Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) (3 page)

Still nothing. His eyes were a bit wider though. Surely that couldn’t be a good sign?

“And I’m not the one that keeps adding
h-o-g
to Liam’s nameplate.” The guy’s last name was
Hedge
. Really, he was just asking for that one.

“Or—”

“Stop!”

I clamped my lips shut.

Jackson cleared his throat. “While I appreciate your willingness to, um, clear your conscience . . .” he paused, “none of those things are why I brought you in here.”

“Then why did you?”

“I was getting to that, before your impromptu confessional.”

Oh. I shut up again.

“I had a project come in and need a programmer with certain skills,” he said. “You seem to be the only person on staff familiar with LISP.”

I was still processing the “need a programmer” part so my brain took longer than usual to catch up.

“LISP?” I asked. “Um, yeah. I went through a phase where I was studying the first programming languages. I learned FORTRAN and LISP. Not a lot of stuff being written in those nowadays, but it’s helpful to learn for maintenance purposes.” I shrugged. “Besides, I was bored.”

“You were bored,” Jackson echoed. I nodded. “And how old were you?”

“Thirteen.” Not every thirteen-year-old girl wanted to host sleepovers and paint their friends’ nails . . . Okay I
had
really wanted to have a sleepover, but the smell of fingernail polish gave me a headache. And since there was no one to have a sleepover
with
, I learned coding languages.

“I see.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. My eyes were drawn to his shoes.

I had a thing for a really good pair of men’s shoes. Not to wear or anything—I wasn’t
that
weird—but I could appreciate the expense and quality of well-made leather footwear. And Jackson Cooper always wore nice shoes, polished to a gleaming shine. His clothing was almost always the same palette of gray or black pants paired with a button-down shirt, also in a gray or black. He never wore a tie, and his shoes were never the same two days in a row.

I could feel his gaze on me and I kept mine on his hand, which was draped on his ankle. His hands were large and looked strong, but weren’t roughened by manual labor. The fingers were long and tapered, almost like a pianist’s. Looking at them made my thoughts wander in an unprofessional direction and I hastily averted my eyes.

It was nerve-racking, being in here alone with him. I’d worshipped him from afar ever since he’d first made his name in tech. Yes, empirically speaking, he was closer to the Ten on a scale of One to Ten and I wasn’t blind. But his main draw, at least in my opinion, was how smart he was. Compared to him, most of the population were just jabbering monkeys, myself included.

Whereas my hands had been cold, now they were clammy with sweat and I had to consciously stop myself from wiping my palms on my jeans. That would look really gross. I pushed my glasses up my nose instead and focused on Jackson’s eyes rather than his body.

Oh geez. It felt wrong to even be
thinking
that word in reference to my boss.
Body
. . .

“. . . currently working on—the version upgrade for MTS—let’s take you off that for now,” he was saying. I nodded like I’d been listening all along. “I’ll e-mail you a brief of what I need and the project outline. You can look that over and we’ll meet tomorrow to work out anything that needs clarification.”

Which was a really nice way of saying
anything I didn’t understand
, because I had no doubt that I’d have to wade my way through what Jackson would view as a light bedtime story.

Jackson looked like he was waiting for an answer or some sign that I was comprehending the words coming out of his mouth.

“You betcha!” I blurted, then inwardly cringed at how ridiculous I sounded. I forced a smile that widened until my lips were sticking to my dry teeth. This time he didn’t even bother with a polite perfunctory smile back. I couldn’t blame him.

“Okay, thank you,” he said, rising to his feet and heading for his desk.

I was up and off the couch like a shot, or I would’ve been if the couch hadn’t fought me. There was a gravitational pull of black-hole proportions and it wanted my ass to stay right there. After fumbling for a moment in the depths of the cushions, I struggled my way to my feet. I could feel Jackson’s eyes on me and my face burned, but I didn’t dare look at him as I hightailed it back to my cube.

Only after I’d curled up in my usual semisquat in my chair did it hit me: I was going to be working side-by-side on a project with none other than Jackson Cooper.

Holy shitballs.

2

Monday night was when I worked late, which wasn’t hard on this particular Monday, and ordered pizza on my way home. It had taken me the entire day and the better part of the evening to read through what Jackson had e-mailed me. As I’d figured, it wasn’t exactly entry-level stuff. I took notes and highlighted, wrote down questions, and dug out my old tech books. I forgot to eat lunch and lost track of time. It was a challenge and I loved it.

So long as I didn’t think about having to work with Jackson, I was fine.

“Hi Reggie . . . yeah, it’s China,” I said into my Bluetooth. “I know I’m late . . . seven minutes . . . yeah, the usual, please—no, wait. Let’s go crazy. Add extra cheese.”

I heard a laugh in my ear. Reggie got a kick out of my detailed routine and it had taken him about two months to figure out I called at precisely the same time every Monday night and ordered exactly the same thing. The only two variations were last February when I’d ordered dessert (in honor of Valentine’s Day), and tonight. Being asked to help the boss on a project was cause for some celebration, I thought. Therefore, extra cheese.

Ordering from the car ensured just enough time for me to get home, change clothes, and pop open a Red Bull before the doorbell rang.

