Crossing arms, he leaned against the wall, seemingly nonchalant though his head was killing him. “Comfortable, Howell?”
“Just getting used to the lay of the land, Kirk old boy. You’re going soft, you know. You’d never have made a mistake like this in the early days, my friend.”
“I don’t recall making any mistakes, my friend. Enlighten me.”
Howell smirked, the expression prissy on his narrow features. “The Rowan woman, of course. You need to fire her.”
Everett shook his head. “She’s our best manager.”
“Best screw-up, you mean.”
“No. I don’t.” Everett straightened away from the wall. “And it’s my decision to make, not yours.”
Howell studied buffed fingernails. “It may be mine in the future.”
“Perhaps — but not today. Time’s up, Howell.” Striding to his desk, Everett poked Howell’s heels off. They hit the floor with a thud.
“Fine.” Howell stood. “You’re president — for now.”
“Exactly. I’m president.” He let his anger show. “And Daddy’s enterprises are profitable. That’s all the board of directors cares about, Howell.”
“Not all.” Howell leaned forward, toe to toe and eye to eye, invading Everett’s space.
Everett neutralized him by simply straightening to his full height and glaring down.
Howell backed off. A mean glint entered his eye. “You may top me in the org chart but the board tops you. I wonder whom they favor? Oh wait. We’ll find out next month at the annual review meeting. My brass nameplate will look good on this desk, don’t you think?”
He spun and left.
Everett closed the door quietly. They’d bared their teeth and beaten their chests, and Everett had won.
But in retaliation Howell had brought in King Kong.
• • •
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: About me
My real name. Well, my mom called me Ev, my college friends called me E.E., and the people at work call me Hardass — they don’t appreciate my sterling qualities. Pick one ;)
Were you trying to electrify me with that last joke? Speaking of … How many programmers does it take to change a light bulb? None, it’s a hardware problem.
— Prez
That night — after she’d told her MMO guild she’d be away from keyboard for a week — Edie got on a Skype session with her grandparents. She told them about the camp and why she was going — but not whom she was traveling with.
Yet her grandmother said, “Who is he?”
“He? There’s no he.” The heat in Edie’s face said she was blushing like crazy but at 240p her grandparents wouldn’t see it.
“Of course not.” Fortunately her grandmother let it drop and they ended the call as they always did.
“I just want you to be proud of me,” Edie said.
“We are, sweetheart. We are.”
• • •
The next morning, the first thing to breach Edie’s awareness was soft, soothing music from her clock radio.
Followed by loud, masculine swearing from her apartment door.
A startled glance at the clock told her she’d overslept. Jingling jump drives, Kirk was here to pick her up. Two days alone in a car with his authority, his shoulders, his smile —
Pounding blasted the door. The man had fists like sledgehammers. Something told her he’d been pounding quite a while.
She groaned. She hadn’t even had her coffee yet. Thank goodness her brand-new, theft-deterrent door stood between her and a blistering lecture. She clambered out of bed and threw a robe over her oversized T-shirt. More pounding, blisteringly loud, drowned out the soft padding of her bare feet. Hopefully the door was as good as the sales rep promised.
She padded a bleary path from her bedroom, along the hall toward the living room.
The pounding stopped.
He’d given up. Yay. Not that Kirk was known for giving up, but she was desperate for caffeine. She U-turned for the kitchen.
A bam spun her. A bang, and the front door burst open in a shower of splintered wood.
Kirk rushed through. “Damn it, Edie. Are you all right?”
“Don’t swear. Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
He stepped into her living room and she saw the damage. Her eyes opened wide. Both door and jamb were splintered.
Apparently the rep had overstated its solidness.
“I still have eleven easy payments left on that!” She scurried past Kirk to get a better look.
And stepped on a chunk of broken wood. “Ouch.” Pain slashed her sole, stabbed her big toe.
“Damn it, Edie. You should have slippers on.”
