Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) (2 page)

With his new hundreds of millions, he’d founded Cysnet. Companies who couldn’t find anyone else to solve their tech problems came to Jackson. They were charged exorbitant rates, but got what they paid for—Jackson made sure of it. From the development of sci-fi tools such as flexible, paper-thin computers, to biotechnology and bridging the gap between computers and humans, Cysnet was on the cutting edge. Everyone knew Apple, of course—developers of the beloved iPhone and iPad devices. Apple was to Cysnet what Wile E. Coyote was to the Road Runner.

To work at Cysnet was an industry coup—it meant you were the best of the best. But it also demanded long hours and dedication to the job. I’d been approached by Cysnet as I was finishing up my degree at MIT. Even if they hadn’t dangled a jaw-dropping salary at me and the chance to move to Raleigh, North Carolina, which was one of the top-ten tech cities in the country, I would’ve jumped at the chance to work for them. Bragging rights alone were worth the fifty- to sixty-hour weeks I put in.

“I still can’t believe you work for them,” Buddy said, shaking his head as he rang me up. “It’s so freaking cool. I bet you guys work on like supersecret stuff.”

“Could tell ya, but then, well, you know the drill.” I smiled and winked like it was a big secret, and it was (we weren’t ever supposed to discuss what we worked on), but when it came down to it, I just worked long hours in a cube in front of a computer screen. Not exactly the stuff movies are made of.

Buddy rolled his eyes as I handed him my money. “Yeah, you’re about as threatening as a miniature dachshund. I remember the time you screamed bloody murder because a spider was in one of the stacks.”

“It wasn’t just ‘in the stack,’” I argued. “It
attacked
me, like
jumped out
”—I used my hands curved as claws to demonstrate—“and
landed
on me.” I pawed the air like I was a cat. Buddy just looked at me. I dropped my arms in defeat. “It was a big spider.”

He nodded the way one does when there’s no point in arguing and handed me my change, then a paper bag overflowing with used Harlequins, plus the Madonna album. “See you next Sunday,” he said.

“Bye, Buddy.”

Back at home—my three-bedroom duplex in a complex that boasted nearly a hundred of them—I lugged everything inside. I carefully deposited The Doctor in his new home and watched him swim around as he inspected the sunken SpongeBob pineapple house and plastic scuba diver.

“Welcome home,” I said to him. “I hope I don’t kill you.” Not exactly comforting words, but it wasn’t like he could understand me.

I was behind on my schedule but had caught up by 7:00 p.m. Seven to ten was laundry time and I ironed in front of the television, watching classic reruns of
The Bionic Man.
Lee Majors had been quite the hottie in his day.

Since the autumn equinox had passed, it was officially a new season, requiring a different set of pajamas. I’d packed away my summer
Star Wars
pajamas (Tatooine and Boba Fett graphics) in favor of my fall
Star Wars
(Endor with Ewoks) pajamas. Hoth with tauntauns was reserved for the winter. (The only spring set I’d ever found had Naboo on them, with Queen Amidala and Anakin in a love clinch. Since I pretended the prequels didn’t exist, I couldn’t buy those.) I set a glass of water on my nightstand (on its coaster), checked my alarm clock, and climbed into bed at precisely ten thirty with a sigh of satisfaction.

I loved being on schedule and having everything exactly right and in its place. It gave me a warm, comforting feeling of being in control. I lived alone by choice because people were just too upsetting and taxing. They took a lot of effort. I got a little lonely sometimes, but it was okay.

Overall, my life was pretty close to perfect.

At exactly seven in the morning, I walked into Cysnet. Security required my ID badge and handprint scan before I was allowed through. Four armed guards manned the two entrances to the building and they weren’t the friendly, chatty kind of guys. I always tried though.

“So . . . busy morning, right?” I asked, giving the one scrutinizing me a nervous smile. He didn’t smile back.

“Backpack, please,” he demanded, polite but no-nonsense. I hurriedly handed it over and waited as he pawed through, wincing slightly as he touched my carefully arranged things. Now I’d have to reorganize and straighten it.

He handed it back and I fixed what he’d mussed before heading straight through the lobby to the set of glass stairs leading to the second floor where my cube was located. For about the thousandth time, I wished I could move to a different area. I sat right outside Jackson Cooper’s office, which was nice sometimes when I was feeling—a certain way. I could watch him covertly and admire how very handsome he was, how broad his shoulders were, and how very nicely he filled out a pair of slacks.

But most of the time, he made me nervous, so I tried to block him out the best I could with my earphones and never-ending classic-rock playlists. Once I got into my coding, it was easy to forget where I was.

Stowing my backpack in the bottom drawer, I sat down and logged in. I checked out the project I’d been working on, grabbed my notebook, a Red Bull from the minifridge underneath my desk, and began.

I knew when it was ten o’clock because that’s when my cubemate, Randall, rolled in. He was a night owl and liked to code long after everyone had gone home for the day, but the latest management would let him come in was ten in the morning. I pulled out one earbud and caught the package he tossed my way.

“Bacon-egg McMuffin with cheese,” he said.

“Thanks.” My stomach was growling since I hadn’t yet eaten. Who could eat at the crack of dawn anyway? Maybe the same people who killed themselves at the gym before the sun rose, running miles on a treadmill or climbing endless stairs. Not my thing. “I’ll get lunch.”