I liked to keep my apartment warm, so wearing a thin pair of sweats and a tank was perfect.
It felt good to be out of jeans and a bra.
I wiggled my toes.
And shoes.

Grabbing some money from the envelope I kept in a kitchen drawer (put there for this purpose), I jogged for the door and yanked it open.

“Perfect tim—” I stopped. Because it wasn’t the pizza guy at my door, it was Jackson.

I was so shocked, I stood there gaping at him for a moment, then blurted, “What are you doing here?”

He ignored my question. “Can I come in?”

I couldn’t compute. “This isn’t right. You’re supposed to be at work. Not at my house.”

“I’m not at work twenty-four seven, China,” he said mildly.

“No no, I mean, yeah, I know that, but you’re at my house . . .” My words faded away as common sense took over. I was making my boss stand on my stoop in the dark, moths dancing around his head in the light I’d left on for the pizza guy. “Crap. Yeah, sure, come in.”

I stepped back inside and he followed me. Everything was all awry. I wasn’t dressed properly. He shouldn’t be here—how did he even know where I lived anyway? The pizza guy would be here any minute and was there enough for two people? Of course there was, but then I wouldn’t have leftovers tomorrow and would have to do something different for lunch. I hated different. And he’d undone another button on his shirt, not that I’d noticed.

“I’m sorry to arrive unannounced like this,” Jackson said as I closed the door behind him. I reached up and tightened my ponytail, then shoved my glasses up my nose. A twofer in my nervous jitter repertoire.

“It’s fine.” Which was such a lie. This wasn’t fine. Not at all. What was I supposed to do with him? The only men I had in my apartment were my
RuneQuest
squad and I didn’t really count them as men of potential romantic interest since two of them still lived at home with their parents and the other two lived together in the Biblical sense. Jackson Cooper was most definitely a
man
in all the ways that mattered most to a female.

Something to drink. Yes. That would break the ice. And would give me something to do.

“Do you want something to drink?” I asked.

“Sure. That’d be great.”

Okay. He said yes. I spun on my heel and hurried to the kitchen, then realized I hadn’t asked him
what
he wanted to drink. Shit.

“Um, so, yeah, I have water . . .” Duh. Everyone with a sink had water. I opened the fridge. “Milk . . . Red Bull . . . cranberry juice . . .” I think I had one dusty bottle of merlot someone had given me. I could offer him that. “Wine—”

“Red or white?”

I jumped at his sudden proximity and shut the door too hard. He’d come into the kitchen without me realizing, since my head had been buried inside the refrigerator.

“Um, red, I think.” I pushed my glasses up again and moved past him to get the bottle from my cupboard. I’d just realized I didn’t own a wine-bottle opener corkscrew thing when I saw it was a screw-top cap. Thank God. Disaster averted.

I poured him a glass then thought I should pour myself one, too. I handed his to him. “Here you go.”

He said “Cheers” and held up his glass to toast just as I took a big gulp. I choked.

“Easy there,” Jackson said, slapping my back, which just made things worse.

Coughing and spluttering, I grabbed a dish towel and coughed into it. My eyes were watering but even so, I could detect the pity in his eyes. Could this get any worse? And I still didn’t know why he was here.

The doorbell rang just as I was getting myself under control and Jackson went to get it before I could stop him.

“Who’re you?” was the first thing out of Reggie’s mouth.

“I’m Jackson.” He took in Reggie’s uniform and the flat box he held. “How much do we owe you?” He reached for his wallet.

“We? Where’s China? I ain’t never seen you before, mister.”

“You deliver pizza here often?”

“Every Monday night. Like clockwork.”

“Here, Reggie,” I said, squeezing between Jackson and the open doorway and holding out money. “Thanks.”

Reggie gave me a look I couldn’t figure out—people were so hard—and handed me the box before turning around and leaving. Okay, one problem solved. The other problem was standing so close, our bodies were touching.

“Want some pizza?” I asked, taking the warm, aromatic box into the living room. I set it on my coffee table. It was almost time for
Supernatural
. I liked to watch it live so I could tweet about it. How long was Jackson going to stay? “Did you want a slice?” I asked.

“I don’t want to eat your dinner,” he said, which wasn’t really a
Yes
or a
No
. I was afraid it was one of those phrases that had some kind of societal propriety behind it, which meant I had no clue whether he really wanted a piece or not.

I was too tired for this. I’d already worked all day and there was a reason my primary partner was a computer. If he wanted a piece, I hoped he’d just say so.

“Okay,” I said with a shrug. Grabbing a slice and my wine, I sat cross-legged on my couch and took a bite, my gaze on Jackson who was likewise watching me. He looked good, really good, and my gaze was drawn to the patch of skin revealed by the undone buttons. The pizza was suddenly hard to swallow and I had to wash it down with a chug of my wine.

Jackson took a drink as well and sat down next to me on the couch.

Seven minutes until
Supernatural
.

“As I was saying, I apologize for arriving unannounced like this,” he said. “There were a couple of things I needed to discuss with you before we move forward on this project.”

“And it couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?” I took another nervous bite of pizza.
Jackson Cooper was in my apartment. Jackson Cooper was sitting on my couch. Jackson Cooper was drinking my wine. Jackson Cooper was close enough for me to smell his cologne . . .
I shut those thoughts down right there and shoved in more pizza.

“It’s not something I wanted to talk about there.” His gaze dropped.

Oh my god, was he checking me out? No. No way. But what if he was? Should I do something? Let him know I was interested?
Was
I interested? I was a twenty-three-year-old virgin whose only kiss had been a very awkward and wet experiment with my lab partner at MIT who hadn’t known how to kiss at all.

I bet Jackson Cooper knew how to kiss—
really
knew.

He turned away and set his glass on the table. I momentarily panicked. Would he ask before he kissed me? Or would he just do it? Should I do something alluring? Like toss my hair? Girls did that, right?

Without thinking it through, I did this weird little thing with my head that was supposed to make my ponytail drape over my shoulder. Instead, a sharp pain went right through my neck.

“Ow ow ow ow owowowow!” I dropped my pizza on the table with a splat, my hand going for the crick in my neck.

“Are you all right?”

“Um, yeah, I’m fine,” I managed to get through my gritted teeth. This is what I got for trying to act like a girl. “Just got a crick in my neck.”

“Here, let me.”

I had no time to reply before he’d moved my hand out of the way and was massaging my neck. His hands were much larger than mine and felt way better. Like
waaay
better. Wow . . .

“Still hurt?” Jackson asked after a minute or two, and I desperately wanted to say yes, but I was a terrible liar.

“No, it’s much better, thank you.”

“And you have some sauce . . .” He gestured and I looked down. I had a streak of bright red pizza sauce on my chest, right above the top edge of my tank.

And my mortification was complete.

I grabbed a napkin and wiped off the sauce. No, he hadn’t been checking me out. He’d been staring at what an absolute pig I was, wearing my dinner. Talk about misinterpreting signals. Epic fail. Who was I kidding anyway? The idea of Jackson Cooper checking
me
out, much less kissing me, was so ludicrous as to be laughable. Except I didn’t feel like laughing.

“So what did you need to tell me?” I asked, jerking my thoughts back into work. Work was the reason he was here, not some only-just-now realization of how he’d been struck with an overwhelming attraction for me. I really needed to quit reading my grandma’s Harlequins.

My slice of pizza looked forlorn, sitting half-eaten on the coffee table, but no way was I going to try to eat again in front of him.

“This project we’re working on is highly classified,” Jackson said.

I shrugged. “So is ninety-nine percent of everything we do.”

“It’s not just that,” he continued. “The people who hired us aren’t exactly trusting.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that coding, writing the software that runs the world, can sometimes be dangerous. I want to make sure you are fully aware that it’s highly probable you’ll be monitored and/or followed.”

“There’s a clause in all Cysnet employees’ contracts that absolves the company of any indemnity ‘should the employee be hurt or deceased due to or as a direct result of any customer involvement.’” It had been an eye-opening and gulp-worthy clause, but I’d signed it, choosing not to think too deeply about the reasons why that was in there.

“Yes, but words on paper and actually seeing the paranoia and lengths some clients go to in order to protect their investment and intellectual property are two different things. I wanted to remind you of that as well as the confidentiality and non-compete in your contract.”

“I’m not looking for another job,” I said.

“Good.”

“And I know my contract, but thanks for the warning.” I wondered just who was the customer for this particular project. It hadn’t been listed anywhere in the materials Jackson had e-mailed me.

“All electronic communication between us will remain encrypted,” he said. “And if you write anything down, shred it before you leave the office.”

“Understood.” So weird, that he was telling me all this, which prompted my next question. “So . . . who’s the client?”

Jackson took his time replying, opting for another swallow of wine first. “Wyndemere,” he finally answered.

Oh. Oh wow. No wonder he’d shown up tonight. “The defense contractor?” I asked, hoping I’d misheard.

“The one and the same.”

Wyndemere was the premiere software contractor for the government. You had to have a security clearance to know 90 percent of what they did, and top-secret clearance to know the remaining 10 percent.

“So the project we’re working on is really . . . for the government,” I said, feeling slightly lightheaded.

Jackson glanced at me, his mouth set in a grim line. “Most likely.”

No wonder his warning earlier. I’d been involved with that kind of work once before at MIT’s government laboratory. We’d worked on technology that could identify someone in total darkness based upon their infrared thermal signature.

The whole time we’d been working on the project, I’d been monitored. They hadn’t known I’d found their wiretaps or saw the car that kept tabs on my comings and goings, but none of it escaped my notice. It had been unnerving and I’d been glad to finish that particular project.

The military implications of what we’d done and how the technology could be used by people with less than altruistic purposes still kept me awake some nights, but that was the thing with advancement in technology. It wasn’t as though you could put the genie back in the bottle. Once something was achieved, there would always be people who could turn even the most innocuous thing into a way to kill people.

He drank the rest of his wine in one long swallow and I tried not to watch the movement of his throat. Then he was on his feet and I was scrambling to keep up.

“Did you have a chance to go over everything?” he asked as he headed for the door.