“Not yet.” He slid the thing into his shirt pocket. “It isn’t ready to be released. Not like some other Zeke-Tech products.”
He looked at her as if he expected something from her. But she had no idea what.
His frown dropped a couple degrees deeper into gloom. “The point is, I quit,” he said tersely. “No more festival, no more—”
“You’ve spent an afternoon being made a big deal of by people from your hometown, some of whom remember you as a kid.”
He snorted, and she knew she’d hit a sore spot. Mrs. Rivers had announced to all that she’d once changed toddler Zeke’s diaper while visiting the home of her good friend Rosa Zeekowsky.
But she wasn’t going to let that verbal pothole stop her. “And some of whom look up to you, and the only explanation you can find is that they want something from you. And because of that you’re ready to give up?”
He levered his hips up and sat on the slanted railing, his feet hooked on the lower rung, extending his knees into the narrow stairway. Since she stood two steps above him, she no longer had to tip her head back to look at him.
“Okay, it’s not because they all want something from me—that’s not all that different. But this isn’t going to work, Darcie.”
Maybe because his position put them eye-to-eye, maybe because she was no longer looking at him through a seventeen-year-old’s crush, she saw in his eyes something that squeezed her heart even though she couldn’t define it. It was like the Drago River—amid so much smooth-flowing water, there would be a streak of foamy discord. Even though you couldn’t see the submerged rock, had no idea of its shape or origin, you knew one was there.
“What’s not going to work, Zeke?” She kept her voice even.
“This.” He jerked his hand toward the stage. “The judge stuff, the interview, the parade—any of it.”
“You’re telling me that the man who won over investors with the force of his certainty when everyone else was bailing out of tech stocks, the man who opened the stock market with a world-wide audience, the man who testified before Congress on the technology in classrooms bill…” She sucked in a breath. “You’re telling me that man is afraid of a handful of teenage girls?”
“And their mothers,” he muttered.
Tact, clearly, was called for. Tact and understanding and a deft touch.
She laughed.
The first burble caught her unaware and after that there was no holding it in. It rocked her ribs, shuddered her shoulders. He glared as she propped herself next to him for the railing’s support. Then the glare splintered, and she heard his deep chuckle. But she sensed pain remained. It would take more than some laughter to reach that deep.
“Okay, it’s funny,” he conceded. “It’s also true, Darcie. I’m lousy at this sort of thing.”
“You can’t be. All the financial articles talk about how the executive team of Zeke-Tech are the darlings of Wall Street and the government regulators and how pleasing both is practically impossible to do. So you must be good at charming people.”
“The charm comes from Peter Quincy, my public relations VP. But what really matters are profits for Wall Street and scrupulous records for the regulators, and both of those are because of my partner, Vanessa Irish.”
Oh, yes, the brilliant partner whom rare photographs showed as attractive despite a style so rigorously severe it made Darcie’s uniform look frivolous. But if she’d been looking for any hint of more between the partners than business, she had never found so much as a whisper.
“All the interviews you’ve done? Magazines and newspapers and TV. That one where they had you for an entire hour—”
She bit off that reference. Partly because she remembered that at the beginning of the interview Zeke had been so stiff that she’d ached for him. Partly because she didn’t want the mention of interviews to stir up whatever reasons he had for never mentioning his hometown to the media.
And, finally, because she’d rather not have him know she’d caught every interview of his that she could.
“They’re talking my language,” he said. “It’s about what we’re developing, or at least about the business. I have something to say and that overcomes…”
She waited, but he didn’t add the remaining element to that sentence—the important element. “Overcomes what, Zeke?”
He glanced at her. “It’s not like I’m telling you anything you don’t know, but I don’t like people. Never have. And they don’t like me.”
“Seems to me the problem today has been people liking you too much.”
He didn’t respond.
Okay, she had a better idea of what the submerged rock was made of—though still no clue how it had gotten there and how deeply it had lodged. Not that she had any specific interest in making sure his river flowed smoothly, only a generalized interest in the welfare of a fellow human being. But mostly her interest in submerged rocks stemmed from this important boat carrying a lot of people’s unknowing hopes that she needed to steer clear of hazards.
“You’ve got a problem then, don’t you, Zeke?”
That got his attention, though no verbal response.
“What are you going to do? You can’t quit. Not only would it be a disaster for Drago, but it would be rotten publicity for Zeke-Tech. And, yes, certain members of the festival committee would see to it that word got out.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would. And you’d deserve it.” She gave him her best I’m-a-cop-and-you’re-not expression. “But the real reason you can’t quit is because it would break your mom’s heart.”
The cop look hadn’t budged the resolve in his gray eyes, but her last reason put a good-sized dent in it. Darcie pressed her point.
“Do you know how thrilled she is? First to have you home, and second to have Drago honor you.”
“Honor,” he scoffed. It seemed to rally him. “You must have had a backup—I didn’t agree until last week. So what were you going to do?”
