Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) Read online

  “We have tons of beef and broccoli,” Mia said cheerfully. “Hope that’s good with you.”

  “Beef and broccoli sounds great,” Clark said, heading toward me. “Is this your fish?”

  “No. It’s just this huge tank of water I use for decoration. I can’t keep the fish out of it.” The smart-ass reply popped out before I could stop it. To my relief, Clark didn’t take offense. Instead, he laughed, the warm, rich sound filling the room and lighting up his already-sparkling blue eyes.

  He’d laughed at my joke. Maybe he thought I was funny. Funny as in Ha-Ha, not funny as in Weird.

  “Do you like fish?” I asked.

  “Yes, but usually filleted and sautéed in a nice butter sauce,” he said with a grin.

  I looked at him. “Goldfish are technically edible—they’re a freshwater fish—but I wouldn’t think they’d taste very good.”

  “Not literal, Aunt Chi,” Mia hissed to me as she walked by. “Here you go,” Mia said more loudly to Clark, handing him a plate heaped with food.

  Oh.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Unsure what to do, I headed back to the sofa and my lukewarm beef and broccoli. The television was paused at the beginning of Castle.

  “I love that show,” Clark said, sitting in the middle of the sofa between Mia and me. “But I’m a big Nathan Fillion fan.”

  “You are?” I asked.

  “Yep. He even tweeted me once.”

  “No way, really?” I’d had a crush on Nathan Fillion for years.

  “Yep,” he said, taking a bite of his food. I waited while he chewed, then he said, “It was Valentine’s Day and he was throwing his annual virtual party—”

  “I’ve been trying to get into his parties forever,” I interrupted.

  “I know, right?” Clark grinned. “So I tweeted him and said ‘I know lots of useless trivia, like the last line spoken in Return of the Jedi.’”

  “‘He’s my brother,’” I quoted.

  He grinned. “Very good. Anyway, I didn’t think anything about it but when I checked Twitter about eight hours later, he’d tweeted me back and said I was in.”

  “Oh my God! That’s so cool!” My nervousness was nearly forgotten, the mutual excitement over Nathan Fillion obscuring my natural shyness.

  “He was amazing in Firefly,” Clark said, taking another bite.

  Now he was talking my love language. We spent the next thirty minutes talking Firefly, Buffy, and all things Joss Whedon.

  “Did Mia go to bed?”

  I glanced around at his question, just then realizing that Mia was nowhere to be found and my bedroom door was shut. The little shit.

  Nerves hit hard as I realized we were alone together and, to mask them, I grabbed our plates and carried them to the kitchen. To my dismay, Clark followed.

  “So what do you do?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

  I began rinsing the dishes. “I’m a programmer,” I said. “I write software, things like that.”

  “Really? That’s pretty impressive.”

  “Thanks.” I couldn’t help the kernel of pleasure his words gave me.

  “How long have you been doing that? You don’t look old enough to be out of college.”

  “I’m twenty-three,” I said. “I’ve been out of college for four years.”

  Clark blew a low whistle. “Wow. So you’re like one of those genius kids.”

  Genius kids. Hmm. Not really how I wanted the hot neighbor guy thinking of me. I briefly wished I’d lied, said I was a secretary or beautician or something. Then he wouldn’t be looking at me as though I was from a different planet.

  When I didn’t answer, he seemed to hesitate. “Hey, I’m sorry. That wasn’t meant as an insult. It was a compliment.”

  I smiled to let him know I hadn’t taken offense, but didn’t really know what to say. “It’s fine,” was what I settled on. “Can I get you anything else? Do you want an eggroll? Or a fortune cookie?”

  “I’d love a fortune cookie.”

  Reaching into the bag, I pulled out a handful of cookies and set them on the counter. “You’re supposed to choose your own fortune,” I said.

  He picked up a cookie at random and so did I. We opened them together.

  “Huh,” Clark said, looking at the slip of paper in his hand. “Mine says, The end of the world is near . . . and it is all your fault.” He looked up at me. “That’s kind of a downer. What does yours say?”

  I glanced down. “Today is probably a huge improvement over yesterday.” True so far.

  Clark smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten such odd fortunes before.”

  “They’re all like this at that place,” I said. “Some are pretty bizarre, others are hilarious.”

  “I think I should pay you back for dinner. It’s the least I could do.”

  “Oh no, that’s okay. Consider it a welcome to the neighborhood.”

  “No, I insist. Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

  It took a moment for me to process that, and my heart leapt into double time once I had. Superman was asking me out to dinner? Like . . . a date? The fortune was right. Today was most certainly way better than yesterday.

  No, wait, he said he was paying me back. So not a date. A return favor.

  “That’s really nice,” I said, swallowing my disappointment, “but I have plans—”

  “No she doesn’t!” Mia called out from behind the closed bedroom door. “She can go!”

  I spun around. “I’m going to put you on the next plane home!”

  Silence. I let out a frustrated breath, turning back to see Clark grinning broadly. He raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re not sisters?”

  “She’s . . . impetuous,” I said. “And I love her . . . when I don’t want to strangle her.”

