"Absolutely."
"Then I'll see you in the morning. For now, I need to speak with Ms. Lopez about those software changes." He turned toward the door but didn't actually move. "Is there anything else I can do for you in the meantime?"
It might have been a rhetorical question, one she should graciously acknowledge without placing any actual demands on him. But he looked so sincerely willing to help.
"Just one thing," she said, speaking quickly before she could think better of asking more favors. "Tanner loves soccer, and I've enrolled him on a team that's about to start its fall season, hoping it will give him something normal and familiar to enjoy. But his age group was short a few coaches." She hesitated, her boldness faltering.
Giff's eyes were wide, his brow furrowed. "Um, football—the American version—was always more my game. I don't have any experience with soccer."
"What?" Addie blinked, and then let out a peal of laughter. "I wasn't asking you to coach. I already volunteered. I was just trying to work up the nerve to tell you that I might have to periodically duck out a few minutes early in order to make it to practices on time."
"Oh." He lowered his head, looking both relieved and embarrassed. "That makes more sense. And it shouldn't be a problem as long as your work doesn't suffer."
"It won't. Thank you so much for your understanding. Tanner loves sports, and I'm really hoping this will be a good way to connect with him."
"How's he feel about baseball?" Giff asked. "You know Bill Daughtrie's sponsoring that employee day at Minute Maid Park this weekend?"
She nodded. It was an annual event that had become tradition. "We're already planning to go."
"Great. Then I'll see you there." Giff shook his head, his smile self-deprecating. "In addition to seeing you at the office probably every day this week."
"I knew what you meant."
As far as she knew, the entire office and their families had been invited to the Astros home game. It was as far from an intimate setting as one could possibly get, so there was absolutely no reason for her to flush with pleasure at Giff's words. She did anyway.
Chapter Five
Addie was struck by the irony—at home, where Nicole was surrounded by soothing sounds, like her lullaby CD and a crib attachment that played calming white noise, the baby never slept. Here at Puck E. Pizzas, which matched Houston Hobby Airport's runways decibel for decibel, amidst the pinging video games, squealing children and a vivacious house band (made up of animatronics barnyard livestock), Nicole was cheerfully comatose. She was drooling on her pink bib, her dimpled arms and legs splayed in all different directions as she slept in her carrier.
Of course, Addie would probably pay for this later. No way would the infant girl sleep tonight, but it was almost worth the long hours ahead to have a few minutes of peace, allowing her to catch up with Jonna. Another irony. A month ago, Addie would have considered this overly loud, overly bright pizzeria the antithesis of "peace." She was adapting.
Two twin boys zoomed past the booth, arguing loudly about who got to use the last token. One of them nearly knocked Jonna's drink off the corner of the table. Jonna grimaced, the expression out of place on her. She was an irrepressibly bubbly blonde. Addie loved her friend's natural optimism but had marveled during their university roommate years that anyone could be so cheerful first thing in the morning without chemical assistance.
"I'll admit," Jonna began, "that falling for Sean has led to the occasional wedding daydream, but this place certainly cures me of any baby longing I felt. Oh, shoot. That was insensitive, wasn't it? You know I didn't mean anything against Tanner or Nicole."
Addie set down her diet soda. "It's okay. I don't blame you for not being ready for motherhood. Hell, I'm not ready." The statement caused just enough guilt that she immediately glanced upward, checking on Tanner, even though there was no way he could have heard her confession. He was in the same place he'd been when she looked two minutes ago and the few before that.
In addition to the kid-friendly arcade games and scaled down carnival-style rides, the pizzeria boasted a huge labyrinth of overhead tubes that ran the length of the ceiling. The entry stairs and exit slide were only a few feet away from Addie, but the maze also featured plenty of thick plastic windows so that anxious kids or mothers could easily spot each other. Tanner had scurried up inside the tubes and now seemed content to sit in his chosen spot watching all the action unfold beneath him. She wished he were interacting more with the other nine jillion kids here, but he was smiling, so who was she to judge?
"I can't believe how crowded it is on a Wednesday night," Addie said. At least half the children present were old enough that they'd have school tomorrow. She'd already cautioned Tanner that they couldn't stay too late; tomorrow was his first day back in the classroom since the principal's call yesterday.
Instead of letting herself worry over whether Tanner would have any more trouble with his classmates, Addie glanced back to her friend. "You are a saint. Thank you so much for suggesting this. Nicole's out like a light, and Tanner seems genuinely excited to be here."
Jonna quirked her lips. "That's his 'excited'? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's better behaved than some of the little monsters who've crashed into me since we got here, but…"
"I know. Soccer starts next week. Maybe that will help him perk up. Hey," Addie protested as her friend tried to stifle a laugh. "Stop that. It's not funny."
When she'd discovered over their pepperoni pizza that Addie would be coaching the team, Jonna had dissolved into giggles.
"Sorry. I don't even know why I find it so amusing. It's just not how I picture you, wearing a cap and whistle, giving motivational pep talks to a bunch of first-graders. But I applaud your decision. It will be great for you and Tanner. And maybe even for your social life."
Addie rolled her eyes. "What social life?"
"Precisely my point. You haven't mentioned dating since that rat Christian left. Can I just say again how much better off you are without him? Now you're free to meet someone new."
There were all kinds of freedom. While it was true Addie was single again, she wasn't exactly unencumbered.
"Jonna, it's not like I'm sitting at home worrying about how to meet men. I've been a little busy." Sitting at home worrying about finding the best possible day cares, the proper temperature of rice cereal, whether letting a small boy watch a movie in which droids were dismembered would scar him for life, or at least cause nightmares…
"Maybe the right guy for you is someone with parenting experience," Jonna said, looking excited as she warmed to the idea. "A single dad who's just as busy, who can empathize with what you're going through, who might be coaching his own child's soccer team."
For a second, Addie allowed herself to buy in to her friend's fantasy. It would be nice not to feel so alone, to get someone else's input on when to obsess over something and when to shrug it off as merely a phase or normal childhood challenge. She tried to picture a kind-faced single father with a quick smile and shoulders broad enough to lean on. Instead, her mind conjured Giff—probably as a reminder that, after the kids, work should be her top priority right now, not romance.
She shook her head firmly. "Sorry. Next to Tanner, the only guy in my life is Giff Baker."
Jonna choked on her drink, spluttering. "What? How did you meet him?"
Addie was thrown by her friend's reaction. "I told you all about him. I'm working with him, at least for a couple of months."
"He's the project manager? You never specifically mentioned his name."
"I didn't realize his name would mean anything to you. Do you recognize it from local business news?"
"No, from his patronage of the arts. Our paths have crossed at a couple of charity benefits where I was representing the museum. You told me that the man you embarrassed yourself in front of was attractive, but, wow. I didn't realize you meant someone who looked like that."
With a groan, Addie covered her face, reliving her first meet
ing with Giff. The good news was she hadn't had any humiliating moments since Tuesday. But she didn't really think she'd done anything stellar enough to counteract Tuesday, either. Hence her determination to work hard and impress Giff. Though he wouldn't be her supervisor for very long, he reported directly to Bill Daughtrie. Not only did she desperately want to keep her job, Addie was hoping for a raise after her next employee evaluation.
Her grocery bill would only continue to go up once Nicole started eating real food. The expense of soccer was manageable, but the years to come might hold music lessons and summer camps. Braces, she thought, recalling many an afternoon when she'd been dragged along to her brother's orthodontist.
"Munchkin alert," Jonna said, angling her chin toward the red slide.
Tanner scrambled off the slide, then retrieved his sneakers from the open-faced plastic shoe locker. Addie was ready with a bright smile when he reached the table.
"Hey, buddy. Did you change your mind about taking me on in air hockey?"
