Between You and Me

by Lynn Turner

  He looked horrified.

  “It’s okay,” she said before he could stutter another apology. “Somehow I think you know exactly how I feel.”

  There. She’d called it out. So she could openly take in the curling ends of his dark hair, the slight bend in the bridge of his nose, and the wide mouth parting into an understanding smile that made her eyes flit back to his. They were sharp, intelligent eyes, and they’d narrowed with his smile.

  Her admission seemed to make him relax. “I can answer your question now, Miss Monroe.”

  He shifted his weight and motioned toward two empty barstools. After declining another drink, she prompted him with a nod.

  “I’ve been a below-knee amputee since I lost my leg in a car accident when I was sixteen,” he said. “The word disabled was like a slur to me then. I would have rather died than be disabled. I thought I’d have to live in a wheelchair.”

  Emanuela was grateful not to have anything in her hands. They trembled from the edge in his deep voice. She wondered about the accident, but decided it best not to push. Not now, anyway. She leaned forward. “Did you?”

  “Hell no.” He smirked. “I was a tenacious kid, pushed myself hard in physical therapy. Eventually I got strong enough for my first prosthetic.”

  “That was…”

  “Ninety-two. Not too many options back then cosmetically. I had a pretty pronounced limp those first years, but I wasn’t teased much. The thing that got to me the most—and still does sometimes,” he looked away for a moment, “was the staring. I don’t mind questions so much now, but strangers staring at me like I was some sort of freak motivated me to pursue this idea. I wanted to lose the stigma.”

  “You don’t limp now. Is it because of the leg you showed me? Did you make that?”

  His ears turned red. “Ah, unfortunately I did not, but that would have been a great excuse for exposing myself.”

  They laughed together, and her heart tapped a quick rhythm as she realized he was watching her. Studying her face. “What?” she asked before she could catch herself.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just nice to be able to laugh about it. Not take myself too seriously. I can usually tell when people are being polite out of pity.”

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “If it’s obvious that I’m wearing a prosthetic. Or the rare occasion that I limp, which happens if I overexert myself, or if I’m under duress. But I’m used to wearing an artificial limb. This is the eighth one I’ve owned, and the most versatile. If I want to swim or do rigorous physical activity, I have to wear a leg specialized for those things. My smart limbs will withstand water and more pressure than standard prosthetics.”

  Her eyes trailed over his athletic form. “You’re in great shape.” Oh my God. She didn’t mean to sound so…flirtatious. “I just meant…”

  He chuckled again. “No, I get it. Truthfully, future prosthetics might surpass the abilities of mere mortals. Olympians have won gold wearing modern prosthetics.”

  “And yours? What will yours do, Doctor Kane?”

  It was the moment of truth. She watched him inhale deeply before he plunged, his eyes looking right into hers.

  “Make people feel whole again. Not because we’re incomplete,” he said with conviction. “Although it is a little about that, about the way society perceives us. When people see you differently, they often treat you differently too—” He collected himself and met her eyes again. “It gives us back complete control. Movement will be effortless. More natural. It will feel like having that limb grow back. And that’s… It’s…”

  “Everything,” she finished for him at a near-whisper.

  He swallowed and nodded, bereft of words, and that was fine with her. The ones he’d spoken were enough to make her emotional, which wasn’t good, because she was out of wine, and Finn…Doctor Kane, she chided herself…was imploring her soul with his eyes again.

  “You’ve spent twenty years developing this idea.” She crossed her legs and straightened her spine, deliberately adjusting her demeanor. “My only concern is that you might be a one-trick pony. Convince me you’ve got staying power.”

  Finn cleared his throat. “I know my market intimately, Miss Monroe. There are almost two hundred thousand amputations performed each year in the U.S. alone. Half of those amputees are anywhere from twenty-one to sixty-five years old.” He held his hands in front of him, palms up, as if he thought she could read his sincerity in them before he spoke again. “Even if they have iron willpower, their limbs are only as capable as the technology available. My research background ensures that my devices will stay ahead of the curve, and challenge what it means to be ‘disabled’.”