  “So how ’bout it?” he asked. “I’ve never had to work so hard to convince a woman to have dinner with me before.” That smile again, full wattage and double dimples.

  Aw hell . . .

  “Yeah, that would be great,” I said, not quite believing I was saying yes. But really, how could I possibly say no at this point? And Mia would probably kill me if I did.

  “Fantastic. I’ll be by about seven.” He headed for the door and I followed. “Thanks again for helping with the sofa. And the Chinese.”

  “Anytime.”

  I watched him go back into his place before I closed and locked the door.

  “Is it safe to come out now?” Mia called.

  I pushed open the bedroom door. “Yes.”

  She was sitting on the bed, a book in her hands. “And the plane home?”

  “You can stay,” I said. “But no more interfering. That could’ve gone really bad.” For me.

  “But it didn’t.” She stood, closing the book with a snap. “And you’re having dinner with the total hot-guy neighbor, two nights in a row.” She brushed by me with a flip of her hair and whiff of light perfume. “You’re welcome.”

  Smart-ass.

  5

  Jackson called me into his office the next morning. Thankfully, it was after I’d scarfed down my bacon, egg, and cheese McMuffin.

  As I took a seat opposite his desk, I said what I’d rehearsed inside my head. “I’m sorry for your loss. I don’t remember if I said that yesterday or not. How is Madeline doing?”

  “She’s doing all right,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “The best that can be expected, I suppose.”

  He looked good today, as always. He wore black on black, which made his eyes appear even darker. But there was a soberness to him that made me think the usual wardrobe had another meaning today as he mourned his friend.

  “I called you in here because I was contacted by Wyndemere last night.”

  I stiffened. That couldn’t be good.

  “In light of Tom’s death, they’ve given the entire project to us and need someone to manage it,” he continued. “Someone who doesn’t need to be trained and who can get
up to speed quickly. I’d like you to take that position.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You’re the most qualified and we’re already working on part of it. You’ll need to coordinate all the different pieces Tom had going on and manage them. Your interoperability with non-techies is the best in the company.”

  That was high praise indeed, especially coming from the boss. I felt like I was glowing inside. The people pleaser in me was twirling in glee. Though in reality, it wasn’t hard to be the go-between for techies and users—I’d been doing it all my life in my family.

  But he also wanted me to work for Wyndemere. All the whispers and rumors I’d heard about the secret government projects they worked on gave me pause. The private sector was always preferable to the government. I racked my brain for an excuse.

  “I don’t have a security clearance,” I said. “There’s no way—”

  “Already taken care of,” he interrupted, shooting down the only objection I could think of. “They cleared you a few minutes ago. As far as they and I are concerned, the sooner you start, the better. The deadline on this project is in two weeks.”

  Two weeks? I was supposed to walk in cold, wrap my arms around a project I knew nothing about, and deliver it in two weeks?

  “That’s . . . a really tight timeframe,” I said.

  “I know, which is why I’ll be helping, too.”

  Okay, that made me feel better. I’d been an on-site consultant before, though a lot of Cysnet’s projects were done in-house. It was still like starting a new job, which was incredibly stressful.

  “So when do we start?”

  “Let’s plan on heading over there this afternoon,” Jackson said. “You can ride along with me, if you like.”

  Ride in his awesome Cabriolet convertible again? Twist my arm.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said cheerily.

  “Okay. Come by about one and we’ll go.”

  I nodded and took that as my dismissal. A few minutes later, I was back at my desk and Randall wanted to quiz me.

  “So what’s going on?” he asked, popping his head over the cube wall. “You’ve been in Jackson’s office a lot. You in trouble or something?”

  IT people were as nosey and as big gossips as anyone else, perhaps more so because interaction with actual people wasn’t very common. Anything out of the ordinary stirred their interest, especially if it didn’t involve themselves.

  “He and I are working on a project together,” I explained.

  “You’re working with Jackson? That is so awesome!” Randall’s enthusiasm made me smile. “I’ve never gotten to. Jeremy has though, and he never stops bragging about it.”

  “Weren’t there like ten people on that project?”

  “I know, right?” he scoffed. “Like it even counts. How many people are on your project?”

  “Just him and me.”

  He emitted a low whistle. “No way. Wow.”

  “Gotta get back to work, Randall. Thanks for breakfast. I’ll spot lunch. Taco Bell?”

  “Yep. The usual.”

  I nodded and he disappeared back down into his cube as I settled into my chair.

  Wyndemere was in Research Triangle Park—RTI—as opposed to downtown where Cysnet was located. They owned a sprawling two-story building that took up acres of land, most of it hidden behind a thick growth of trees that surrounded the property.

  It took the better part of two hours to get our temporary IDs, set up our fingerprint, voice, and retinal scans for security, and go through and sign paperwork that detailed the fine print of their nondisclosure agreement. Finally, we were taken to a small conference room where a woman was waiting for us.

  “Hello, I’m Freyda,” she said, rising to greet us. “Freyda Jain. I interface between Wyndemere and the customer, be it government, foreign, or domestic contracts.”

  “Jackson Cooper, and this is China Mack.” Not even the great Jackson Cooper attempted to pronounce my last name.

