Love, Technically (4 page)

He had to respect her wishes. She still didn’t know he was Noah. Kissing her was unethical. He swallowed back his desire. “Should we get started on Photoshop?”

She took a visible breath. “Sure.”

They both made their way to his desk and he quickly swept a stack of envelopes into the desk drawer, since they were all addressed to Noah Frellish. He sat, and then realized she had nowhere to sit except his lap—which he was all in favor of, except that would go against his very recent pledge to respect her wishes. He hopped up to carry over a kitchen chair. “No, you take the desk chair,” he said in response to her protest. He indicated the space-age Aeron chair, which had been one of his few big purchases aside from the real estate investment and a new mountain bike. He sat next to her.

They soon became engrossed practicing all the features of the graphics program, and he applauded when she made her first drawing.

“Great. After dinner, I’ll show you how to crop and alter photos.”

“Dinner.” She leaped from the chair and sprinted to the kitchen, a remarkable feat given her heels. “I nearly forgot about the chicken. I hope it’s not dried out.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Set the table.”

“I can do that.”

They sat in companionable silence at first. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, and even then he hadn’t eaten much. It had been yet another midday meeting with food brought in, but there were only so many turkey sandwiches he could suck down. Not to mention he’d lost his appetite during the meeting from defending his vision for the company.

He wished he could tell her about his day sitting in board meetings, and how he’d rather be coding their next software offering. The board got carried away, in his opinion, with the financials and the timeline of their next product release. Who cared if the biz folks hadn’t run the numbers on the potential market share? The product was cool and the first step toward his ultimate dream. But instead he kept quiet and listened to Michelle’s observations on the differences between Chicago and small-town Iowa. He couldn’t contribute much, having never lived in a small town. Even college had been spent in a large city.

The food was delicious. Just the right amount of flavor to the chicken, and it wasn’t dry at all, as she’d feared. He managed to talk a little about his day, couching it in vague terms, saying a coworker was frustrating the heck out of him with his fear of innovation.

It was true that Ted, the COO, had been brought in to counterbalance his own technically groundbreaking, but business-inexperienced, background. The differences between the two meant they butted heads, but at the end of the day, he trusted Ted’s business acumen.

Michelle told a funny story about one of her callers. “He started off belligerent. He was so angry that I thought I’d have to advance him to the call manager, but I talked him off the ledge…”

“I’m sure you’re great at that. Your voice is sweet. You diffuse any anger right off the bat.”

“Thanks,” she said with a blush. “Anyway, the customer was carrying on and ranting about how poorly the product worked when I suddenly realized he’d complained about the fit of the plug.”

“He wasn’t calling about our product, was he?”

Laughter spilled over. “Nope. He meant to call an entirely different company. I have no idea how he got our number, but I walked him through it and helped him find the right charger.”

Their shared laughter warmed the small apartment and dwindled to a lingering glow around the table.

Michelle stacked her fork and knife on her now-empty plate. “I didn’t bring dessert. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. I’m stuffed.” He leaned back and folded his arms over his full belly. Then he shot forward and started grabbing at the dirty dishes, lest she think he was one of those Neanderthals who assumed she would take care of the dishes since she had the extra X chromosome. “You cooked. I’ll clean.” Plus, the dishes were a nice excuse to delay the dreaded conversation.

“I accept that deal. I want to work on that last thing you showed me.” She carried her plate to the sink and then headed over to his desk. He gathered the rest of the dirty dishes and started washing and loading, all while watching Michelle’s face in deep concentration. Every so often, her brow wrinkled and she leaned toward the monitor as if getting closer would help her solve whatever challenge she faced.

“How you doing? Any questions?” he called from the kitchen.

She waved him off. “I think I’ve got the hang of working with the layers, but I have no idea how to resize it. Or export it.”

“Hold on. Almost done here.” He wiped his hands on the towel and headed over to her. Instead of sitting, he braced his hands on the desk, caging her shoulders. His chest practically rested against the back of her head. “Here. You select this, then up to this menu and…there. Resized.”