“Please don’t swear — ”
“Screw that.” Kirk swept down on her and scooped her up.
Her belly swooped. She’d been carried by a man once but not so effortlessly. Kirk’s arms were immensely strong and secure and he smelled beguilingly of crisp air and cedar-packed wool. When he settled her on the living room couch, she was disappointed.
Disappointed? That scared the skit out of her. “I didn’t need slippers. My floor was perfectly clean until a moment ago.”
“We only have your word for that.” He sat on the couch at her feet. Grabbing her injured foot, he pinched her toe.
“Yowch! What are you doing?”
“Removing a splinter. A big ’un.”
“Sure you weren’t trying to pop my toe off?” But it did feel better.
He lifted her foot. “Hmm. A couple gashes.” He spread his arms to forklift her again. “We need to clean this.”
“No, we don’t.” She ducked and scooted to one corner of the couch. “I can walk.”
“Bare feet versus this floor? I’ll carry you.” He reached for her with his all-too-capable arms.
She leaped up, her injured foot slapping against hardwood. The gashes screamed protest and she stumbled, nearly face-planting into the wall.
Kirk leaped after her. “Damn it, Edie — ”
“Language!” She palmed stop. “You’re right. I’ll keep it off the ground, see?” She lifted her foot high — pulling something in her groin. She winched down a grimace and bunnied one-legged into the hallway.
Out of sight, she cautiously set her foot down.
“If you risk infection by putting that foot down,” Kirk called from the living room, “I will personally lash your ankle to your thigh. Let me warn you, I tie some pretty wicked knots.”
“I just bet you do,” she muttered. Did the man install an AuthorityCam to see around the corner? Stupid president, autocratic and demanding even off the job.
Grumbling, she hopped to the bathroom, found disinfectant and cotton balls, flopped onto her toilet seat, and pulled up her foot.
It was a dirty, bloody mess.
Phooey. If she hated his high-handedness, she hated worse when he was right. He was already arrogant enough.
She doused the cotton ball with disinfectant and swabbed her wounded foot, but it was like cleaning a muddy car with a makeup sponge. She just smeared the blood and dirt. So she started the water in the tub to rinse her foot instead. Then she decided she might as well shower. It was only efficient. Amazingly rational, considering she hadn’t had any caffeine yet.
But in case Prince Omniscience decided to be his usual argumentative self, she locked the door.
She stripped quickly, got right in, and started shampooing. She’d worked up a good lather when the pounding started at the bathroom door.
Half-blinded, she stuck her head out. The door bowed with each thud, Kill Door Part II. In hindsight, locking it might not have been the sma
rtest move. “What are you doing?”
“We need to get going.” Kirk’s deep voice carried easily through the composite. Another thud told her he was serious. “What are you doing?”
She started to yell, “I’m taking a shower,” but it would only get lost in the next bang. She grabbed a towel, twisted it around her, unlocked and opened the door.
Mid-swing, Kirk’s large and capable hand froze. He blinked. His gaze dropped. Widened.
Turned molten silver.
“I’m taking a shower.” Her voice came out a husky whisper.
“So I see.” His eyes closed and he sucked a bushel of air through distended nostrils. When he opened his eyes again they were fastened on her face. “Have you heard the weather report? No, of course not. You just woke up, didn’t you?”
“Well — ”
“Are you even packed?”
Her cheeks heated. “Mostly.”
“Which means what, you have a suitcase out?” He blew a disgusted breath. “Don’t you take anything seriously?”
“Of course I do. The important things.” She straightened to her full five-three and glared. Barefoot, her glare hit mid-chest. No tie today so she had it out with the press of his pecs against a soft white sweater. His very hard, very nice pecs … she shook herself. “I care about supporting my people. About keeping up with technology. I could care less about whether we leave at eight or eight-oh-five.”
His shook his head, ponytail swishing lightly. “What if five minutes makes the difference between life or death?”
