Chapter Six

The next morning, I make my way to the eleventh floor of the Sweet Darlings Inc. headquarters in Sweetridge, Virginia. The townhouse is only fifteen or twenty minutes away even during the crappiest rush hour, which makes the commute a breeze. Most people in Northern Virginia have to crawl through a parking lot to get to work, and our metro system is often dead or dying. You can’t imagine how grateful I am, since the quick commute is what makes my a.m. run possible…even during the dark and freezing mornings of the winter months.

The app dev division occupies the best and the most wondrous of all floors. I’m not saying that because I’m biased—I’m capable of being objective. But we have the best snacks and coffee. It’s just a fact. I don’t even need to stop by Starbucks on my way to the office. And unlike the other floors, our break room is stocked with my weakness—sour gummy worms. As long as I’m supplied with those and coffee, I can code all day and night long, with a couple power naps here and there.

There are lots of tables, desks and beanbags, all of them colorful and fun. No partitions or walls. That’s not how we work, not like the cubicle inmates on other floors. And we’re pretty laid-back. Although our CEO, Alexandra Darling—who also happens to be Jan’s grandmother—usually dresses in business casual and every other department slavishly follows her lead, the app dev teams wear whatever’s most comfortable, and nobody cares. Most of us come in jeans and sweaters. Some do sweatpants, but never pajamas. The last time somebody tried, Tim Friedman, one of the team leads, told him Sweet Darlings wasn’t his mommy’s basement, and that was that.

Unless I have to attend an interdepartmental meeting with David present—or if it’s Margarita Monday—during the cold months I usually show up in a super-comfy black half-zip long-sleeve top, cross-training pants, and racing shoes. There’s nobody I want to impress on my floor, except of course Tim, who controls my destiny at Sweet Darlings Inc.

I put my purse into the bottom desk drawer and secure all three drawers with the master lock at the top. I won’t need to use anything from them during the day because everything I need is already neatly arranged on my desk. I’m a big believer in having all my tools at my fingertips. Hooked to an external keyboard, mouse and monitor, my laptop boots and a torrent of email pours into Outlook. Squeezing a blue stress ball between my hands, I skim the subject lines to see if there’s anything that looks urgent.

Nope, nope, nope…

I stop when I see a notice for two new positions in finance and marketing. There’s a referral bonus, but I don’t know anybody who would be good for any of the twenty-five current openings. Crossing my arms, I sit back in my comfy, ergonomically correct chair. Luke said he’d be coming by to see David. I assumed he was talking about a social visit, but for stuff like that, it makes more sense to come by after work or just meet at a bar somewhere.

Is Luke trying to get a job at Sweet Darlings? Ugh. No. I do not need that man working side by side with David. Yeah, yeah, nothing happened, but the whole situation bothers me, as any unjust scenario would. It’s hard to explain—I’m a coder, not a poet—but it feels vaguely like he got something he shouldn’t have. It isn’t like he forced it or stole anything. But it’s—how can I put it…?—it’s sort of like he wasn’t supposed to get a tax refund, but due to some error, he got a hundred bucks that didn’t belong to him. And because he’s an asshole, he’s not going to send it back.

Completely unfair, of course. And made even more infuriating by the fact that—if I really have to be objective—he is good-looking, with that mouth that keeps piquing my curiosity. And those hands… If David weren’t newly single, I might possibly consider Luke as a potential fuck buddy until he became available.

Annoyed, I pull up Facebook—the people on my floor seriously don’t care as long as all the tasks are completed on time—and look him up. Luke Madison isn’t an uncommon name, but when I cross-reference it with David, I get a hit. There. The profile pic is casual—him on some aquamarine beach. Probably the Caribbean. He looks slightly devilish, grinning at the camera. A few white grains of sand cling to his lower lip, and I have this ridiculous urge to reach into the screen and run my finger over them.

Get a grip, girl. It’s a picture, composed of digital pixels!

And he’s probably Voldemort Reincarnate with a super-strong permanent Confundo spell emanating from him. How else to explain my completely inappropriate attraction to him?

Pulling myself together, I skim his profile data. Twenty-nine, the same age as David. Attended Harvard for one year. Freelancing nomad. Right. That’s a euphemism for “screwing around because I got no job” these days.

Curious, though. He dressed well and flew first class. Maybe his mommy and daddy bought his ticket, but he hinted he had an assistant. Then again, he could’ve hired some third-world e-helper, paying them a buck a day. It’s amazing what some people will do to make themselves feel important…except Luke didn’t seem to be the type.

I shake my head. Who cares? He’s probably a trust fund baby who dropped out of Harvard when he got his mitts on the dough. I have an intense dislike for lazy bums, regardless of their socioeconomic status. There, Luke’s attractiveness just dropped by five percent at least. I wait for it to drop some more, but it doesn’t go any lower.

God. My standards are pathetic. This is what happens when a girl has to make do with hamburgers day in day out, so to speak. I need to find myself a man-steak.

Shaking my head again, I shove the thoughts of Luke out of my mind and start coding away on my mechanical gaming keyboard. I have tons of work to do. The team’s scheduled to release a slew of bug fixes next Monday. Nothing major, but they do affect some of our power users. And those folks tend to complain the loudest.

Not that I blame them. They pay good money to use the app to share pictures and videos with their loved ones. A lot of our users are parents with small children, and they tend to be price inelastic. Our app’s privacy settings are rigorous. Some of our users like to make their photos public, but most prefer to keep their kids out of public display.

Manop walks by on his way from the break room to his workstation and says hi. He sends money to his elderly grandmother in Bangkok, which earns him extra sweetheart points in my book.

“Working on Bug Sixty-Seven?” he asks, offering an open bag of sour gummy worms. Told ya he was a sweetheart.

“Yeah. You?”

“Eighty. I’m almost done. How was San Mateo?”

“It was okay.” I clamp down on a green gummy worm’s head and pull until it snaps off. “Why?”

“I heard there may be a lateral move available. To transfer there, I mean.”

“You want to?”

He tilts his head back and forth. “Not sure.”

“The traffic sucks, and the cost of living’s horrendous.”

“I know, but it’s closer to home.”

I swallow the gummy. “You might like it, but you should talk to Tim. I think it’s going to be up to him and Joe Choi.” Joe’s out in San Mateo. He’s picky, but nice, and I respect the hell out of the man. Besides—not that it matters to Manop—Joe’s a hottie. I’ve seen more than one female worker at the West Coast office gazing longingly at him. Sadly, he seems a hundred percent oblivious…or maybe just doesn’t care.

Manop nods. “But other than that, it’s good there?”

“Yeah. The teams out there are fantastic. And the weather’s nice.”

“Can’t be worse than here. It’s so cold in Virginia.”

Poor guy. Other than summertime, it’s always colder here than in Bangkok. Not that the Bay Area is hot, exactly, but it doesn’t have winters like Virginia.

“So this is where you work. Nice.”

I stiffen at the familiar voice. Unforgettable, actually—not because I find it hot, sexy, sensual, and clit-tingling, oh no—but because I can never, ever forget the horrible humiliation from two nights ago.

And if I cling to that, I should be able to ignore the warm flush spreading through my chest and face. Or at least blame it on rampant mortification.

Swiveling my chair, I face Luke. He’s in dark charcoal slacks and a blue dress shirt that turns his eyes wintry. The top two buttons are undone, and there’s no tie. Definitely not a job interview outfit.

But it doesn’t matter what he’s wearing. He’s hot. I finally accept the fact. If I can admit Joe’s hot, I can do the same for Luke, because I’m honest and fair like that.

Still, it doesn’t mean anything. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Told you I’d stop by.”

“To return my badge.” I point at the lanyard hanging around my neck in case he forgot. “Besides, David’s not here.”

“I swung by to see Alexandra.”

He knows her, too? “Did you see her?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Great! So you can go now.”

Dismissing him, I turn to my workstation. But my coworkers are looking over. It’s not every day I get a visitor. Actually…none of us get visitors during work hours. Even the gentlemanly Manop isn’t moving…until I pointedly clear my throat. Then he starts a bit and walks off toward his desk. Good man.

Sadly, Luke’s more obtuse. He stays, as immobile as a boulder.

“Honestly, I’m not sure what business we have with each other,” I say, my gaze firmly on the monitor. I think I’m almost done with this bug. Compile, test, then voilà, I can move on to the next item on my list.

“Your employee badge isn’t the only thing you dropped.”

Yeah, right. I’ve said my piece, and I’m not engaging anymore. Engaging is encouraging.

If I treat him like he’s invisible, he’ll get the hint. Owen from eighth grade certainly did…after about two months. Let’s hope Luke is more astute than a thirteen-year-old boy in the throes of hormonal flux.

Across the floor, the elevator dings and someone says, “Hi, Tim.”

“There was this,” Luke says.

Something hot pink and about four inches long falls on my desk, almost hitting my mouse. I jump to my feet, then stare at the object with my jaw unhinged. Its tip is pointed without being sharp, and the bulbous bubble shaft portion is substantial enough without being scary.

Once my brain registers what the item is, my face heats until the tips of my ears are burning. I launch myself at it, wrapping my hand around it, but it’s too big to hide. And all my desk drawers are locked. Crap!

“Hey, Sammi,” calls Tim. “I need to talk to you about the sandbox migration this weekend.” His voice is getting closer.

Oh my God! In sheer panic, I let go and fall on it with my torso as though it’s a grenade. It’s a pretty undignified position—an inverse L on my desk—but when your choices are a gunshot to the head or choking down a mouthful of swine filth, you really don’t have much of an option.

My boss comes around the corner. “Hey, Tim,” I mumble, my left cheek on the desk. “Go ahead.”

“Um…are you okay?” he asks, then notices Luke. “Hi.”

“Hi. Luke Madison.”

“Oh. I heard.” They shake hands. “Let me know if you have any questions in the next four weeks.”

Questions? Next four weeks?

Tim turns to me. “Anyway, about the migration…”

“Yeah?”

He frowns. “Can you sit straight and pull up the migration doc on your computer?”

“I actually can’t. I, uh, tweaked something in my back.”

Tim looks at me dubiously, and I cringe inwardly at my crappy lie. What twenty-two-year-old throws her back out in an office? If it weren’t for Luke’s distracting presence, I would’ve come up with a more convincing story. No—if Luke hadn’t shown up, none of this would’ve happened because there wouldn’t be a freakin’ anal plug on my desk. So this is all on him.

Luke is watching me, his lips twitching. Then he smiles at Tim. “It’s really my fault. I startled her, and…” He grins innocently with a small shrug. How can he manage that? It’s so unfair.

“Oh.”

Luke lifts me up and back into my chair, his hands much stronger than I expected, and at the same time sits on the anal plug so fast I doubt anybody notices what’s underneath his butt. “Man, I’m tired after the tour. Don’t mind me,” he says.

Exhaling shakily, I turn to my computer…although I don’t trust Luke to not get up and embarrass the shit out of me because I finally understand he isn’t merely Darth Vader. He’s a freakin’ Sith Lord.

Tim starts talking, and I do my best to pay attention because my boss hates repeating himself. But it isn’t easy with Luke right next to me, his thigh only half an inch from my mouse pad.

Then and there, I make a vow.

I’m going to murder the bastard, if it’s the last thing I do. I don’t even have to hurry. I have four weeks.