Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) (9 page)

I didn’t know what it was—maybe the way Clark was looking at me with sympathy rather than pity. Or maybe it was the atmosphere in the half-empty restaurant with the dim lighting and candles on the tables. Probably it was the brandy in my glass already flooding my nervous system. Either way, I found myself talking.

“One time, I was invited to a sleepover,” I said. “I was thirteen. I’d never been to a sleepover before. They said it was a dress-up party—come in costume. I was so excited, I could hardly wait.” I remembered it as though it had just been yesterday. I’d been so proud to tell my dad that I’d been invited to a real high school party.

“I dressed up in my favorite costume—a Star Fleet science officer. Even took along the tricorder I’d fashioned. It beeped and whirred the real noises when I pressed the buttons, I made sure of it. My dad dropped me off, told me to have fun, and that he’d be back in the morning to pick me up.

“I walked up the sidewalk and I could hear the music inside and people talking and laughing. For once, I was going to be one of the cool kids. Maybe I’d find someone who liked the things I liked. Someone I could talk to and laugh with. So I rang the doorbell.” I paused. The pain from that night still ached even after all these years.

“What happened?” Clark asked.

“They opened the door and I saw it not only wasn’t just a handful of girls at a sleepover, but most of the high school was there. The next thing I noticed was that it wasn’t a costume party.”

Clark winced.

“They laughed, took my tricorder, and locked me in a trunk. You know, one of those old-fashioned, traveling-type trunks?” He nodded. “Anyway, they were drinking and forgot about me. I spent the entire night locked in there. It wasn’t until the next morning that the parents got home and let me out.”

I’d been shaking with fear and had wet myself because I hadn’t been able to hold my bladder any longer. They’d tried to apologize and wanted to call an ambulance, but I’d run out the door. I’d walked the three miles to my house and snuck in the back. I’d cleaned myself up before my dad saw me. One look at my face and he hadn’t asked how it went.

“Oh my God,” Clark murmured, looking stunned.

I’d almost forgotten that I was telling the story, rather than reliving it. And here I was, sharing one of the most shameful things that had ever happened to me, with the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen, on what could possibly be argued was our first date.

Nice way to break the ice, Chi
.

“I know, right?” I said, forcing a laugh. “Kids are mean. But to answer your question, yes, it was a bit difficult when I was young.”

It appeared I’d struck Clark speechless, because he seemed utterly at a loss as to what to say next. Ah, knowing when was the right time to say things and when it would be a really bad time—I needed to work on that. I tried to think of some way to get back on chitchat footing.

“I mean, it’s okay,” I said quickly. “I got the last laugh, right? I have three degrees from MIT—two undergrad degrees in computer science and biological engineering plus a master’s in engineering—and make more money at twenty-three than most of them will probably see by the time they’re fifty.” I forced another laugh that kind of petered out when Clark didn’t laugh with me. I took another nervous sip of my sidecar.

“What they did to you was awful,” he said at last, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I can’t imagine.”

“Bad stuff happens sometimes,” I said. The sidecar was really good and I turned the glass so I could get more sugar off the rim. “You get over it, right?”

“That’s very . . . pragmatic of you.”

“A necessity sometimes.”

“And how often was ‘sometimes’?” he asked.

I sensed he was getting close to pity. Our food arrived before I could figure out how to head that off, thank goodness. Now I could make pleasant noises about the food. I took a good look at my plate.

“Wait, there’s mushrooms in this,” I blurted.

“Yes, the marsala is a mushroom-based sauce with Marsala wine,” the server said.

“I don’t eat mushrooms.” I’d thought for sure I’d asked for them to leave the mushrooms out, but maybe I’d been too preoccupied with staring at Clark and hadn’t.

The server grabbed my plate. “Absolutely. We’ll get you a new dish right away.”

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t realize—”

“It’s fine. I’ll be back soon.” She hurried off.

“You don’t eat mushrooms?” Clark asked, finishing off his cocktail. I noticed he wasn’t eating yet, which was weird. His food was going to get cold.

“It’s fungi. I don’t eat fungi.”

Clark nodded sagely. “I see. And why is that?”

I looked at him like he was nuts. “It’s
mold
. Do you eat anything that’s molded?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Exactly.”

“I like mushrooms though. Especially portabellas. They’re delicious.”

“If you say so.” I looked at his plate again. “Your food is getting cold.”

His lips twitched. “It’s impolite for me to eat before you’ve gotten your meal.”

How strange. “So you’d let yours get cold and inedible because of societal niceties?”