  Excellent answer. Her earlier enthusiasm welled up in her again, and she inhaled a deep breath to conceal her smile. He made her feel inspired for the first time in months…and emotionally spent.

  She’d been aware of him to some extent from the second she’d seen his name on that guest list in barely legible scrawl. She’d admired his determination to find an “in.” And then later she’d memorized his expressive face as he spoke, listened to his passion, witnessed the way he looked at her like she could save him from drowning… She wanted to bolt, or throw herself at him—neither of which would bode well for her reputation. She needed him to get the hell out of there. “Do you have a prototype?”

  “Not yet. That’s why I’m here tonight. I’ll need funding to build a prototype, but my proposal is ready.”

  “Good. Send it. You’ll hear from my office soon after.”

  She stood again, and he followed suit. She tried to temper her expression, swallow the knot in her throat. They were back to that strange place again, frozen at the edge of the world where time and space seemed to blur. Her heart raced, wanting her to fight or flee, but only one option was logical.

  She trained her eyes on his collar again, on the rapid pulse in his neck. He hesitated a moment, like he wanted to say something else and then caught himself. Instead, he stepped closer, and stretched out his hand. “Thank you, Miss Monroe.”

  She inhaled his soapy aroma and her throat went dry. Did he smell like this all the time, or was it courtesy soap? Why did it even matter? Damn him! She accepted his hand. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He squeezed her hand gently before he tore his eyes from hers, spun on his right heel, and left the lounge. It was subtle, but she noticed his stagger as he walked away…and she wondered if he too felt like he’d left part of him there with her.

  Chapter Three

  Eight Months Later

  Emanuela rubbed her temples, pressing the speed dial for her assistant. “Hey, Lids, put the Do Not Disturb Sign up for me, will ya?”

  “Sure thing! Anything special?”

  The thick envelope on her desk, postmarked from Seattle, may as well have come with a neon sign…or a cardboard replica of Finnegan Kane, all sharp eyes and resonant voice, begging her to open it. The hairs at her nape stood on end, and her face went hot.

  “I hope so.” Emanuela removed her blazer, slipped off her shoes and moved to the soft leather couch in her office.

  K, here goes. She tucked a pillow behind her back, slipped on her reading glasses, and dove in.

  ****

  Lydia tapped at her door at six a.m. “Miss Monroe? A-are you okay?”

  Emanuela stopped pacing and glanced down at her bare feet and disheveled clothes. She could imagine what a few hours of sleep on her office couch had done to her hair and makeup, and several paper coffee cups were strewn about the floor.

  “Miss Monroe, you’re going to wear down the carpet!”

  Emanuela dismissed Lydia’s warning with a wave. “I need a meeting with Philip first thing. Whatever he’s got booked, move it around. He’s gonna wanna see this.”

  “Of course. Should I stop by your apartment this morning?”

  Emanuela gave Lydia a sheepish nod. “Thanks, Lids! I’m also gonna need a caffeine transfu
sion. Know where I can get one of those?”

  “Clean clothes and a coffee, got it! And, Miss Monroe?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Congratulations,” Lydia said with a knowing smile.

  Emanuela smiled and went to work typing up her summary. Philip liked his technical mumbo jumbo in layman’s terms. Short, sweet, and to-the-point. It made for much shorter meetings and deliberations. She was finishing up when her office door opened softly.

  “Sorry, Lids, almost do—Philip!”

  She scrambled to get herself together, stuffing the tails of her blouse into her skirt.

  “Sorry, Em. Lydia accosted me on the elevator just now telling me to clear my first appointment for you. So here I am.” Philip strolled into the office, his hands in his pockets. He chuckled a moment later, and Emanuela looked down at her blouse. It was wrinkled, and sported evidence of the takeout she’d ordered during her office slumber party of one.

