Authors: Lynne Silver
They reached the glass and metal entry doors. The lobby teemed with employees returning from lunch. Sark froze. “I remembered I promised to pick up a…smoothie for my coworker. He had to work the lunch shift, so I’ll get him some food.”
How sweet of him. “Okay, bye. Thanks again for lunch.” Impulsively, she leaned up and grabbed him for a tight hug. Her chest met surprisingly taut muscles.
He returned the hug, then stepped back and smiled. “Remember: Casey Harper. Send her that e-mail. A job won’t come find you, but I know you’ll find a job.”
…
And she would if he had anything to do with it. Was he or was he not the CEO of the damn place? What was the point if he couldn’t pull strings for a friend? Though the idea didn’t sit well with him. It wasn’t fair for the CEO to play favorites when there were many qualified employees about to lose their jobs, some with children. He wished he hadn’t agreed to moving the call center in the first place, but Ted, the COO, had been convincing with so many numbers and graphs to back up the data. If he had his druthers, the call center would stay in Chicago. He hated this part of his job. Sometimes he wished he truly was back on the help desk solving IT issues instead of getting a hands-on MBA on the fly.
Some days it seemed like his CEO title was in name only. Since LightWave had gone public, he’d lost a lot of say and voting power in the day-to-day operations of the company. Friends had warned him—they’d said that by taking the company public, he’d have to answer to shareholders and a board of directors. Going public had raised the capital they’d needed to get their technology onto practically every cell phone worldwide, but now the trade-off was giving him some miserable moments.
He hung out in front of the building for a few minutes, avoiding the pockets of smokers huddled by the concrete ashtrays, to give Michelle time to return to her desk. Walking through the lobby with her again and having people call hello to him would be a dead giveaway that he wasn’t simply Sark from the IT department. He felt horribly guilty about perpetuating the lie, but when she’d all but said she wanted to kick Noah Frellish’s ass, he’d about choked. He was impressed by her temper and simultaneously turned on by her ire. He’d give her a day or two—or twenty—to calm down. Then he’d atone for the lie by e-mailing Casey and telling her to be on the lookout for Michelle’s inquiry.
Any additional guilt he had over the deception dissipated when he remembered that Michelle was meeting the real him. CEO and founder of LightWave was a big part of him, but it wasn’t everything.
The conversation they’d had at lunch had been honest and almost intimate. Since he’d met her, the town of Chicago seemed a little brighter, a little warmer. When she’d said the silver lining of getting fired would be to spend time with him, he’d about jumped out of his chair to grab her for a kiss. He’d restrained himself with the harsh reminder that she thought he was someone else and as an executive in the company, he shouldn’t date her. No, he shouldn’t date her, but he could be her friend, right? Her very good friend with—what did they call it—benefits?
Benefits sounded good.
…
As soon as Michelle returned to her desk, she slipped on her headset and switched her phone to accept incoming calls. She fielded calls off and on for a few hours, but finally found a down minute to draft a polite e-mail asking to meet with Ms. Harper. She read it and reread it, and thought about e-mailing Sark to ask him to read it. But that was probably a little desperate.
Around three thirty, she bolstered her courage, moved her mouse over the send button, and clicked it. It was only an e-mail. The worst that could happen was it would be deleted without being read first.
She squeezed her eyes tight and opened them after a few seconds, wishing to see a response with an enthusiastic yes, but knowing it was unlikely, if not downright impossible. Or maybe not… Because there in bold in her in-box was an e-mail from [email protected].
Oh…crud. An auto-responder told her Ms. Harper was out of the office at an off-site meeting for the day. Any emergencies should be brought to her assistant. Was this an emergency? It certainly felt like one to her, but she doubted Ms. Harper, or her assistant, would view it as such. She swallowed her urgency and went back to work.
At 4:50, her phone lit up with an internal company call. She answered it, hoping it was Sark, but was surprised to find a female voice on the other end. It was Victoria from the marketing department, Casey Harper’s very pregnant assistant. Victoria wanted to meet with her. Was she free this evening?
“Yes,” Michelle practically shouted, and blushed as she garnered several looks from her coworkers, none of whom seemed to be friendly toward the new girl, especially when they were all now competing for any job openings in other departments.
The moment her shift ended at six, Michelle ran to the bathroom, brushed her hair, applied some lipstick, and did all the primping she had wanted to do for lunch with Sark. And if Sark saw her looking good as she walked around the fourth floor office space, so much the better.