"Maybe later," he said noncommittally. "I came down 'cause I was thirsty."
Addie handed him his soda and a couple of tokens when he asked if he could play the pinball machine behind her.
"After that, I'll carry Nicole around and we'll see what's on the other side of the restaurant," she offered. "Okay?"
"Sure."
"And you remember what I said about not staying too late, right?"
He scrunched up his face, his tone long-suffering. "I remember."
Across the table, Jonna chuckled.
Sending her friend a sidelong look of reproach, Addie ruffled the boy's hair. "All right, then. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."
He scampered off before she could issue any other reminders.
"You might not feel like a natural at this," Jonna teased, "but that was definitely a 'yes, mother' moment. You must be doing something right."
"Thanks." Addie waited a beat so it would seem as if she was making casual conversation rather than bursting with curiosity. "So you've actually met Giff? Anything I should know about him, since I'm reporting to him at work?"
"That's the only reason you're asking?" Jonna knew her too well.
Addie shrugged. "I admit it, the guy's gorgeous. But I don't have any plans to seduce him in the conference room or anything. Even if I had time to date, it certainly wouldn't be with a coworker." Worse, one who was above her in the chain of command. She could just imagine the field day Pepper would have with that! Accusations of unprofessional conduct and favoritism—no pair of green eyes was worth that kind of trouble.
"I don't know much that would be pertinent to your working with him, but I know he was engaged as recently as a few months ago," Jonna said. "By the time I was introduced to him, he was dating her. Brooke something, she's a journalist, I think. They were actually a cute couple. I was shocked when I heard she'd left him."
"She left him? You're sure?" Addie wondered what had happened to make a woman throw over a guy like Giff—strikingly handsome, successful and, if his easy forgiveness was any indication, good-natured.
"Fell for some other guy, I think. Poor Giff, jilted and on the rebound." Jonna grinned unabashedly. "Too bad I'm with Sean now and unavailable to comfort him."
Addie laughed. "You're terrible."
"How set are you on this no coworkers policy?" Jonna asked. "Maybe the two of you could comfort each other! Your broken hearts give you something in common."
"Please. I'm not brokenhearted over Christian." It almost seemed disloyal, how little she'd missed him since he left. She searched for the right words to articulate her feelings. "I never thought he was like, my soul mate, the one man on the planet I was destined to be with. But I thought I could count on him, you know?"
"I know," Jonna commiserated. "But you're still better off without him. And I'd just like to point out, for the record, that Giff is only doing contract work."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"You said you wouldn't date a coworker." Jonna smiled slyly. "Well, he won't be your coworker for long."
* * *
THOUGH METEOROLOGISTS AGREED that the high temperature would again be in the nineties today, the early morning breeze was just cool enough to make one believe fall might be around the corner. Bill Daughtrie had an eight o'clock tee time and was warming up at the club's driving range. He'd asked Giff to meet him here so that they could talk without anyone from the office interrupting.
"So…" Bill stepped up to the ball, pausing thoughtfully before he swung. "What are your thoughts so far?"
Giff chose his words carefully, aware that his opinions would affect the men and women he'd been working alongside this week. He liked them. Addie Caine particularly came to mind. Family had always been important to Giff—it was one of the reasons, he'd realized in retrospect, that he'd become hastily engaged—because he'd been so eager to build a family. He could identify with the pain of her recent loss and admired the way she was doing her one-woman best to provide a family for her niece and nephew.
"Obviously I don't have proof of anything yet," Giff said, "or I would have brought it to you immediately. But the very lack of a noticeable cyber trail may mean someone with IT access and knowledge is responsible."
Daughtrie had confided that after the first three bids were lost, he'd kept the last one confidential, taking the advice of his management team to lower the bid into consideration but not sharing with them the final numbers. Yet, if his suspicions were correct, someone had still managed not only to get that information but to pass it along to the competition. Most anyone could erase data, superficially, but they should have left electronic fingerprints, a trail Giff could start unearthing that would lead to the guilty party.