Clark chuckled. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

Huh. “Please don’t wait,” I said. “It’s not a logical thing to do. And really, I don’t mind watching you eat.” Which sounded weird when I heard it said aloud. “I mean, please, go ahead.”

Clark just smiled, considering me in silence until the server brought back my plate. This time sans mushrooms, thank goodness. I dug in. I was starving. Only then did he begin eating his lasagna.

“Better?” Clark asked.

“Much. Thanks.” I’d finished my sidecar and took a sip of the merlot Clark had ordered for us. The sidecar must’ve been pretty powerful, especially on my empty stomach, because I was feeling really relaxed. The butterflies were a distant memory.

We ate in companionable silence and I finished my glass of wine. Alcohol was the best thing ever, I decided. Why hadn’t I drunk more before? I didn’t even care that we weren’t talking, whereas usually I’d be stressing and desperately trying to think of something to say.

“So tell me about yourself,” Clark said. “Have you always been a prodigy?”

“You want the Brief History of Me?” I asked, taking another bite. He smiled.

“I guess you could call it that.”

“There’s not much to tell. I graduated high school at fourteen. Got a college education from MIT at nineteen. I’ve been working for Cysnet ever since.”

“Are you from here?”

“No. Omaha, actually.”

“A farm girl?”

“My dad’s a farmer, yeah.” I finished off the mashed potatoes, scooping up the last of the mushroom-free sauce.

“Siblings?”

“Two older brothers. One married, one not.”

“And your niece lives with you?” he asked as the server took our empty plates.

“For a short while,” I replied, sipping my second—third?—glass of wine. Clark was looking better and better, not that it was a hard thing. Those blue eyes and smile . . . I heaved a long sigh.
In my dreams.
“What about you?” I asked, sick of talking about my boring life. “Family? Siblings? Hometown?”

“Parents married forty years, now retired. Only child. Allentown.”

“That’s quite . . . succinct,” I said with a laugh. Clark smiled, too. He leaned forward and to my shock, placed a hand over mine so that we were almost holding hands, but not quite.

“I haven’t led a terribly exciting life,” he said, which I hardly heard. I was too focused on the feel of his skin against mine, warm and dry, and how it was suddenly hard to breathe.

“Uh . . . really?” was the best I could come up with because now he was stroking his thumb across the top of my hand. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever felt and, all the while, his eyes were gazing into mine as though he was looking into my soul.

“No, though there was this time I traveled to Singapore . . .” He continued, telling me a story about getting lost in the back streets of Singapore and hit on by a prostitute, though I couldn’t focus. His hand was on mine and he’d begun idly playing with my fingers as he talked until all I could think about was that I wanted him to touch me more.

The bill came and he paid, then led me out of the restaurant. My senses were heightened from the alcohol and his hand on my lower back felt like a brand through the thin fabric of my shirt.

“Can I talk you into dessert at my place?” he asked as we drove back.

I glanced at my watch. It was getting late. Bedtime was in twenty minutes. I had to be at work in the morning.

“Thanks, but I can’t,” I said. “But dinner was really nice. Thank you.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Absolutely!” Okay, maybe a little
too
enthusiastic there. “I mean, yeah, of course.” That was better.
Play it cool, Chi.

He smiled that thousand-watt smile again. “Me, too. Maybe we can do it again? Soon?”

Was he asking me out on another date? Like . . .
two
dates? With the same guy? And not just any guy . . . but Superman?

Clark parked in his driveway and turned off the car before looking at me. His smile faded. “I’m taking your silence as a no?”

“No! I mean, yes, I would, sorry. I was just—” I cut my words off just before I embarrassed myself. The alcohol was slowly wearing off and my better sense was oozing back into my brain.

“Just what?”

But I shook my head, not wanting to finish the thought, because
surprised you’d want to see me again
sounded so incredibly pathetic.

“I . . . think I know what you mean,” Clark said. He leaned toward me and the dim light from the lamppost shining through the windows made his eyes gleam. I could smell him now and I took a deep breath, memorizing the slightly spicy scent.

His body was bigger than mine, his shoulders wide enough to block my view out the windshield. I was frozen in place as he lifted a hand to cup my jaw. It felt surreal, like I was in a dream as he leaned closer. Carefully, he removed my glasses, setting them on the dash as I watched, transfixed.

The touch of his lips on mine was nearly shocking, it had been so long since I’d been kissed, and never by a man like this. My eyes were still open as his mouth caressed mine, the gentle coaxing sending waves of heat and energy through me.

My eyes drifted closed, my body felt like warm caramel flowed in my veins, and the touch of his tongue against the seam of my lips was velvet. Instinctively, I parted my lips and his tongue surged inside, caressing mine. He tasted of the wine we’d drunk and his own flavor, which I knew immediately I would never forget.