Victoria was friendly, but coldly efficient as she glanced over the résumé Michelle had the presence of mind to print and bring with her.
“You don’t have any graphics experience.”
“I do. I drew all the sales posters at my parents’ store.”
Thankfully, Victoria didn’t laugh, just pursed her lips. “I meant computer graphics. Photoshop and the like.”
“I’m a fast learner and am sure I could pick it up very quickly.”
Victoria considered her. “Well, the graphics department does the heavy lifting for most art, but you’d have to prove you can manipulate it a bit for Casey to consider you.”
“How long would I have to learn the software program? When is Ms. Harper making the decision?”
“I’m supposed to go on maternity leave in three weeks. Casey wants to have someone already on board by then.”
Michelle nodded. The timing worked out perfectly.
Victoria rubbed her swollen belly and stretched out her ankles in front of her. “I probably shouldn’t share this, but there’s a good chance the position would become permanent. Technically, Casey’s not allowed to hire anyone to replace me while I’m on maternity leave, but the job is becoming too much for one person. If she gets approval for a new hire, she’ll do it.”
Excitement danced through Michelle’s body. The opportunity sounded awesome. All she had to do was prove her worth and learn the graphics program. But how the heck was she going learn a complicated software program in two weeks, let alone do her current job?
In a perfect television sitcom world, she’d hit the shops to find the perfect learning-software outfit and spend a music-filled montage clicking away at the computer, then dancing after she landed the job. But this was real life. She didn’t even have the program yet, let alone have a Michigan Avenue shopping budget.
Chapter Three
Sark took a deep breath as he surveyed the entire office floor. He’d had another crack-of-dawn meeting and was at the office alone, except for the corporate communications team, which refused to leave him alone for the media call to a London journalist. They liked him to stay “on message,” which he mostly managed to do when he could remember what the message was. Usually it was full of garbage marketing words that had little to do with his vision for global technology. But today’s meeting had gone okay. He’d only caught his PR handler wincing once or twice. But now he was on to another project.
Casually, he strode through the sea of empty third-floor call center desks, where he rarely spent time, and dropped a bag of M&M’s on Michelle’s desk. No note. She’d know who they were from. Besides, what name would he sign on the card? This double-life deception was getting to him. The next time he saw Michelle, he was telling her the truth. If she never wanted to talk to him again and blamed him for her job situation, so be it. At least he could live with his conscience.
After the candy delivery, he headed back upstairs to his executive suite. It was similar to everyone else’s work space, only larger and protected by his administrative assistant acting as sentry. Theoretically, they enabled him to get some work done without a gazillion people stopping by to say hi or ask questions. Sometimes it actually worked and he had a free minute or ten to himself. Mostly, he was shuttled from meeting to meeting.
It was getting exhausting. He missed the days when the company was a start-up—just him and two other engineers flubbing their way through the day. How had it come to this—three hundred employees under his leadership, with people constantly throwing him business questions as if he had the experience to answer them?
The day fell into routine like any other and before he knew it, it was lunchtime, and he realized he still hadn’t heard from Michelle about the M&M’s. He started to send her an e-mail, then realized he wanted to hear her voice, so he picked up the phone.
“Thank you for calling LightWave Technology. This is Micky speaking. How may I help you today?”
“Michelle?”
“Sark?”
“Oh, it
is
you. Why are you answering the phone as Micky?”
She gave a soft giggle. “I’m Micky. It’s call center 101. Never use your real name.”
“Really? I never knew that. Why Micky?”
There was a long silence on the line. “I’d rather not say.”
He didn’t like that, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. He found himself wanting to tell her about his day, about how the board of directors was pushing for them to hire a new CEO and change his role to chief technology officer in the everyday operations of LightWave. The company he’d created with one hundred bucks and a lot of blood, sweat, and coffee. “Please. I want to know.”
“My brother called me Micky as a kid. He couldn’t say his
ch
words and Michelle came out as Micky. I used to like the nickname until some girls in middle school thought it would be funny to add
mouse
to the end. To this day, I’m still called Mickey Mouse when I go home. I’ve never even been to Disney.”
He hated hearing the annoyance in her voice. He’d had his own tormentors in middle and high school and been no better at defending his honor. “But you chose Micky as your call center name anyway?”
“Yep. I decided to take pride in it, since I made it out of Minsker and they’re still there.”
“Good for you.” He wished he could feel the same about his bullies. Some might say he’d had his revenge as the founder and CEO of one of the industry’s hottest tech companies, but he didn’t think so. A TARDIS to take a buff MMA version of himself back to high school would be much better.
