bloodhound talent for sniffing out inactivity. She’d already spoken to Melanie once today about her daydreaming.
Her quick strides brought her immediately to Melanie’s desk. “Rollins—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” Melanie interjected, remembering their previous conversation. “My production figures are down for the month. If they drop any further, I’ll lose my first-place standing in the department.” Not that she gave a damn, she added silently.
Hard Case nodded, briskly jotting a note on the clipboard she always carried. “Precisely. But that’s not why I’m here. Someone wants to see you. In my office.”
“Your office?” Melanie asked, surprised. Hard Case’s glass-enclosed office cubicle was off-limits to all the data-entry personnel. No one used it for private business, not unless they had a death wish. “Who?”
“See for yourself,” Mrs. Hardcastle said, stabbing her pen in the direction of her office. “Wants to see you pronto. Better hurry.”
Melanie stood up, smoothing her beige poplin shirtwaist before heading for the office. A central pillar hid most of the office from her line of sight, obscuring her view of its occupant. She started walking at a brisk pace, curious to see who could wield such power over her ferocious department head. She couldn’t imagine Hard Case hurrying for anyone.
Neither, apparently, could most of the other data-entry personnel. The click of typing had all but disappeared from the department, filling the room with a deep, unnatural silence. Everyone was looking at the glass-walled office. Melanie rounded the central pillar, and saw why.
The man inside had his back to the office window, but neither Melanie, nor anyone else in the department, could mistake the broad shoulders and easy stance of Chris Sheffield.
Short and sweet. That’s how he planned to keep this meeting, and that’s how it was going to be. He needed Melanie’s blessing on the media presentation he’d worked up for the board, but he wasn’t about to spend one more minute with the woman than was absolutely necessary. No way was he giving her another chance to take a potshot at his character.
He’d liked her. That was the craziest part of this whole business. He’d looked forward to seeing her, to hearing her tell him in that cautious, guarded way of hers that she appreciated his help. Here was one person, he’d thought, who didn’t think of him as some empty-headed playboy. He’d started thinking of her as a friend.
But as he arrange
d the last of the transparencies on Mrs. Hardcastle’s desk, he remembered again that friendship with someone like Miss Rollins wasn’t an option. He’d spent dozens of hours on this presentation, foregoing sleep, meals, even his morning shave to get it completed. But was she likely to appreciate his monumental effort? Hardly. The woman functioned like a dedicated circuit, totally focused on that jumble of wires and processing chips she’d created. Einstein’s future was the only thing she cared about. Everyone else was, in the words of the computer age, strictly a peripheral.
Not that it mattered to him. Once he showed the board how valuable Einstein could be to the company, they’d appoint him head of Product Research. Then he could wash his hands of Miss “Should have been born a computer” Rollins once and for—
“Chris?”
“Miss Rollins,” he began, turning toward the office door. He was ready to face the efficient businesswoman, to endure her “strictly business” attitude and the chilling condemnation in her words. He was not prepared for this slight, fragile creature staring at him with wide, questioning eyes. She’d removed her glasses in a quick, uncertain gesture. Without them her hard-edge image had softened into appealing and completely devastating vulnerability. His carefully rehearsed speech died on his tongue.
She stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”
For a moment Chris himself couldn’t remember. His mind focused on other things—her slim arms tapering to graceful hands, the soft fall of her hair around her shoulders, the strong set of her jaw absurdly at odds with the rest of her features. And her lips. Always those lips. Mentally he gave himself a shake. “I, er … wanted your opinion. On my presentation.”
He waved his hand toward the literature displayed on the desk top. She barely gave it a glance, “Oh, Chris, why did you have to come here? Couldn’t you have called me up to your office?”
His mouth hardened. Two seconds in the same room and she was already complaining. The package had changed, not the contents. “Well, excuse me for trying to be a gentleman,” he said, his temper rising. “I thought you’d prefer me coming down to your office than being summoned upstairs like some office vassal. And what difference does it make to you where we meet?”
“It’s not me I’m thinking of. It’s them.” She nodded toward the glass wall of the office. “It makes a difference to them.”
Chris saw what she meant. Beyond the wall dozens of bright, eager eyes focused on the interior of the office. He sat down on the corner of Mrs. Hardcastle’s desk and ran his fingers through his hair. “Now I know how a goldfish feels. What do you think they’re expecting us to do?”
“God only knows,” she answered miserably, staring helplessly at the ceiling.
“Commit murder?” he suggested. “Or perhaps robbery?”
Her gaze returned to his, looking directly into his eyes with a candor that caught him off guard. “I didn’t mean that, Chris. I was just trying to get back at you for eavesdropping. I’m sorry I said it.”
Honesty wasn’t something Chris dealt with on a regular basis. His sales successes depended on figuring out what the other person wasn’t telling him as often as what they did. His social relationships regularly mirrored his business experiences, with his dates going to great lengths to hide what they saw as the faults in their natures.
Melanie had her faults, but she never tried to hide them. She faced the world with dead-arrow honesty, a trait she’d passed on to her embarrassingly forthright computer. Ashamed, Chris realized he’d been less than honest with her. “You were right. I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. And I shouldn’t have just left like I did—”
“Don’t be silly. You had every right.”
“Genius,” he said, smiling, “you’re going to have to learn not to interrupt me. Especially when I’m apologizing. Now tell me what’s been going on. How’s Einstein?”
Melanie’s cautious smile faded into concern. “I’m worried about him, Chris. He’s not acting at all like himself. He’s becoming more obstinate every day. He argues with me all the time. I don’t know what to do with him.”