She sidestepped that, going with her best weapons. “Everyone knows it’s you now. Your mother spent the three days before you arrived cleaning, cooking and telling everyone about her boy coming home.”
His shoulders didn’t slump, he didn’t sigh, he didn’t swear. But she knew she had him.
“You’ll do fine, Zeke. You aren’t as bad with people as you think you are. You make it sound like your only contacts with people are through business.” Another aspect struck her and was out of her mouth with distressing speed. “You can’t tell me you haven’t been involved with people—romantically involved. What about that woman from the State Department?”
“Ginger,” he said. “She called it off because I missed too many events.”
Thank God he hadn’t asked how she knew about that. She’d resisted the issue of People magazine for two full days after hearing about an item with Zeke’s picture. She’d driven all the way to De Kalb to pick up a copy. There’d been a single photo, with a glamorous blond in the foreground, and tech mogul Anton Zeekowsky in a tuxedo turning away from the camera. She’d studied the photo a long time. Then she’d thrown the magazine away before driving back to Drago.
“I’m sure you’ve had other relationships. With money like yours, there must be women clamoring after you.”
“That’s one of Brenda’s jobs—my assistant. To keep the clamor away. Never should have let her go on vacation,” he added under his breath.
“All very interesting.” Darcie saw no need to listen to how Brenda held all the women after him at bay. “But the solution to your problem is really simple. Follow the schedule and—”
“That’s it!”
She jumped. Not in reaction to the suddenness or volume of his words, but because he’d twisted and grabbed her shoulders, drawing her down the two steps and between his bent knees so they faced each other.
“What’s it?” she got out.
“You. You’re the solutio
n to my problem.”
She had never before fully understood the phrase “That does not compute.” Now she did. She knew his words meant something, but the meaning eluded her.
What was the big deal? His knees bracketed her hips. So what? “This makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Zeke said, which was when she knew she’d spoken aloud. He breathed in through his nose. “You can be my Brenda.”
“What? No.” She broke his hold and stepped back, but the opposite railing didn’t let her get far. “I have a job, remember?”
“I don’t mean on a professional level. I don’t need that kind of help while I’m here. I mean on a personal level. Run interference for me, keep people away, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, that makes it better.”
“I know,” the dolt said, totally missing her sarcasm. “I could work. Not a lot, but some. If I have six uninterrupted hours a day—”
“No.”
He frowned, as if he didn’t hear the word often. “No?”
“No, Zeke. First, I have a job.”
“You could get the chief to agree if you explain it right.”
“I doubt Chief Harnett would commit himself to agreeing with me if I said cars really should stop at stop signs.”
“Then I’ll talk to him. It’s simply extending today’s assignment.”
“Maybe I don’t want to spend that much time with you, Zeke.” Didn’t want a front-row seat. Only this time it wouldn’t be the gawky, brilliant boy longing for the class queen. “You’re used to everybody fawning over you, but I don’t find that side of you the least bit appealing. Maybe I liked the guy you were before you left town and never looked back.”
Something crossed his eyes, and Darcie’s sharp anger—at him, at herself, at the unfairness of the heart—melted.
Then he stood.
She might have been able to read whether the move was a prelude to walking away better if she’d stood her ground, but that would have put them practically thigh to thigh in the narrow stairwell. She backed up a step.
He didn’t seem to notice. “In that case, you’re right, Darcie, my mother will be heartbroken. Because I am not going through three weeks of this.”
Nothing like planning a guilt trip for someone else and finding yourself shoved on board for the return trip.
Then, the plans she and Jennifer had in store for Zeke rushed into Darcie’s mind. She released a gust of a sigh and returned to the railing, gesturing him back to his spot safely two feet away. She waited to speak until he complied.
“Okay, here’s the deal. You don’t need people kept away from you. It would defeat the purpose of the festival even if it could be done. So that’s out. But I will help you.”
“How?” He’d never been the most trusting of people, but when had he become so suspicious of her?
Bad question. No reason he’d think of her differently from anyone else.
“I’ll steer you through the worst of it and help you deal with the people you need to deal with. Who knows, you might learn something.”
“Okay.”
She snapped her head around so fast her neck twanged a complaint. That came awfully easy. It made her cop instincts prickle.
It didn’t matter. She wasn’t about to look a gift billionaire in the mouth. Especially when the corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned at her surprise.
“Deal.” She stuck out her hand.
“Deal.” He wrapped his hand around hers, but he didn’t shake it.
“Oh, there you are,” Cristina cooed from the top of the steps. That you was definitely singular.
“Don’t tell me I have to deal with this one,” he growled, loud enough for Cristina to have heard if she’d been paying any attention to anything other than descending the steps with maximum hip swinging.
“I’ll get you out of it this time, but you’re going to have to come up with a long-term solution.” Darcie kept her voice low. Partly so Cristina couldn’t hear and partly because she couldn’t talk loudly while she was biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing.
“Cristina!” Darcie turned. “Oh, my God, Cristina!”
The dramatic introduction broke the laserlike focus on Zeke. “What?”