“But the joke’s on me, since I’ll be back there in a month like I never left.”
“No luck with the marketing job?” He wondered what had happened. Casey had agreed to interview Michelle when he’d asked.
“I need to know some graphics program. I’m trying to learn, but I couldn’t even install the trial version on my computer. It required too much memory for my old machine.”
“Well, I can help with that. I know enough to tutor you, and we can use one of my machines.”
This isn’t a date. I’m just helping a fellow employee.
Yeah, tell that to his rapidly beating heart, which drummed harder at the thought of close, prolonged contact with Michelle.
“You know Photoshop?”
Not as well as some of his friends, but he knew the basics at least enough to help her. “Sure. How soon do you want to meet?”
“Now!” Her voice rang through his handset, and he smiled at her eagerness. “No, I wish. Are you free after work?” she asked.
He mentally reviewed his afternoon schedule. He had a late meeting with Ted and some other board members, but he should be free by eight. He wanted to see her. He had to tell her who he was, and if he could get her on his turf, maybe explain enough that she wouldn’t reject him out of hand. “You could come to my place. I can’t cook well, but I heat up, and I have lasagna left over from my mom.”
“No using up your leftovers from Mom—those are special. I’ll bring some food and cook. It’s the least I can do to thank you for helping me. You’ve been ridiculously nice.”
“Don’t say that.” He swallowed uncomfortably. “I have a hidden motive, you know.” Jesus, he’d never heard his voice go so deep. He was glad his assistant seemed to be busy on her own phone call.
Michelle laughed, a low, throaty chuckle that made him huddle over the phone protectively in case his admin was actually listening.
“I’m all for hidden motives when they’re for the greater good,” she said. “Eight o’clock? Your place?”
“I’ll e-mail you the address and directions.” He wished he could offer the services of the company car and driver, but that would be a dead giveaway something was up, and he knew he needed to come clean in person. He hung up and smiled at the vista of his office, not seeing anyone specifically.
“Karen, block eight to ten off on my calendar for tonight. I’m booked,” he announced.
His assistant grinned. “Done. Glad to see you blocking time for something personal other than grueling mountain biking weekends.” So obviously her phone call had been a ruse. She had been nosily listening in, but at the moment, he didn’t care.
“I do social.” Didn’t he?
“Hanging with the other company engineers doesn’t count, Noah. You end up talking business.”
“Call me Sark, Karen. I’ve told you dozens of times. And this is a business thing. Kind of.” Maybe if he kept telling himself that, his body would believe it.
“Maybe after a few hundred reminders, I’ll call you Sark,” she replied, not even a little in awe of his position as CEO. When they’d first started working together six months ago, it had been an adjustment on both sides. After twenty years of working in the corporate banking world, Karen had been shocked at his casual informality, and he’d been adamantly sure he didn’t need someone to manage his calendar and incoming e-mail. As it turned out, they both learned their lesson and now worked together like a well-oiled machine.
Now he only had to get through the rest of the day.
Michelle was late. He stood at the base of the stairs coming off the train tracks, hoping she’d understood the directions. He’d decided to meet her at the El station so they could walk the few blocks to his apartment above his friend’s garage together. The garage had been the original office space for LightWave, and when the company had been able to afford real rent, he’d stayed behind.
Call him superstitious, but he’d done some of his best coding here.
Sure, he now owned a loft overlooking Lake Michigan, but that was more of an investment, or so his financial adviser had told him. And moving there would require taking a day or two off work. Not to mention he’d miss the ease of having his buddies in the main house. Left to his own devices, he’d get caught up in coding and never join the social world of off-line humans.
Slim legs in thin high heels came down the stairs, but the woman attached to the legs was hidden by two large brown paper bags filled to the brim. He stood on tiptoe to see over them. “Michelle?”
The bags lowered and teetered precariously to reveal her smiling face. He dove to catch one and safely rescued it from her arms.
“Nice catch. You didn’t have to meet me at the train. I would’ve found my way.”
He grinned at her and wished both their arms were unencumbered to hug each other. “I wanted to meet you, and I’m glad I did. You nearly dropped the bag. How are you walking in those heels? I didn’t mean to make you carry all this stuff on the train.”
“It’s food and some supplies. I wasn’t sure how well stocked your kitchen was. I didn’t want to be surprised.”