“Got it.” She swiveled her head to smile up at him, and the heat in the room ratcheted to volcanic levels. Her lips were millimeters away. Every good intention he had about telling her fled. They moved at the same time, and their lips met in a soft, then crushing, press. She slid her tongue first, since he’d had enough presence of mind to allow her to back away, but the feel of her tongue erased his hesitation. He wrapped his arms under her shoulders and turned her so they pressed chest-to-chest all the while, tongues dueling, but not for dominance. Instead it was an elegant dance. They kept the kiss going until she pulled away, breathing hard.

He realized his chest was pumping oxygen at the same fast pace as hers. He wanted her more than any woman in recent memory—hell, maybe more than any woman ever. Right now, he wasn’t the head of the computer science club who never even talked to a girl, let alone kissed one. He was head football player, prom king, and Hollywood movie star all rolled into one hard-kissing, passionate man.

She stepped away, but her hand still rested flat on the pectoral muscle over his heart, which beat as fast as it usually did when he raced his mountain bike down a precarious trail.

“I should go,” Michelle said.

He wanted to grab her hand and keep her locked to him, but he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. She didn’t know who he really was and until he came clean, he had no right to touch her. “Wait, I have something to tell you.” This was it. Moment of truth time. Only, the word
you
got swallowed up by an insistent ringing coming from Michelle’s purse. They stared silently at each other as another ring interrupted.

“I better get that,” she said, jumping up and dashing over to her purse.

He tried not to listen in on her conversation, instead opening a tech news website. Snippets of her conversation penetrated anyway.

“Mom, calm down.” Michelle paced alongside the back of the sofa. “Mom, relax. It doesn’t bother me.” More pacing, and some tugging at her hair. She glanced his way, and he put on a concerned face, trying to silently ask if he could help in any way. She ignored him and stalked into the kitchen, still listening to her mother.

What the hell was happening? The gods of capriciousness had to be laughing their asses off at him at this cosmic joke. Here he was, a decent guy trying to do the right thing, and yet he was thwarted every damn time. He should make a sign, a banner. He could hold it up right now. It would say, “Michelle, I’m Noah Frellish!” He eyed the Sharpie and printer paper on his desk, then nixed the plan.

Whatever Michelle’s phone call was about, it was agitating her. He didn’t need to add to her pain.

“Mom, I’m going to have to call you back.” With the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, she used her free hands to shove her kitchen utensils into the grocery bags.

He snapped to attention and went to help her pack up.

“Mom…Mom, listen to me. I can’t talk now. I’m going to call you back…”

He scooped up the bags and walked toward Michelle’s coat.

Finally she was off the phone. Her cheeks were flushed. “Sark, I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, but my mother doesn’t think so. I have to go talk her off the ledge.”

“I’ll walk you to grab a cab,” he said hastily. “My treat.”

Her expression morphed into relief. “That’d be great, thanks.”

She shrugged into her coat, and they exited the apartment in silence. The quiet continued as they walked the three blocks to a main road, where he hailed a cab for her. He bundled her into the backseat, placed her grocery bags next to her, then went to the driver’s window to give him a handful of bills.

“See you.” He waved at her through the window, and she gave a half smile in return.

Chapter Four

At work the next morning, Michelle was still reeling from the night before. On one hand, she and Sark had kissed! It had met her expectations and more. His lips touching hers had felt exactly right. Everything had been right, until her mother called freaking out that Michelle’s ex-boyfriend was supposedly engaged to another woman. Mom’s thick skin hadn’t registered that Michelle didn’t care what Brad did. They were over. Through. Nevertheless, she’d had to spend an hour calming her down.

The icing on the cake was that she’d had a text exchange with Brad this morning. Turned out he wasn’t even engaged. All the drama for nothing, which meant she had to go apologize to Sark for running out on what could’ve been a great evening. He’d been so sweet, hailing her a cab and paying for it, and she needed to thank him. But she’d have to be careful to play it cool. Otherwise everyone would be able to see the sparks between them. They were practically tangible and huge.