“You can’t be around any of the judges, especially the Head Judge, except during official functions. Didn’t you read the agreement you signed?”
“I…but as long as you’re here—”
Darcie shook her head and started guiding the girl toward the stage. “It doesn’t matter—no contact outside official functions. You better go. I’d hate to see you disqualified.”
“They wouldn’t dare!” But her certainty had been dented.
Before Darcie ducked around the curtain, she looked back at Zeke and mouthed, You owe me.
Chapter Four
Zeke stepped out the back entrance and into evening sunshine.
Darcie had gotten that girl who clung like a leech away, but was this a fair trade-off for giving up his soul for three weeks? A deal with the devil.
Well, no not the devil. A deal with Darcie.
He’d forgotten how small her hand felt in his. Small, yet strong and competent.
He’d held her hand just once. That night.
After they’d maneuvered back into the front seat, she’d sat next to the door. He’d felt the absence of her against his side as if he were used to it when, in fact, he’d never experienced Darcie pressed against his side. That intimacy was reserved for couples, and that they’d never been.
When he drove her home, though, he’d gotten out of the car over her mumbled protests, swung wide the car door she’d partially opened, took her hand and walked her to her front door.
That was where his store of how to act had run out.
…you left town and never looked back.
He shook his head, shaking off the past, along with Darcie’s words.
Look to the future, that was his motto—like what in hell had he committed himself to with this deal? Three weeks in Drago, with people he didn’t like and giggling girls. He’d rather be back working in the unheated garage where he’d started Zeke-Tech, living for months on Ramen noodles and peanut butter.
On the other hand, there was an upside here. He would make his mother happy and spend time with Darcie.
First he had to talk to Chief Harnett about Darcie’s assignment.
He got in the car and listened to the well-tuned engine with satisfaction.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad deal after all.
Especially if he could experiment with a few things rattling around in his head that he never seemed to have time for. With Darcie steering him through the festival mess, he’d surface only when he had to.
Oh, yeah, and he’d take Jennifer to dinner. Because God knew they’d never talked in high school. Not like he and Darcie had, and were doing again.
Maybe I don’t want to spend that much time with you, Zeke. You’re used to everybody fawning over you, but I don’t find that side of you the least bit appealing.
On the other hand, maybe he didn’t want Jennifer to be quite as comfortable as Darcie, who said anything she wanted to him.
Darcie couldn’t believe her ears when the call came over the radio as she made rounds delayed while she’d kept watch on Zeke all afternoon.
Zeke had been stopped for speeding by the Drago Police Department’s lone rookie.
Corine’s voice broke into her thanks that Darcie wasn’t involved this time. “Chief wants to see you, Darcie.”
They were in the chief’s office. Zeke looked torn between irritation and satisfaction. The chief had settled on irritation. The rookie looked terrified.
Chief Harnett grunted acknowledgement of her arrival, but kept his focus on Zeke, who interrupted himself only long enough to nod at her.
“Then the officer asked where we were going in such a hurry. I had no idea where he’d been going, and I told him that. He didn’t give me an opportunity to te
ll him that I was coming here to see you, as I explained before, Chief. He started writing the ticket.”
The chief looked at the rookie, Kurt. “Is that what happened?”
He swallowed mightily. “Yes, sir.”
Darcie felt an odd connection to the chief in that moment. They both had enough experience to envision the dynamics of this traffic stop. The rookie had likely been torn between a righteous delight at stopping such a flashy car and a preemptive defensiveness that its driver might throw his weight around. So the rookie used that condescending “Where were we going in such a hurry?” line, even though Darcie had warned him during training not to indulge in such posturing. When Zeke called him on it, Kurt slapped him with a ticket.
What the rookie clearly didn’t understand, what the chief might not guess, but what she knew for sure was that Zeke had responded strictly in the interests of accuracy—he didn’t know where the officer had been going, so he couldn’t speak to we.
“You’re dismissed, patrolman,” the chief said.
Kurt shot Darcie an agonized look. She tipped her head toward the door, hoping her expression blended sternness with this-isn’t-the-end-of-the-world reassurance.
When the door closed, she spoke. “May I ask Zeke a question?”
The chief nodded.
“Were you speeding, Zeke?”
He met her eyes. “I was going thirty-five.”
“Then you were speeding. It’s twenty-five on Elm.”
The chief dropped his hand onto a pile of papers with the air of a man pointing out he had a lot of work and it was late. “Two times. We’ve stopped the festival’s Guest of Honor two times in less than twenty hours.”
“This time was his fault,” she pointed out.
Harnett glowered at her. “It doesn’t change that our guest appears to be having trouble getting around town. Mr. Zeekowsky has made a suggestion, and I agree. Darcie, you are hereby assigned as Mr. Zeekowsky’s detail, including driving him to and from official events.” He shifted his eyes to Zeke. “If you get stopped on your own time, you’ll get a ticket.”
“Full time?” Her pitifulness didn’t appear to move Harnett.
What Are Friends For? Page 6