His hand moved to cup my neck and for once I felt as though my small frame
wasn’t
a detriment. Clark was strong and male, a perfect complement to me, which was an incredible turn-on.

He deepened the kiss further and our breaths mingled, an intimacy that struck me. I could kiss him like this forever. Tentatively, I lifted my hand to the back of his head, my fingers itching to touch his dark, wavy locks. They were as soft as I’d imagined. I luxuriated in the feel of it, which he seemed to like because he moved even closer, his kiss becoming more urgent.

It was lovely to be wanted like this and I reveled in it. Like one of Grandma’s novels come to life . . .
my
life. Which was, frankly, insane.

I felt the light touch of his fingers drift down my neck to the deep V of my shirt. It was unexpected and I was too unused to such a thing for me to control my reaction, which was to jump and pull back.

“I-I’m sorry,” I immediately apologized as Clark lifted his head to gaze down at me. “I-it’s just that—”

“It’s okay,” he said, his lips curving slightly. He tucked a thick lock of my hair behind my ear. “It’s my fault, moving too fast. You’re just . . . very beautiful and so smart. I . . . lost my head for a moment.”

Dumbfounded, I simply stared at him, blinking. Up close, I could see him, but everything else was a blur.

He brushed a kiss to the tip of my nose, then handed me back my glasses. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

I was still at a loss as to what to say when we got to my door and I turned to face him. I went for manners.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you again,” he said, standing much closer than the usual eighteen inches preferred by Americans. I found that, for once, I didn’t mind the invasion of my personal space.

“Me, too.” Okay, now I definitely sounded like one of those breathless heroines in Granny’s romance novels. I stared into his eyes, breathing in his scent as he leaned close and pressed his lips gently against mine. This time, my eyes closed right away and I savored the touch.

“Good night, China,” Clark said, his voice a low throb of sound. Then he was gone, moving into the darkness to his place next door.

Wow.

6

Mia wanted to hear all about my date, so I gave her a brief rundown, leaving out the kissing part because I was still trying to process that.

“Did he kiss you goodnight?” she asked, despite my censoring.

“Um . . .” I hesitated and heat flooded my face.

“He did!” she crowed. “It was the eyes. Sparkles
never
disappoint, am I right?”

Her enthusiasm had me grinning like an idiot, the really great evening finally sinking in. I was walking on air, excitement bubbling inside me like a bottle of champagne.

I washed my face and braided my hair before going to bed, moving quickly. But although I was in bed on time, it took a while to go to sleep. My mind kept reliving the evening, looking at it from every angle. It was surreal. I stared at the dark ceiling, remembering the feel of Clark’s mouth on mine, the smell of his cologne, the softness of his hair in my fingers.

I smiled into the darkness, the bubble of joy threatening to burst inside my chest. Tonight had been one of—no, correction—
the
best night of my life. And he wanted to do it again.

It was a long time before I went to sleep.

I had to get up extra early the next morning to get a cab to pick up my car from Cysnet and still arrive at Wyndemere on time. Even so, I didn’t beat Jackson there as he was already in our shared office space.

Nerves assailed me as I headed inside. I’d been pretty angry last night and had no idea how to handle things with Jackson this morning. He’d been an ass, which was unexpected. I’d idolized him for so long, been so excited to work with him, then he’d insulted me in a very personal way.

The phrase “the bloom is off the rose” seemed apt.

“Good morning,” I said stiffly to him as I folded myself into my temporary chair at my temporary desk. I’d snagged a Red Bull from home and popped the top while my computer logged on.

“How was your date?” Jackson asked.

I was glad I’d already swallowed or I would have choked again on that opening inquiry, especially considering how we’d left things last night.

“It was fine,” I said, avoiding his gaze by getting out the papers I needed from the locked cabinet.

“Just fine?”

I sensed another insult, but couldn’t pinpoint it. But the question didn’t make me feel any more compelled to like him. “I had fun, though it’s really none of your business.”

“And you spoke nothing about your work.”

I gritted my teeth as anger surged again, and I looked over at him.

Jackson wore black, as usual, and his dark gaze was leveled on me. He had an edge to him that was so unusual for someone in our profession—a white-collar computer job, as generic as they came. He was anything but “generic.” Maybe it was that edge that had compelled him to work as hard as he had and build his company from the ground up. Or maybe he did karate in his spare time and that’s where he got it from. Either way, I didn’t care.

“I told you I wouldn’t,” I said. “He asked where I worked and I gave the most basic reply.
Where
I work is not a secret. What I
do
is, which is why I take my employment agreement very seriously.”