His kitchen was very well stocked thanks to his mom, but he didn’t mention that. In his experience, any mention of mothers did weird things to women. Either they thought it was sweet he was close to his mother, or they thought he was too dependent. He thought he was fine. It wasn’t as if he
asked
his mother to stock his kitchen or bring by food. “You’re a regular Girl Scout.”
“On my honor…Troop two fifty-four for life.”
Somehow he wasn’t surprised she’d been a Girl Scout. It fit with her wholesome, perky persona.
They strolled together through the night air, which held a hint of the bitter Chicago winter on the horizon. “Any word on the marketing front?” he asked, although he knew the answer. It was a no-go unless she could prove capable with the desired software.
“Nothing new. I think they’re interviewing some other people at the same time. I’m probably not even remotely qualified.” For a moment she looked sad, then with visible effort, she smiled and said, “Tell me about your neighborhood. I’ve been trying to explore Chicago on the weekends, but I haven’t been in this area yet.”
At last, something he could tell the truth about. “I’m taking you to the original LightWave office. We were a true start-up in every sense, as evidenced by the garage office space. When the company moved out, I stayed in the apartment over the garage.”
“Wow.” She laughed and shifted the grocery bag. Her coat sleeve brushed his arm. “You really were one of the first employees.”
Employee numero uno, to be accurate. He grunted and changed the subject. “What about your family? Are they happy you’re here or do they miss you?” He glanced over at her striding alongside him in her sexy heels. Those long, toned legs put dangerous thoughts in his head.
She heaved a sigh at his mention of family. “My dad is excited for me, because he knows moving to a city was my dream. My mom is a different story.”
When she didn’t elaborate, he asked, “In what way?”
“She wanted me to stay in Iowa and marry my high school boyfriend. She thinks I’m going to be corrupted living in the big city.”
“And you?”
“Gosh, I hope so. I could use some corrupting.” She laughed even as her cheeks colored pink, visible under the faded glow of an overhead streetlight. He glanced sidelong at her with a smile. He needed to tell her his true identity, but maybe it should wait until after dinner. It was a conversation best had on a full stomach. He didn’t know if knives were among the supplies in her large grocery bags—best not to find out the hard way.
“What about you? Have you lived in Chicago all your life?” she asked, distracting him from his inner turmoil.
“Other than a few years outside of Boston, yes.” They’d arrived at his apartment, and he turned her by the elbow up a concrete set of steps at their right. He shifted the grocery bag to unlock the door and gestured for her to enter. While she circled the small apartment’s interior, looking around, he laid out all her supplies on the counter.
“I didn’t know you could rent an apartment like this. My parents would certainly feel better if they knew I was in a place in suburbia.”
He shrugged. Apartments like this were hard to come by unless the owners were your friends.
“How are your landlords?” Michelle peered out the window toward the main house.
“They’re nice. You may meet them later if they stop by. They’re longtime buddies of mine, and they rent the main house while I chose the garage. Do you have anything that needs to go in the fridge?”
She turned back to him. “No. I’ll get the chicken in the oven right away. It should cook pretty quickly, since it’s boneless and skinless. Don’t tell my mom. She thinks chicken without bones is against nature.”
He laughed. “I don’t think
my
mother knows chicken comes any other way.”
She stepped over to his desk, which dominated most of the space in the living room. The apartment was small, a galley kitchen attached to the living room with two doors off to the bedroom and the bathroom. It was all he needed. “This is some computer setup. Looks like you’re running the space station from here.”
He laughed. “I wish. That would be cool. I’d love to go to NASA to take a tour.” He’d been invited but hadn’t found time to go yet.
They continued chatting, and she eventually told him to take time to work on something else while she got dinner in the oven. He sat on the couch with a laptop on his thighs and scanned through e-mail. He liked hearing her patter and clang around the kitchen while he worked. It felt homey. Nice.
He got so involved in his e-mail he barely noticed when Michelle slid next to him on the couch where he reclined. She smelled good, like perfume and cooking spices. He shut his laptop and placed it with a small
thud
on the coffee table at his feet. He turned his torso and realized their faces were only inches away.
They were close enough that he could see the spectrum of brown and hazel in her eyes. All he had to do was lean in an inch and their lips would meet. And then she pulled back.
“We work for the same company. This probably isn’t a good idea…” she said.
He stared at her lips, a massive internal battle raging between his conscience, screaming to tell her he was Noah Frellish, and his hormones, shrieking to grab her and kiss her anyway. Her next words stunned him.
“Even with this total attraction between us.” Her fingertip touched her lips, and she kept talking, but everything after the word
attraction
sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher.