Читать книгу Pillow Talk - Kathleen O'Reilly - Страница 10

ON MONDAY, Jessica arrived at work at 7:00 a.m. sharp. She tried to stay busy, reading over the third-quarter forecast, marking the items that seemed questionable. Better analyzing numbers than staring at her computer and analyzing Saturday’s skin-tickling encounter with Adam.

Mr. Taylor.

The Ax-man.

She needed to keep him in perspective, but he made perspective very difficult.

Needing a distraction, she read all her e-mail, accepted Mickey’s lunch invitation, and just when she was done, one last message made it through.

Jessica,

Do you have the preliminary numbers for the third-quarter forecast? Could you drop it by my office?

Adam

She tapped her fingers on the keyboard. Office? Whose office? Last she’d heard, his team would be using the conference room at the corner of the building. She fired off her reply.

Adam,

Whose office?

Jessica

In a few seconds, she heard the incoming e-mail chime.

Jessica,

Look out your window.

Adam

Nooo.

She turned and stared out her window that faced into the interior of the building. Sure enough, across the atrium, directly in her line of vision, stood Adam. Without a jacket. Looking wonderfully awake and full of pep. He waved at her.

She waved back. With all the enthusiasm of a turkey in November.

He wanted the preliminary third-quarter figures? Fine. She printed out a copy of the spreadsheet that she’d put together, took a cup of coffee and made her way to his office.

His door was open, so she didn’t bother to knock. She noted that he had been given one of the bigger offices, bigger than hers. Petty, very petty, but still it ticked her off. Jessica put the paper down on his desk and turned to leave.

“Miss Barnes, just a minute. I have some questions,” he said, the hint of some genteel Southern up-bringing in his voice.

Of course he had questions. Jessica pulled up a chair and took a sip of hot coffee. That improved her mood significantly. She hadn’t been sleeping well recently. Mostly worrying about her job, but every now and then those steamy dreams reared their prurient heads. Those were the ones that made her nervous.

She slid an inch away from him. Not that it helped. She could still smell his cologne, could still feel his warmth, even from where she sat. Just to be safe, she slid an inch farther.

As if he knew her thoughts, Adam turned his head and looked at her.

She smiled in return, a smile that wasn’t going to reach her eyes, but she was determined to make the effort. Be professional.

Then he fired off his questions. How comfortable was she with the European prospects? Did they consider the number from the telecommunications sector viable? Each time he asked, she answered, confident of the data.

At long last, he leaned back in his chair, apparently satisfied. “You do a great job.”

She nodded her head, acknowledging the compliment. She had worked her rear off to get where she was. At last she had found a place where she belonged, a place where she could do something good. It was easy to do a great job now. “I’ve been at Hard-Wire since the early days of the product plan. I don’t want anything to happen to this company.”

Her nose began to tickle and she held up a finger, before eventually the sneeze erupted. He handed her a tissue.

“Like the possible acquisition.” It wasn’t a question.

She stuffed the tissue in her pocket, stalling more than anything. There was a time for honesty and a time for tact. Carefully she studied his face, his cool eyes expressionless. Eventually she shrugged. Honesty was her style. “Yes. JCN is too big and cumbersome. Hard-Wire will lose its competitive edge. The speed to market.”

“But JCN can give you the brand name and stable image you need.”

Jessica stiffened her spine. She had heard the rationale. “We shouldn’t be having this discussion.”

“Probably not, but I’m interested in why you’re so opposed. Everyone else is walking around with a satisfied smile, planning for that new car they’re hoping to buy.” He took a pen and tapped it on the desk, the sound carrying in the quiet room. “Sounds like a disconnect to me. Maybe you see something that JCN doesn’t.”

Jessica stood, coffee in hand. Retreat was the best solution. “I’ll leave now.”

“Before you go, I’ve got one more thing.”

“What?”

“Our bet.” He pulled out a thick, leather-bound volume. “I’m assuming you’ll believe the U.S. government?”

She hedged, staring at the defeat he held in his hand. “Not always.”

“There.” He opened the book to the bookmark and ran one finger down to the middle of the page. She edged behind him, trying to ignore his cologne, trying to pretend she wasn’t studying the thick dark waves that settled so nicely against his neck. “Seventy-five percent of those people who are married have never been divorced. People who’ve been divorced tend to get divorced again. It’s a common misinterpretation of the actual facts.”

When he turned in his chair, she realized she was closer than comfort demanded. His arm brushed against her leg, just a touch, probably an accident. An accident that nearly spilled her coffee. She took a long, steadying breath. Easy, girl.

“I owe you a dollar. I don’t have one with me, but I’ll make sure you’re paid before the end of the day.”

His smile turned sly. “You can owe me.”

She wanted to be offended. She wanted to step back and play the outraged female. But her nerve endings had plans of their own. Still and frozen, she was determined to persevere. “You win this round, Taylor.”

For a moment his eyes softened. “You like to win, don’t you, Barnes?”

She’d lost one too many times in her life. “Everyone does.”

Then the shutters fell, the softness was gone. “A class act knows when to throw in the towel, too.”

He meant Hard-Wire. He meant preparing for the inevitable. But for her that meant defeat. First they’d have to pry the office badge from her cold, dead hands. She sneezed. “I’ll take the next round.”

The arrogant man shrugged. “If there is a next round.”

“Of course there will be. Good day, Mr. Taylor.” She turned to leave, slamming the door behind her.

JESSICA’S 11:00 A.M. staff meeting dragged on forever. She couldn’t wait to escape the confines of the building, and lunch with Mickey would go a long way to reestablishing her peace of mind.

She hoped.

When she made it to the small burger place just outside the Loop, Mickey was already seated. After they ordered, the talk was innocent and free of Mickey’s mind tricks. They discussed her new project at the research lab, the Cubs, and made plans for the weekend. Just when Jessica started to relax, blitzkrieg began.

“You’re uptight, J. More so than usual. It’s Taylor, isn’t it?”

Jessica chose the easy answer. “He’s the enemy, Mick. JCN.” Her voice fell soft. “They’d eliminate my position. Strike that—they’d eliminate the whole finance department.”

“You don’t know that. Besides, the stock options would help you weather the storms.”

Jessica knew she’d make a little money on a buyout, but that was small comfort. She wanted VP. And her experience wasn’t strong enough to be VP at anyplace but Hard-Wire. Being without a job, talking to headhunters, networking. The whole process put a huge rock in her stomach.

And made her sneeze. She searched her purse for a tissue.

Mickey held up a French fry, analyzing it before popping it into her mouth. “I don’t think you should go out with him.”

“Why not?”

“Office romance. Bad for your image.”

Jessica knew that. Seeing Adam personally, in any capacity, on a date or in his bed, could end up a CLM—career-limiting move. “I know,” she said, still dwelling on the “in his bed” image.

Mickey snagged another fry. “Bet he’s a jerk.”

A jerk? Those misty green eyes of his weren’t full of jerkiness. Every now and then he lowered his shields and she saw something else. Sadness? “Not really. He seems more remote than anything.”

“Maybe he’s from New York. That would explain it.”

“No. He’s from somewhere in the South. Can’t figure out where.”

Mickey drew a double helix in the ketchup. “The South? New York would have been better. Your allergies would go ballistic.”

Jessica sneezed. “Thank you, oh brilliant one.”

“Hey, I call ’em like I see ’em.”

“What would you do? Would you gamble your professional image on a question mark?”

“J, there are two sorts of men in the world. Ethyl alcohol and nitric acid. The ethyl alcohol is a steady reliable fuel, doesn’t burn clean, but it always burns. When you need to get there, positively, in three days—ethyl alcohol. And then there’s nitric acid. It won’t always fire, but when it does? To the moon, baby. You’ve got to make the decision: alcohol or nitric.”

Jessica pulled the tissue through her hands. “I’m getting too old for nitric acid.”

Mickey shrugged. “Your decision.”

“There’s not one good reason I should go for it.” She had thought about it for some time. Fourteen days to be exact. Hot sex, although tempting, was not rational or logical given the situation. So why was she still thinking about it?

Mickey’s laugh was the evil laugh of a mind reader. “I can see it’s pointless to argue. You want him? Do him.”

“No, no, no. I don’t need the additional stress.”

“Yes, I can see you’re the picture of relaxed self-contemplation.”

Jessica buried her head in her hands. “Forty-seven days and then he’ll be gone. I just have to resist him for forty-seven days.”

“How long has it been?”

“Fourteen.” Her nose tickled, giving her its own opinion. One, two, three. Ha-choo.

“Then you might as well throw in the towel now, because I’m figuring within another week, you’ll either be having a seriously good time with Mr. Taylor, or else you’ll be buried alive under a mountain of shredded tissue.”

Jessica stared at the little bits of paper that were littered across the table like broken dandelions. The histamines had won.

SOMETIMES Adam drove to the high-rise office park on Monroe that housed Hard-Wire, sometimes he took the El. On the long assignments, he kept his car with him. The car kept him from getting lonely.

Lonely. His mom would have a field day with that. He could just hear her.

You wouldn’t be lonely if you’d just settle down. All that travel, one of these days your plane is going to crash and then where will you be?

“Up in heaven with you, Ma,” he answered aloud. An automatic reply.

Pretty words never worked on me. I raised you, boy. I taught you everything you know.

He laughed at that and took a right-hand turn into traffic.

Cancer had buried his mother two years ago and it was only now that the sadness was starting to give way. He liked driving in the car and feeling as though she was there. Some days when the loneliness hit him hard, he talked to her aloud. Just like in Psycho. Which didn’t worry him as much as it should. But he kept the secret to himself because he knew nobody else would understand.

Of course, now his conscience sounded just like his ma. At least he’d always assumed it was his conscience.

The cell phone beeped and he looked at the caller ID to see if he wanted to be available. Vanessa Green.

He let it go for two rings, weighing the pros and cons. Strategic potential versus lack of synergy. Finally potential won out and he pushed the button. “Adam Taylor here.”

“Adam, it’s Vanessa. How are you?”

“Doing great. Glad to hear from you. How’s the weather in L.A.?”

“Fabulous. Listen, I hope you don’t mind me calling, but I wanted to get that title that you were recommending.”

Title? Geez, what had he said? “Oh, yeah. Listen, I’m in the car. Can I call you from home? Need to check my shelves. I’ll get the publisher as well.”

I didn’t raise you to lie, either.

“Not now, Ma.”

“What was that?”

Adam slapped his palm against the steering wheel. “Sorry, Vanessa. Just a little late-afternoon fatigue. I’ll call you this evening, okay?”

“Sure. Thanks, Adam.” Click.

Nope. Vanessa wasn’t it. He’d taken her out once about three months ago, and although she had the right requirements, the core product seemed off in some way.

He knew what he wanted. A sweet young thing who wanted 2.5 kids and a garden out back. Somebody who understood the concept of home and staying firmly planted in one place.

He had wandered around the country for so long, assignment to assignment, the idea of coming home to one woman, one family sounded like his own personal paradise.

The house had been an impulse buy, a two-story Victorian that he painted when he was back in Alabama.

Now he just needed to find someone to share it with.

An SUV pulled in front of him and he slammed on the brakes. The Porsche slid to a halt and Adam swore under his breath.

“Sorry, Ma. I forgot.”

This time the voice in his head didn’t reply.