  “I—sorry. Lydia is bringing me more clothes.”

  “It’s fine.” He took a seat on the far end of the couch near the door. “You’re my best guy. You could walk around in sheets for all I care,” he said with a grin.

  She groaned, exhaling her tension away.

  “So, I assume I’ve been summoned for some good news? What have you got?” he asked.

  “Innovation. Real innovation. Do you remember that proposal I told you about—from the amputee developing smart limbs?”

  “Of course. You were on the fence, weren’t you? Something was missing.”

  “Yes, a prototype. I was sold on the idea, but it sounded like fantasy. I wanted to see something real… Well, he’s done it, and the images are remarkable,” she said, handing him her summary. “This Doctor Kane could effectively fast-track prosthetic medicine into the future. It could improve the quality of life for patients with missing limbs by giving them artificial ones that communicate with their bodies and carry out actions just like real limbs! It would also take away the stigma attached to walking around in the world wearing obviously artificial parts. I mean—Philip—look at this…”

  She wet her fingers and flipped through the stack of papers again, finding the page she sought and handing it to him. “You can’t even tell. That doesn’t look like a prosthetic to me.”

  She straightened up, folding her arms and biting her bottom lip as she waited for his response.

  “You’re right,” he said, barely glancing at the summary in his hands. “It’s incredible. Things like this are only seen in science fiction.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Oh my God, you’ve seen the proposal already! I can’t believe I was up half the night reading everything I could find, assessing the competition—”

  His lips twitched as he looked up at her. “There is none. I caught wind of other interested investors once word of a prototype got out, but no one’s seen it yet, and Doctor Kane specifically asked for us. For you, Em.”

  “Makes sense.” She trained her tone to sound casual. “He’s comfortable with me.”

  “Well, he’s had a rough go of it. The cost of development, safety certification and the various stages of testing nearly bankrupted him, and the project was axed by the time he came to us.”

  She cringed as one of the satirical headlines she’d read about it came to mind: Perhaps Mankind Isn’t Ready for Cyborgs Among Us.

  “I know. But it’s in our lap now, and I want us to revive it,” she said.

  Philip stood and held her by her shoulders. “Your lap.”

  She lifted a questioning brow.

  “You made first contact,” he said. “So go to Seattle and convince Doctor Kane to sell the rights to his idea. After that, we get this thing into production and retire.”

  “You retire.” She grinned. “I get your office. And a small island, maybe.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said with a gentle squeeze to her shoulders. He held her gaze for just a moment too long, enough to make her heartbeat pick up from the curious way he was looking at her. But someone cleared her throat before Emanuela could think anything of it, and the pair moved apart.

  “Uh, I’ve got your clothes, Miss Monroe,” said a red-faced Lydia.

  “Thanks, Lydia,” Emanuela said with a quick nod.

  “Go get ’em,” Philip said. “Itinerary will be on your desk this afternoon.”

  He turned to Lydia with a smile. “Miss Thompson.”

  Then he was gone.

  ****

  As promised, everything she needed for travel was arranged. She was scheduled to fly out of JFK International early the next morning and arrive in Seattle before noon, local time.

  Just in time for a one o’clock meeting with the good doctor, Emanuela thought as she finally crawled beneath her comforter at eleven p.m.

  Her job could be unpredictable, but she loved it. Part of the reason, she admitted, was because of her easy working relationship with Philip. At forty, he was only eight years older than her, but because of his early and rapid success, he possessed wisdom and connections she hoped to attain someday.

  She had shown up to his offices unannounced, a newly minted master’s degree holder in business, and asked—no, advised—Philip to hire her. In answer to his simple, “Why?” she’d provided a file including every major deal that fell through since Philip began, listing each fatal error and what she would have done differently to ensure that those deals were successful. Emanuela smiled remembering the look on his face—a mixture of shock and amusement that, later, he’d told her was because she reminded him of himself.