“Michelle?”

She looked up to see an African-American woman with braids down her back and tattoos on nearly every inch of visible skin except her face. Multiple piercings in a rainbow of colors dotted her eyebrows, and matching ones ran down her earlobe.

“Michelle?” she repeated.

“I’m Michelle.”

“Damn, are you always lost in a funk? I’ve called your name, like, ten times.”

She flushed. “Sorry. Reliving last night.”

The woman grinned. “You’re forgiven. I’ve had my share of those. Of course, the guy usually turns out to be a lying dick who doesn’t deserve a minute of my daydreams, but enjoy it while it lasts.”

“This guy’s worth it. He’s a good one.”

“That’s what they all seem like at first. Anyway, I’m Eve.” She stuck her hand at Michelle, who shook it. “Sark sent me.” Eve grabbed an empty desk chair and rolled it over. “He said you needed to learn Photoshop?”

She nodded.

“You’re in luck. I’ve got mad skills. I work in the graphics department.”

“And you’re friends with Sark?”

Eve smiled. “Yes, we go way back. We met online in an RPG, and it turned out we were both here in Chicago. So we met up, and he got me this gig. Is he the one who has you looking dreamy?”

Michelle’s cheeks heated. “No comment on Sark. And what’s RPG?”

Eve shook her head as if she had water in her ears. “RPG stands for role-playing game.” At Michelle’s blank look, she continued. “Multiplayer gaming communities. Like Dungeons & Dragons, but online.”

“Oh. I think I get it,” Michelle said.

“So, how should we do this?” Eve asked. “Does my desk at lunchtime work? I’ll fill in some of your gaps.”

Michelle nodded. “That’ll be great.”

“I’m on the fourth floor overlooking the street. See you at noon.”

“See you. Thank you very much.” Michelle waved at Eve’s retreating back, feeling a warm glow wrap around her. She was making friends in the big, scary city. A month ago, when she’d interviewed for this job, it had hardly seemed possible she would ever be living on her own and making it in Chicago.

Brad had doubted her. He predicted she’d be back within three weeks. Her dad had been slightly more supportive, while her mom reminded her at least twice daily that her bedroom at home would always be there and she could come back anytime she wanted. Sometimes a safety net turned into shackles.

She’d prove to her family and herself that she could do it. There’d been a few moments of panic—okay, a lot of minutes of mind-blowing terror—that she’d be on the next bus home, but thanks to her newfound friends, her deflated confidence was reemerging.

She turned back to her desk and saw a long white envelope she hadn’t noticed before. Curious, she opened it and unfolded a handwritten letter. It was short with just a few scrawled lines in black ink on a torn sheet of notebook paper.

Michelle,

We’ve gotten off to a rocky, confused start. I never meant to deceive you, and hope you can find it in you to forgive me. I’m not who you think I am, but I’d like to remain friends.

Yours,

Noah Frellish

S

She reread it. Huh, weird. The CEO had written a personal note to her apologizing for her loss of job within a week of starting. She glanced around at her colleagues’ workstations. No envelopes as far as she could see. A warm feeling filled her insides. It could only have been Sark. He must have told the CEO how angry she was, and he’d responded with this nice note. She wondered what he’d meant to say with the S at the end. A trail of ink dotted the paper next to the S, and she guessed he’d been about to write
sorry
, but ran out of time or forgot.

No matter. The fact that the CEO took minutes out of his busy day to acknowledge her at all meant a lot. She renewed her motivation to learn Photoshop and stay on at this rather amazing company.

…

“Great job, Michelle.”

“Thank you.” Michelle leaned back in the chair and smiled at Eve.

“You’re a fast learner. I can’t believe how much you picked up in a few days.”