  We shook hands all around.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” she said. “Please have a seat.”

  Jackson and I took adjacent seats next to Freyda and she set identical file folders in front of us, about an inch thick.

  “This should help bring you up to speed. You can look over it here, but all materials must remain on-site at all times.”

  “Understood.”

  “Your team.” Another folder, thinner this time, one to each of us. “You’ll meet with them tomorrow morning. I thought you could use some time to acclimate first.”

  I glanced at my watch. An hour before quitting time. Thanks heaps.

  “The project cost estimate is just that—an estimate,” Jackson said. “Real hours will be billed, not to exceed twenty percent of the original estimated cost without written approval.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “Any other questions?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Is this a government project?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to say.”

  That didn’t make me feel any better, but it wasn’t as though there was anything I could do about it.

  “Let me show you to your office.” Freyda rose and we followed her from the room.

  The office was severe in design, proving more functional than luxurious. It did have two desks, which was nice, though it was obvious the second one had been moved in last-minute as it didn’t really fit with the layout. Windows were on one wall, providing a view of the parking lot and trees outside.

  “Security went over procedure with you?” Freyda asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” I replied while Jackson inspected our computers. Each was hooked up to three monitors, which was nice.

  “The lock on the office door has been keyed to your fingerprints,” she said, handing me a business card. “Just dial my extension if you need anything.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Freyda left and I sat down in one of the two chairs at the small conference table in the corner. Flipping open the thinner of the two file folders, I began to read. Jackson sat down opposite me and did the same.

  I was halfway through the thick file when my phone rang.

  “It’s me! Your favorite niece. Pick up the phone! I know you’re—”

  “Yes, Mia?” I answered.

  “Where are you?”

  “Work,” I said, glancing at my watch. I wasn’t that late. “Why? Did you need something?” I’d left her money to go grocery shopping in case she needed anything I didn’t have, like brownie mix.

  “You have a date tonight,” she said. “Remember?”

  Shit. I’d completely forgotten. “Oh no.” It was already six thirty and Superman—I mean Clark—had said he’d be by at seven.

  “You bet, oh no,” she said. “Please tell me you’re on your way home because I will personally cry on your behalf for breaking a date with a guy that looks like Zac Efron on steroids.”

  Okay, I was drawing a blank on who Zac Efron was, but I got from the context that he was akin to Clark.

  “Yeah,” I began throwing all the papers together and back in the folder. “I’m leaving in two minutes.” I hung up. Traffic wouldn’t be too bad, I hoped, but it still looked like I’d be going to dinner dressed in what I was wearing. Jeans, a T-shirt—Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.—and the white button-up I’d thrown on over it was fine for tech work, but probably not a date.

  And it was Wednesday. I always had dinner with Bonnie on Wednesday. We’d met when she had a flat tire on the side of the road, in the rain no less, and I’d stopped to help her, though the statistics argued against such a thing. She’d looked like a miserable, drowned rat, her attempts at removing lug nuts proving futile. I’d helped her change her tire, she’d cooked me dinner as a thank-you, and we’d been best friends ever since, despite the barely edible dinner. Bonnie was in culinary school and loved trying her new recipes on me, bless her heart.

  Bless her heart came naturally when thinking of Bonnie and cooking. Try as s
he might, she just couldn’t get the hang of it and would get her recipes 97 percent right, which was good, but the 3 percent that was wrong was really wrong. Her family was wealthy, though, so her father had paid for her continued training.

  I’d completely forgotten about the date, much less having to cancel with Bonnie. She was going to kill me. She hated when I cancelled and thus removed her default guinea pig.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said, opening one of the file drawers and locking the folders inside. “Sorry. But I’ll come in early tomorrow.” I headed for the door. I could call Bonnie on the way and see if we could get together tomorrow night. Thursday night was breakfast-for-dinner night, but maybe Bonnie could be convinced to make pancakes. She couldn’t mess those up that badly. Could she? Hmm . . .

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Jackson asked.

  I stopped, racking my brain. I hadn’t taken anything with me. Was I supposed to do something else?

  “I drove us here,” he said.

  Oh. “Um, yeah, I guess I forgot. But that’s okay if you’re not ready to go. I can Uber back to the office.” Which would take even longer so there was no way I’d be home by seven.

  “No need for that,” he said, gathering up his files as well. “I can take you home if you’re in a hurry.”

  “Really? That would be a huge help.” It wasn’t like I had a date every day. Or even every month. Okay, fine, every year if you wanted to get particular about it.

  “Of course.”

  We locked up and exited the building, me trying not to look like I was in a huge hurry. Half my brain was focusing on each minute that passed, the other half on what I should wear when I got home. I didn’t have anything that was date-like. Maybe my Mulder, It’s Me T-shirt? Dana Scully and Fox Mulder were pretty hot together so that was romantic, right?

  “I live in Brier Creek,” I said. “That’s—”

  “I know,” Jackson cut me off.

  Oh yeah. Duh. He’d been to my house.

  “So you have plans tonight?” he asked.

  “Um, yeah.” Should I say I had a date?

  “Mia?”

  “No,” I hesitated. “I . . . have dinner plans. A new neighbor moved in.”