  Of course, she’d noticed his naturally tan skin, sexy dark hair, and charisma that seemed to generate somewhere behind his gentle brown eyes. She’d also noticed the way his easy smile lured many a woman to a short fling.

  The attraction was there beneath the surface, but she would never act on it. She’d worked too hard to establish herself in an arena dominated by men, and she’d be damned if her success was accredited to an affair, however thrilling, with her ridiculously attractive employer.

  “Ugh,” she groaned. No one had touched her in over a year. And here, alone with her thoughts, there was no need to lie about why. A soft sigh left her lips as she sank into the pillows and let her hand drift down. Her body responded to the delicious memory of a faint five o’clock shadow, a deep voice full of passion, and expressive blue eyes…

  ****

  “Allie stop laughing!” Emanuela snapped into her cell phone.

  She was en route to the airport trying to stave off a panic attack, and her best friend of almost sixteen years was laughing her ass off.

  “Stop, or I’ll hang up,” she warned.

  “Sorry,” Allie said, sounding not the least bit contrite. “But this break-down session is out of character for you.”

  “I know! Don’t you think I know that? Help me!”

  “Honestly, Em, just look hot.”

  “Come on, that’s it? No last-ditch scheme to get me out of this?”

  “That’s it. Look hot and do your damn job.” A second’s pause… “Oh, and have fun!” she added.

  “What? I’m not sleeping with him.”

  “Cut the crap, Emanuela. You’ve been smitten for months! I know what the guy smells like, and I’ve never even met him!”

  “Allie—”

  “He breathed on you, and the earth moved,” she quipped, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. “You owe it to yourself—hell, to me, to see what else he’s working with.”

  Emanuela giggled. “It’s been almost a year though. He could be seeing someone.”

  “Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You’re right. I’m being ridiculous. This is business. I’m just gonna go out there, do my job, and come home,” Emanuela said. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “Always a pleasure.”

  “Smart ass.”

  “Love you too, Em. Text me when you land.”

  “I will.”

  ****

  Emanuela to
ok advantage of in-flight wifi for the first hour to read through and send emails. Philip popped up in her email chat:

  —Hey Em! Just sending you off! This will be a cakewalk for you.—

  Right. Classic Good Samaritan move. Just sweep in with a shiny check and profit a hundred times more than he would have from his own idea. She scratched an imaginary itch at her brow. Sure. Cakewalk. Except she’d met the guy and he seemed…incredible.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She could do this in her sleep. It was nothing personal.

  —Thanks, Boss!—

  She clicked her laptop shut and settled in for the six-hour flight. You’re a bit of a mystery box, Finn. Can’t wait to open it.

  Chapter Four

  “Welcome to The Piano Lounge,” a perky hostess greeted with a smile. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “Yes.” Emanuela nodded. “I’m with the Kane party for one o’clock.”

  “Oh, your party has already been seated. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to them.”

  “Thank you.”

  She tried not to let her nerves get to her as she followed the hostess through a well-designed maze of modern tables, plush chairs, and couches. The arrangement of furniture was obviously meant to make patrons feel at ease and, based on the hearty conversations coming from each table, it worked.

  Okay, Em. Put your game face on. You’ve got this.

  “And here we are!” Perky Hostess stated in her extra-nice customer service tone. “A waitress will be with you shortly to get your drink orders.”

  As the hostess stepped away to get back to her station, Emanuela’s lips parted in awe. Doctor Kane and his party rose to greet her. He was as handsome as she remembered, but there was no trace of the naked vulnerability in his eyes that she’d noticed all those months ago.

  She’d forgotten how tall he was. His wavy hair was longer, curling at the ends, with just a bit of salt and pepper running through the thick strands. His trousers hugged his toned thighs, and his shirt was rolled up a bit at the sleeves to reveal powerful arms. Her heart was in her throat as the face from her dreams stood before her. She swallowed it back down and snapped to attention.