She’d spent every lunch hour at Eve’s desk learning Photoshop and more about her new friend. She and Eve came from different worlds. Eve was native to Chicago, and knew all the ins and outs of the city, such as the best places to shop and hang out. Tonight they were heading to a bar for drinks and maybe even some dancing, depending on where the night took them. Michelle wore a sexy tank under her blazer and had stashed some heels in her bag for later.

The rest of the workday crawled by until it was finally five thirty and she could head to the lobby to meet Eve. A big gang from the office joined them. It looked like a fun mix of artsy types from Eve’s graphics department and engineering types from IT.

Michelle stood in the crowded lobby until the group was deemed complete, keeping a surreptitious eye out for Sark, whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since he’d sent her home in a taxi from his apartment. She’d sent a quick e-mail thanking him for the cab ride, but hadn’t had a response.

It didn’t stop her heart from yearning for him and his wide smile.

“Michelle. You still with me?”

She shook herself out of her reverie and refocused on Eve. “Yeah, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Man troubles? The guy you thought was your Prince Charming last week turned out to be King of the Losers? No worries, we’ll find you someone new tonight.”

“No, I don’t want someone new. I want him.” She looked up, surprised she’d revealed that much to Eve. Her normal MO was to keep close-lipped about men. Then again, her only real relationship was with her high school sweetheart, which everyone in school had known about. Make that everyone in town.

“So what’s wrong?”

“He’s been MIA all week. No e-mails, no calls. Nada.”

“Forget him,” Eve advised.

“I wish I could,” she said. She glanced around the corner of the lobby. A crowd of people surrounded them, chattering animatedly. “Do you think everyone’s here yet? Let’s get moving.”

Eve didn’t respond at first. Suddenly, she let out a shout. “Hey Casey!”

Michelle whirled to see Eve flagging down a petite blond woman in a power suit. Casey?

“Casey, c’mere,” Eve shouted.

The suited woman strode over with a questioning look for Eve.

Omigod, was this Casey Harper of the marketing department, her potential new boss? Why the heck was Eve flagging her down like they were at a sporting arena?

“Casey, meet my friend Michelle. She’s new to the company, a fast learner who’d be an asset to any team.”

Michelle wanted to sink into the floor at Eve’s hasty and totally unexpected introduction, but she stood on shaky legs and held out her hand to grasp Casey’s.

“Nice to meet you,” Casey said with a firm shake.

“Likewise,” she managed, trying to keep her cool and act professional in front of a senior director at the company.

“My assistant mentioned you. You know we need help, and it looks like Victoria may be going on maternity leave sooner than expected. Bed rest,” Casey explained with a slight shudder, as if the idea of pregnancy and anything kid-related was beyond her scope. “Do you have time to meet tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. Anytime.”

“Great. I’ll have Victoria set something up on all the calendars. Nice meeting you.” Casey walked away, checking her cell phone.

Michelle turned to Eve, clenching her trembling hands. “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome,” Eve said with a grin.

“She seemed kind of abrupt. Do you think she was annoyed you called her over?”

“Casey annoyed? No. She’s always in a hurry, which is why I called her over. You have to get in her face so she remembers you.”

“Oh, well, thanks. I never would have had the courage. I’ve been debating when to contact the marketing team again.”

Eve shrugged. “You want something in life, you go after it. Nobody’s gonna hand it to you on a silver platter.”

She was giving up on Sark showing up. A bar and dancing didn’t really seem like his scene anyway. “Now can we go? I’m ready to get out of here.”

“Me too.” Eve raised her voice, “Okay, people. We’re heading to Lola’s. Let’s go.”

The group shuffled toward the exit of the building, out into the cool evening, and then down three blocks to Lola’s. Michelle wrapped her coat around her thin sleeveless blouse and tried to put on a happy face to get in the spirit of the night. Not an easy task. For one, a sleeveless top and strappy stilettos on a cold night wasn’t her brightest move, and two, she couldn’t stop thinking about Sark. Why hadn’t he called her or even returned her e-mail?

You know what? Forget it. Forget him
. She was in Chicago with a group of new potential friends and they were going dancing, one of her favorite activities. It was going to be a
great
night.