“Good.”

Our gazes held for another moment before he looked away.

“That meeting with the rest of the team is this morning,” he said. “I want you to run it. I’ll attend as well, but I’d rather not be the point person for the team.”

A knot of nerves coalesced in my stomach. Having to talk tech wasn’t an unknown thing for me, though I’d never managed a team before. But it wasn’t exactly like I could tell my boss,
You know, I’m not really comfortable with that.
At least, not if I didn’t want to get fired. “Understood.”

“Let’s run down the list and make sure we have a meeting agenda ready to go.”

I agreed—a concrete plan of what I was going to say sounded good—and that’s what we began putting together. At this point, I was ready to work as many hours as necessary to finish this project, just so I wouldn’t have to be around Jackson anymore. He’d been Not Nice to me in a big way and while I always pretended I had a thick skin, the truth was far from it.

Two hours later, we headed down the hall to a conference room. Three other people were already there. Jackson held the door for me and I preceded him, choosing a chair at random from the remaining five situated around the oval table. He sat on my right. The glass windows were tinted against the morning sunshine, which was nice.

A quick glance around the room and I smiled a generic greeting. I’d found that people always responded better to smiles—even my crappy fake one—regardless of whether you spoke. It set them at ease. Two of the three people were men and there was one woman. I knew we were missing one more man, though it was time for the meeting to begin.

“Who are we waiting for?” I asked the assembled people.

“John,” replied the woman. “He’s usually running a few minutes behind.”

“You must be Lana,” I said. Easy guess, since she was the only female aside from myself on the team. My memory served up her employee file like flipping through a Rolodex. Lana Miller, graduated from Berkeley with a BS in computer science, got a master’s at Caltech, been working for Wyndemere for over a decade. Had climbed steadily in the company and been promoted until she was head of her division. Not married. No kids.
Enjoys basket weaving and long walks on the beach in her spare time
, my inner smart-ass added.

“I am,” she said with a friendly smile. She appeared in her early forties with short brown hair and was dressed nicer than I was, in slacks and a pale-blue blouse with heavy silver jewelry.

The door opened and a man I assumed was John came rushing in, looking harried. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, sliding into a chair.

“It’s not a problem.” Which was a total lie. I hated tardiness. But getting irritated certainly wouldn’t get things off to a good start.

“John,” he said, confirming my assumption. My mental Rolodex flipped pages. John was a mechanical engineer who’d begun programming when he’d been laid off from his previous job. Divorced, he’d bounced around a few other jobs before landing at Wyndemere. I was surprised he’d been promoted as quickly as he had, given his background. But perhaps he had influence or some other reason for how well he’d done at Wyndemere.

And that other reason certainly wasn’t punctuality
.

“I’m China Mack, and this is Jackson Cooper.” I nodded toward Jackson. “We’ve been brought in—” And I paused because, at that point, no one was paying a bit of attention to me. Their eyes were all glued to Jackson with varying expressions of stunned amazement and awe on their faces.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but just barely. I’d been just like them less than twenty-four hours ago.

Clearing my throat did nothing, so I did it louder and more obnoxiously until all eyes swung back to me.

“As I was saying, we’ve been brought in to finish this project. My condolences to you all on Tom’s death.” An uncomfortable silence then, though I saw Lana’s eyes tear up. “Unfortunately, the due date is still firm and needs to be met. Can we get a status report from each of you to start?”

No one spoke. In fact, they looked at one another in confusion. One of the men spoke up.

“That’s against protocol,” he said. “I’m Terry, by the way.” He was grizzled in the way I was used to seeing from coders. Khakis and a button-down shirt that should’ve been ironed and a scraggly beard that needed trimming.

“Nice to meet you, Terry,” I said by rote.
Two master’s degrees from MIT. Been at Wyndemere his entire career, which was over fifteen years.
“What do you mean
against protocol
?”

“We discuss our parts of the project individually and in private,” he clarified. “Tom didn’t like doing it that way, but the specs for the project made it clear.”

“Deviation from specs is cause for immediate termination of employment and a breach of confidentiality suit,” the last man said. He was the oldest of the group, perhaps in his sixties.

“George?” I said, though it wasn’t really a question. The process of elimination meant it had to be him.
Graduated from UMass in the seventies. Been in tech since apple was still just a fruit.

He nodded. “I’ve been working here for over twenty years and I’ve never seen anything like it. But rules are rules.” He shrugged and took a sip from the Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of him.

I’d read through the file and I was certain there’d been nothing like that in the contract, which meant Tom must have made that up.

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.