Bill straightened, his expression hard. "Someone from my IT department is trying to screw me over?"
"I hope to figure that out," Giff said, noting the flare of anger in the other man's eyes and hoping he wouldn't make any rash decisions. "Right now, it's a hunch. A logical one, but still a hunch."
"Then I guess I'd better let you get back to the office so you can find me more information. You probably want to pay special attention to those two women," Bill drawled, lining up his next shot.
Once again, Giff's thoughts zeroed in on Addie. "What do you mean?"
"They make less money. Than the men. I've seen that lead to a chip on the shoulder with women before." He said this impatiently, dismissively, and Giff couldn't help thinking how big a "chip" Bill would have if someone tried to undervalue his work. "Think resentment could lead to a motive?"
"If you gave them equitable pay," Giff snapped, "there'd be no reason for resentment."
Bill bristled. "Hey, I made both of them damn good offers, comparatively speaking. Women in IT simply don't earn the same as their male counterparts. You know that. Everyone knows that."
Giff ground his teeth together. It was bad business to smack the person you worked for with a golf club. Bill spoke the truth, but that didn't make it right.
On the drive to the office, Giff thought about what Bill had said.
Giff was talented in the field of network security, finding possible weaknesses and addressing them. In fact, half of what Bill was paying him for was to evaluate and implement new security measures that could be put in place to prevent something like this from happening after Bill had caught the culprit. But although Giff had some experience halting cyber theft, he was hardly a detective. He didn't know what emotion would drive a person the hardest. Was simple greed alone enough to corrupt someone, or was Bill correct in thinking that it might be greed fueled by righteous anger? It would be easier to rationalize stealing from someone if you legitimately felt they owed you anyway.
But maybe it wasn't straightforward greed so much as desperation. Someone who had to cope with mounting medical bills or gambling debts. Or two new members of the family?
On some level, Giff had been preoccupied with Addie Caine all morning, but this was the
first time thoughts of her left him cold. Just how long ago had she become the guardian, the person financially responsible, for her niece and nephew?
Don't be ridiculous. Addie didn't steal confidential information from Bill, much less sell it.
He recalled the moment he'd first seen her, so upset that her emotions were a palpable force in the room. Unused to such blatant displays of feeling, he'd been downright uncomfortable in her presence. He also considered the way she'd spoken to him about Tanner, her pride and affection for the little boy as nakedly visible as her concern that she might not know what was best for him. All of Giff's instincts screamed that a woman with her generously giving nature was incapable of theft. Even if she was frantic enough to try it, she was too easy to read. In the three days he'd known her, he'd witnessed how she wore her heart on her sleeve. Not one with a cool poker face, Addie Caine.
Then again, how well did he really know her? Giff had worried about Bill making snap decisions without hard evidence, but wasn't that what Giff was doing? Removing Addie from suspicion based on a gut feeling, based on the hope that she wouldn't do anything wrong?
That settled it then. He'd just have to get to know Addie better.
Chapter Six
Darn you, Jonna. Addie blamed her friend's comments about Giff last night for her own lack of concentration in today's meeting. "He won't be your coworker for long." Maybe not, but he was for right now, and Addie needed to focus on his message to the team, not notice that he looked even better than usual. He'd taken off his jacket, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to reveal the corded muscle of his forearms. His hair, for once, wasn't cover model perfect. Not disheveled, but just windblown enough to be touchable, as if she could run her fingers through it without worrying that she'd knock a strand out of place.
None of which had anything to do with network security.
"Ms. Caine, Addie?" Giff had requested that everyone call him by his first name and was making an effort to reciprocate, but Addie got the impression that he was actually more comfortable being formal. It wasn't that he was cold by any stretch of the imagination, just that he—"Did I say something that confused you? You appear a bit lost."
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