…

Around ten o’clock, Sark finally pushed his way out the glass doors of the office building. He was tired, but he’d received a text from Eve informing him of a gathering of the usual crowd at Lola’s. She’d added a postscript that she was dragging Michelle along for the ride. Which settled it in his mind—he was heading to Lola’s for a few minutes, and then home to bed.

He hadn’t heard from Michelle since he’d left his confession letter on her desk, and he didn’t know what her silence meant. He’d written several drafts of the note and was on version four when Ted, the COO, along with a handful of company VPs, surrounded his desk to pull him into a conversation. He’d had to quickly shove the note into an envelope and hope it was acceptable.

Her radio silence made him nervous. Was she spitting mad and refusing to talk to him? Was she waiting for him to make a move? He had no idea, but the only way to find out was to see her. Face to face. Therefore, he was standing at the top of four wide metal stairs squinting down into the crowd of gyrating bodies looking for anyone he knew.

He spotted Eve first. No surprise—she tended to stick out in a crowd. He pushed his way through the people toward his friends. As he got closer, a few people greeted him.

“Sark.”

“Hey, Sark, glad you could make it.”

“Eve,” he shouted over the blaring music. “Hey. Is Michelle here?”

Rather than try to go hoarse attempting to be heard, she simply pointed behind him. He whirled. The dance floor was full of energetic bodies showing their moves. Michelle danced with a group he recognized from the office, an amber bottle of beer in her hand. She looked incredible. He’d only seen her dressed professionally for the office, but now, in her revealing tank top and tight jeans, he wanted to grab her off the floor and find some private space.

But he couldn’t—not until he knew how she felt. If she cracked her beer over his head, he’d know and try to take it like a man.

Taking a deep breath, he started toward her. He got close enough to tap her on the shoulder, his stomach in knots anticipating the verdict. She whirled in a sexy dance move before he could touch her.

“Sark,” she squealed, and plastered herself against him, pulling him onto the dance floor. “You came!” The cold condensation of her beer bottle dripped on the back of his neck as her hands clasped over his shoulders.

He smiled down at her and wrapped his arms loosely around her hips. He tried to move in rhythm, but the beat of the song was something too arrhythmic for him. Weird how he could be coordinated at biking yet suck on the dance floor. One of life’s mysteries. Michelle didn’t seem to notice or care about his awkward side-to-side shuffle, though. She pulled in tighter and made as if it were a slow song.

Much as his body enjoyed the feel of hers against him from chest to toe, he had to verbally confirm she wasn’t mad at him. He pulled back a little.

“Michelle,” he shouted over the music. “Are we okay? You’re not mad at me?”

“Mad?” She hugged him then stepped back.

He dodged, avoiding her beer bottle smacking him in the cheek.

“Yes, I’m mad at you. You’ve been avoiding me all week. I missed you,” she shouted back, but the huge grin on her face told him it wasn’t really true.

He smiled at his amazing fortune and tightened his grip, pulling her against him again.
She’d
been waiting for
him.
A friend shoved a vodka Red Bull in his hand, his usual drink. Careful not to let it spill down Michelle’s back, he hefted it for a large gulp. They stayed entwined for the rest of the song, and when the DJ switched it up to a slow beat, she threaded her fingers through his hair and rested her cheek against his chest.

The drink in his hand was messing with his need to touch her and cup her bottom as they swayed to the music. His hands couldn’t go where they wanted, but his mouth could. He leaned down to kiss her, and she met his mouth halfway. She tasted like beer and warm, sexy woman. The kiss grew deeper, stronger. Around them other couples clung to each other and used the slow dance as an excuse to get close to their partner.

He stopped pretending and gave in to what he really wanted. Keeping his mouth on hers, he backed them off the dance floor to a quieter corner of the club. Somewhere along the way, they lost their drinks on a table, on the floor. He didn’t know, didn’t care. What mattered was keeping his connection with Michelle.