“Oh, right. Because Freddy Krueger is now punching a clock.”
“No, because there’s a blizzard hammering Canada.”
“Headed south?”
“Headed east. It’s not forecast to hit us, or I wouldn’t risk the drive. But I want to get an early start just in case.”
Avoiding even the possibility of getting stuck in the mountains. Prudent and annoying. “Fine. I’ll hurry.” She slammed the bathroom door in his face.
The foot, cleaned up, wasn’t nearly so bad. A couple adhesive strips took care of it. Ten minutes later she was ready to go, dressed and only slightly damp.
Kirk’s gaze raked her blue jeans and sweatshirt. “You’re wearing that?”
“What’s wrong with casual? I like to be comfortable when I travel.”
“I’m casual.” He held out his arms.
Edie stared at his idea of “casual”: gleaming leather loafers (were those calf?), snazzy silk socks, slim wool slacks, and cashmere sweater, all topped by a black blazer and looped scarf. “No one’s going to see you except me. Why go to all that trouble?” When his expression went mulish she blew an exasperated, “Fine. Do I have time to change?”
His jaw worked briefly. “Where are your suitcases?”
She’d won — this round. She pointed to her shoulder, slung with carry-on bag, purse, and ancient laptop. Didn’t want to chance her new one getting stolen. “My boots are by the door. Do I have time to make coffee?”
“We’ll stop on the way.” He grabbed the laptop from her as she passed. Grunted. “What’s in here, a brick?”
She stopped to smile sweetly at him. “If it’s too much for you … ?”
“Hardly.” He shrugged it onto one powerful shoulder, muscles rippling … and while she was distracted, he grabbed her carry-on. Tricky buzzard. He gave her another penetrating look. “This is awfully light. You’re not wearing blue jeans to management camp, are you?”
“Relax. I have a couple lightweight suits in there.” Edie started for the door. Her shoes crunched broken wood. “Nuts. I forgot about this.” She brushed awed fingertips along the jamb. Sweet sex on a unicycle, it had taken enormous strength to crash through. “Why did you break my door down, anyway? Angry that I overslept?” She looked at him.
His cheeks were dark. Kirk, blushing? Impossible.
“You weren’t answering,” he said. “I thought you were in danger.”
Edie’s brows shot up. “You were rescuing me?”
“We can discuss it in the car. Let’s go.”
“Let’s not.” Edie headed for her landline phone. “I have to get my door fixed.”
“For heaven’s sake, Edie — ”
“Mr. Kirk. I don’t live on Snob’s Hill with pricey security systems and personal guards. I have to get this door fixed.”
Kirk’s lips tightened. “If we get hit by snow — ”
“Not going to happen. And this’ll just take a minute.” Edie put in a call to a neighbor who did repairs for her. While she waited for him to arrive, she breezed into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee.
• • •
Six hours later, Edie and Kirk were on the road. Tentatively, she said, “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”
Kirk’s jaw was clenched so hard, a small chin scar stood out against the white skin. “Not too bad?” His voice was exquisitely controlled and at first Edie thought she was imagining the anger radiating from him. But the teeth-grinding sound was rather distinctive. “Your fix-it man shows up after an hour. Then he takes off with your money, to ‘get a door.’ But when he returns — almost two hours later — his beer breath says he made a few other stops along the way. After all that it took him another two hours to hang a simple door.” Kirk made a noise of supreme disgust. “I could have done it in half the time, for fuck’s sake.”
“Please don’t swear. You, hang a door?” Edie tried to imagine Kirk’s snow-white sweater smudged with dirt, his neat chestnut hair mussed with effort. Started to smile and mentally smacked herself. “Really?”
“Yes, me, really. But what tops it all, we took the slacker to lunch!”
“You agreed.” Edie’s temper flared. “You said we needed to eat anyway.”
“I expected a drive-through, not slow-bake deep dish pizza.”
“It’s a long trip. I thought we needed a good meal before we left.”
“You can’t be serious. You barely ate anything.”
“I found out I wasn’t hungry.” Should have known better than to try to eat with big bad Kirk looming next to her, radiating heat and strength and subtle cedar scent … shoot her.
“But now we’re so late that, if the snowstorm veers, we’re in serious trouble.” His knuckles whitened on the wheel.
“The storm is stalled over Idaho. I checked the weather online before we left. When it does move, it’ll head east.”
“It had better.” The words were dark, ominous. “Because if my car gets stuck in the mountains, it’ll be thanks to you.”
“That’s not fair. I volunteered to take my Saab. You insisted on driving your sports sled.” Although the snazzy car was comfortable. And the engine’s deep thrum was very sexy.
“My ‘sled’ has all-wheel drive.”
“Whatever. Point is, if there’s a storm and if we get caught in it, two very big ‘ifs’, we’d have stood a far better chance in my car. It’s bigger and heavier.”
Everett raised a brow at her. “The wonderful classic Saab put in storage by your uncle Jake before he moved to the ashram in India? How old is it, again?”
“It’s in excellent condition.” She flushed, wishing she’d never babbled those details. But she’d had to fill the time waiting for the door somehow. “Front-wheel drive and great snow tires — ”
“And ancient. My sports car is less than a year old.”
“With barely enough room in the trunk for a handkerchief.”
“A bit of an exaggeration, since we got all our luggage in there — ”
“We had to stuff the laptops behind the seats.”
“May I finish a sentence?”
“If it’s short.”
His lips quirked, like a suppressed smile. “We managed to fit everything.”
Darn him for being reasonable. “I hate it when you’re right.”
The smile broke free, his dimple slaying her. “Thank you. Edie, my car has modern safety equipment. It’s far safer than yours.”
He had an answer for everything, naturally. She crossed her arms and stared out the window. “What about Project Pleiades? That’s due next Friday, and without me around to manage it … oh no. You didn’t give it to her, did you?”
“I wouldn’t do that to you. Jack will head it in your absence. Bethany will only get involved if he has questions.” He paused. “I got the original deadline reinstated.”
“Wow. That’s good. Thanks.” How had he managed that miracle? Better not ask. He’d probably done something super heroic and it would only go to his head.
Miles passed in comfortable silence. But when a couple flakes of snow hit the windshield, Kirk’s knuckles whitened again. Then the sky turned leaden with sullen pregnant clouds. Kirk’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything but his tension screamed your fault.
Or maybe she just had a guilty conscience.
But she didn’t see how she could’ve done things differently. She replayed the morning in her mind. It wasn’t her fault she needed to replace her door. Not her fault he refused her car.
She was not at fault. And even if she was, a teeny-tiny bit, Kirk should have apologized for his part in it, breaking the door. But no. Company presidents blamed the help.
Whatever had possessed him to break down her door anyway? Come to think of it, what had possessed him to insist on driving her today? They did nothing but argue. She wasn’t on Everett Kirk’s bucket list, yet he’d saddled himself with her for four days total. Inexplicable, inconceivable.
Maybe he was going to lecture her. She was confined. Aside from sticking her fingers in her ears and singing the verses she wasn’t supposed to know from Barnacle Bill, she couldn’t stop him.
The signs of civilization slipped away. She eyed Everett surreptitiously. Maybe he wasn’t just going to lecture her. Maybe he meant to teach her a lesson physically. He was a foot taller and probably outweighed her by fifty pounds plus, so she couldn’t stop him if he decided she needed a lesson in obedience … ooh, obedience. Bad girl. And Kirk in black leather and studs … well, he did know those wicked knots … her eyes flew open. For shizzle’s sake, he was her boss. Kinky sex with Kirk was like deep-fried pizza, just wrong. Hot and juicy and oh-so tasty … but wrong.
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