Randall nodded, already sitting down and unwrapping one of his four sausage burritos. This was our normal routine. He’d grab breakfast—I’d spot him lunch. It worked out pretty well because by the time we were ready for lunch, I needed to stretch my legs.

It was another hour and I was in midchorus of “Highway to Hell” when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jumped, startled, spinning around in my chair to see who the hell hadn’t gone through protocol—i.e., step in front of my cube so I could see them.

It was Jackson Cooper.

My irritated reprimand died on my tongue and I yanked out my earbuds, hoping I didn’t have any McMuffin on my white
I
❤❤
NNY
T-shirt.

“Yes, sir?” I asked.

He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and frowned, glancing down at me. I waited until my nerves couldn’t handle the suspense and I looked down. Nope. No crumbs.

“How can you sit like that?”

Oh.
That’s
what he was looking at. Okay, I did sit kind of weird, but I was short. I crossed my legs and sat on my feet, so my legs were in the chair, knees pointing to the side. Then I’d settle my Bluetooth keyboard on my lap and work.

“It’s, um, it’s fine for me,” I said, then hurriedly added, “but I could stop, if it’s like . . . against the rules, or something—” Were there rules for sitting? I’d read the employee handbook cover to cover and could recite most of it. I scanned my memory for anything that mentioned employee posture and came up empty.

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupted. “It was just a question. Listen, China, can you come into my office for a few minutes? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

My mouth was hanging open and I shut it with a snap. “Sure. Yeah.” I scrambled up from my chair—not the most graceful of moves—and grabbed my notebook. Looking around my desk, I didn’t see my pen. I shuffled some papers . . . nothing. Opened my drawer and peered inside . . . nothing. Stepped back and looked at the floor . . . nope.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson asked.

“I can’t find my pen,” I said. Yes, I had other pens but I
liked
a certain one. Where the hell was it?

“You mean this one?”

I looked up in time to see him standing right next to me, reaching for my hair. I froze in place and felt the slide of metal as he pulled the pen from where it had been tucked behind my ear.

“Voila.” He smiled a crooked half grin which, combined with him being so close I could tell just exactly where the very top of my head met his shoulder, made my knees want to melt like Field’s metal stuck into a mug of boiling water.

I was mesmerized by his eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever stood this close to him before. He had cologne on—I could smell it. And he’d touched me . . . My eyes fluttered shut and I rocked forward slightly, inhaling the sweet aroma—and bumped my nose right into him.

“You okay?” he asked, grabbing my shoulder. My eyes flew open. “You’re not going to faint, are you? Did you stand up too fast?”

My face turned so red I could feel the heat radiating from my neck upward. “I’m fine. Sorry.” I snatched the pen from his hand. “Yeah, just stood up too fast.” I forced my lips to curve in a smile and shoved my glasses up my nose. He was going to think I was so bizarre.

Jackson looked quizzical for a moment, then turned and headed for his office. “Follow me,” he tossed over his shoulder, and I rushed to obey.

I felt eyes on me as I walked. Jackson usually only met with the managers, not the staff directly. I reported to a guy named Brad who happened to be on vacation this week. I supposed that was why I was heading into Jackson’s office instead of Brad. Whatever it was, it obviously couldn’t wait.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the seating arrangement in his office. His desk stood to one side, diagonal to the windows that lined the wall. A sofa and two chairs were arranged facing each other on the opposite side, which was where he’d pointed.

Okay then.

Sofa or chair . . . sofa or chair . . .

I stood in indecision, frantically going through the pros and cons of each seat inside my head.
The chair would be good but it faces the windows and there’s a glare. I’ll be squinting. Sofa is better but what if he sits beside me, then I’ll be craning my neck to see him and my feet won’t touch the floor. The other chair is in a better location but it’s higher than the sofa and if he sits on the sofa then I’ll be above him and that may be insulting since technically I’m not “above” him—

“China,” he interrupted my train of thought, brushing past me and taking the chair I’d been leaning toward choosing. “Have a seat.”

That was a command. I could recognize the tone. So I plunked myself down in the nearest spot, which put me on the sofa. Except I’d misjudged the softness of the cushions and I sank, putting me even lower than I thought I’d be, as I faced him. I forced a smile.

“Cushy couch.”

Okay, that was something a teenager might say. Not a grown woman with degrees piled behind my name and several years of experience under my belt. My smile turned into a grimace. I started fiddling with my pen and shoved my glasses farther up my nose.

“Brad would usually be the one to hold this discussion,” he began, “but since he’s out of the office right now, I thought I’d handle it.”

My palms began to sweat and I went cold. This sounded like the beginning of a conversation I wasn’t going to like. I searched my brain, trying to think of what I could’ve done to bring about a disciplinary meeting with the CEO.

“If this is about that argument between me and Toby last week, then I want you to know it’s resolved. He dinged my Mustang and refused to admit it, but when I had the paint samples compared, they totally matched.”

Jackson gave me an odd look. Okay, that wasn’t it then.

“And I’m not the one who keeps stealing Janine’s Diet Coke from the fridge,” I blurted. “It’s Megan in accounting. I caught her but she swore me to secrecy because she saw me borrow one of Blake’s Kit Kat bars that he keeps in the freezer.” I took a breath. “
Borrow
’s not really the right word, I guess, since I ate it. But I did replace it the next day.” I grimaced. “And ate it again. But I really am going to bring him more. I swear.”