Chris remembered his own parents using the exact same phrases to describe him. “Sounds like he’s having growing pains. Just cut him some slack. He’ll come around.”
“You’re probably right, but I wish you’d have a talk with him all the same.” She paused, staring intently at a threadbare patch in the carpet. “He’s missed you a lot.”
“Well, I’ve missed … Einstein a lot,” Chris said. It was half the truth. Why did he find it so difficult to tell the woman he’d missed her too? “I promise to have a long talk with him as soon as I get back.”
Melanie’s head snapped up. “You’re leaving?”
“A buying trip. Dad’s been approached by some fast-talking salesman from Abilene, and wants me to check out his merchandise.” He neglected to add that he’d almost come to blows with his father about having to go.
Melanie turned away, drumming her fingers unevenly on the desk top. “Of course. You must go and protect Sheffield’s interests. It’s only right.” She paused, brushing her hand over the papers on the desk. “It was decent of you to work up the presentation before you left.”
Decent? Decent was about the last thing he felt at this moment. Melanie was within arm’s length of him, and her proximity jumbled up his insides like a Mixmaster. Tawny tendrils of her unbound hair curled softly around her neck, and he had the most irresistible urge to reach out and wrap one around his finger, pulling her against him with a slow, gentle pressure. He wondered what the data-entry department would do if he followed his instincts. He wondered what Melanie would do. “Melanie—”
“Tell me about this presentation,” she said, interrupting him before he could finish the rest of his sentence. She put her glasses back on and started wholeheartedly to examine the transparencies. “This is the one you’re giving to the board, isn’t it?”
“Providing you approve.” He didn’t really want to talk about the presentation. He wanted to talk about Melanie, and the way he’d felt when she’d walked into the office. It was as if a broken part in him had suddenly switched back on. He’d missed her. Much as he hated to admit it, he’d honestly missed her.
“Chris, this is really good.”
“Think so?”
“Absolutely. You’ve covered all of Einstein’s major features, but you’ve done it in a way that’s both interesting and easy to understand. It’s incredible. You must have spent hours on it.”
He shrugged. “A couple.”
She gave him an incredulous smile. “You’re such a liar. No one works up a presentation like this in a couple of hours. You must have worked like a dog to get it done.”
“Careful, Miss Rollins. You’re coming dangerously close to complimenting me.”
There was nothing condemning in his tone. Yet her smile softened with a tinge of sadness. “Am I that bad?”
“No,” he said gently, taking her hand. “No.”
He meant the gesture kindly, as friend to friend. But her touch had a much more profound effect on his senses. Her warm, slight hand lay against his like a small bird poised for flight. Her every action echoed in him tenfold. She stilled, and a deep calm filled him. She trembled, and he felt an earthquake.
He stroked her wrist, lingering over the strong, hot pulse at the base of her hand. Did she feel it, too, this incredible, instantaneous bond between them? Impossible to tell. Her face was shut tight against emotion, and her eyes were unreadable behind those awful glasses. He’d never known a woman so determined to make herself look undesirable. And who was so thoroughly unsuccessful at it. “Melanie—”
He stopped, unsure of what words to use for these strange emotions that filled him. But Melanie read an entirely different message in his pause. She withdrew her hand from his grasp. “You’re right, of course. We’re still on display. Anything between us will be blown out of proportion, even an innocent gesture like holding hand
s.”
Innocent gesture? There’d been nothing innocent about it as far as Chris was concerned. Apparently, he’d been mistaken. The deep bond he’d felt between them had been nothing more than a mirror of his own emotions. She’d felt nothing. Nothing at all.
His jaw tightened perceptibly. “Why don’t we just pull down the blinds? That would really give them something to talk about.”
Melanie looked at him, amazed. “How can you joke about this? If they even suspected we were romantically involved, I’d never have a moment’s peace. I’m already behind in my work. If I lose any more time, I’ll have to work extra hours, which means more time away from home, which means less time for Einstein.”
Einstein. He should have seen that one coming. Somehow or other her thoughts always came back to that damn computer.
“I’ve got an idea,” she said suddenly. She turned to him, her eyes sparkling as they always did when she fastened her mind on a problem. “Chris, you’ve got to yell at me.”
He’d expected something unusual, not crazy. The woman was certifiable. “Mind running that one by me again?”
“Yell at me. Pretend to be angry with me.”
“Pretend?” No acting required there.
“Yes. Pretend you’re reprimanding me for something. Maybe the others will think you’re here on company business.”
“And maybe pigs fly.”
“Please, Chris,” she said, honestly disturbed. “We have to convince them you’re here on business.”
She stood close to him, close enough for him to see past the barrier of her glasses and into the smoky depths of her eyes. Velvet soft, those eyes showed that part of her she kept hidden from the world: A fragile, breakable part. The part he’d felt so vividly through her hands.
Sucker, he thought. Not that name-calling did a bit of good. “Okay,” he said with a sigh. “What do you want me to do?”
She smiled, cautiously, for fear their audience would see. “Just head for the door. When you open it, pretend you’re reprimanding me. The more official the better.”
Chris got up and walked toward the door, his lack of enthusiasm blatantly apparent. He didn’t give a damn what the data-entry operators thought. But Melanie did. The sober truth was that what was important to her was beginning to become important to him. Not wise, considering how little he meant to her. Perhaps if he showed up at her house wearing a few circuit boards and some wires …