Meltdown (3 page)

She dropped into the deep cushions of the cane-backed chair and began to sort through her mail. The take was meager: Two technical magazines, three bills, a letter from her mother, and a squat, red-wrapped
package postmarked Pennsylvania. Melanie frowned. She couldn’t recall knowing anyone in Pennsylvania, until a closer examination of the package revealed the dollar sign masthead of the Shopping Channel.

Oh no. He was at it again.

The package contained a replacement chain for a garage-door opener. The price on the invoice was ridiculously low, a real bargain for such an item. If she’d had a garage-door opener to begin with, that is. If she’d had a garage.

When would he learn? She’d told him time and time again not to spend money on nonessential items. But he was a sucker for a bargain. And he always had such noble, albeit misplaced, reasons for his purchases. Like the time he’d ordered her a year’s subscription to
Playgirl
, believing it was a recreation magazine.

She took off her glasses, rubbing the weariness out of her tired eyes. How, she wondered, did one discipline a computer? Send him to bed without his microprocessor? Switch out his VGA color graphics monitor for a monochrome?

Sighing, she turned to the letter, hoping it would cheer her. No such luck. After the initial preamble about the weather, her mother’s missive deteriorated into a well-intentioned, but pointless appeal for Melanie to give up all this computer foolishness and “… find yourself a nice young man.”

A nice young man. Melanie grimaced and tossed the letter on a nearby packing case. Long ago she’d realized romance wasn’t going to be a part of her life. She’d reached the conclusion scientifically, as she watched her number of dates decrease in direct proportion to her increasing GPA. She told herself it didn’t matter, and locked her secret desires behind a wall of square roots and differential equations. She could calculate binomial distributions in her sleep,
but when it came to romantic equations she couldn’t add two and two.

This isn’t getting me anywhere, she thought. She shrugged, and fingered the garage chain from the Shopping Channel she still held in her lap. She smiled, thinking how alike she and Einstein were. Brains by the truckload, and not a spoonful of common sense between them. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t know where, but somehow she’d find a way to keep him up and running. If she had to starve herself, she’d find it.

She needed money, not molding memories. And not fantasies of a blond Adonis as far removed from her as the moon. Hell had more chance of freezing over than she did of being noticed by those golden eyes.

Chris Sheffield had a plan. Granted, it wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best he could come up with on such short notice. He had met the woman only this afternoon, and it had taken the better part of the evening to convince the reluctant switchboard operator to part with Melanie Rollins’s unlisted home phone number. Now, three tacos, two tequila sunrises, and one toe-crunching bossa nova later, he was back home at his beach house, ready to put his plan into action.

He poured himself a scotch, and settled back into the deep comfort of his leather couch, grateful he would never have to put his body, specifically his feet, through that particular exercise again. Bertha Short may have been the epitome of efficiency at the telephone console, but she had the physical coordination of an elephant. When she finally gave him Melanie’s number, he felt like singing the Hallelujah Chorus. He just hoped this computer was worth it.

Chris set down his drink and prepared to put step two of his plan into motion. Compared to step one it would be a breeze. He intended to ask Miss Rollins for another look at her computer. If it really was as innovative as she’d said, he’d make certain she got another chance to present it to Sheffield Industries. It was a win-win situation as far as she was concerned, and he had no doubt she’d accept the offer.

He picked up the receiver and dialed Melanie Rollins’s phone number. He smiled, recalling the image of the slight, navy-suited warrior facing down his intimidating father. A warrior with the most kissable lips he’d ever seen. Chris looked forward to seeing her again, and not only because of her computer. All things considered, this could turn out to be a win-win situation for him as well.

She answered her phone on the second ring, her brisk “hello” all business. Hell, he thought, doesn’t she ever give it a rest? “Miss Rollins? It’s Chris Sheffield.”

Silence.

“Chris Sheffield,” he repeated. “We met this afternoon.”

“Oh.”

Just
Oh
. Glaciers had more warmth. Not that he blamed her. His father’s behavior had been no heat wave. “Miss Rollins, I’ll get right to the point. I liked what I heard this afternoon. I’d be interested in seeing your presentation.”

“Mr. Sheffield’s giving me another chance? That’s wonderful!”

Chris hated like hell to crush the joy in her voice. “Not exactly.”

“But you said—”

“I said
I
was interested.”

“You and Sheffield Industries?”

“No, just me.”

“Oh.”

That word again. For a genius she certainly had a limited vocabulary. “Maybe we’d better start back at the beginning. Hello, Miss Rollins. It’s Chris Sheffield. We met over dinner last night.”

“No, we didn’t. We met in your father’s office.”

“So we did,” Chris conceded with a laugh. “Can’t put anything past you, can I? I guess you’re not just another pretty face.”

He’d expected his casual remark to put her at ease. It didn’t.

“Mr. Sheffield, I doubt you called to discuss my appearance.”

Well, no, Chris thought. Your lips, maybe, but not your appearance. “I simply hoped you would join me for dinner tomorrow night. We could discuss our alternatives.”

“Alternatives? What alternatives?”

“For marketing your computer—Einstein, isn’t it? Well, if Einstein is as advanced as you say, it’s definitely something Sheffield Industries would be interested in.”

“Didn’t you just tell me they weren’t interested?”

“Well, yes I did—”

“Then I don’t understand.”

Neither did Chris. This conversation wasn’t going at all the way he’d planned. Her incessant questions were tying him up in knots. “Look, all I want to do is see your computer. If you’re not free for dinner, maybe I could come over to your house sometime this weekend and—”

“No.”

“No?” Chris repeated, annoyed by her evasiveness. “Mind telling me why?”

“My house isn’t—I mean, I think the office would be a better place to discuss this.”

The office, Chris thought, is a weekend away. And
for him time was running out. In less than a month the board of directors would be appointing a new head of Product Research. “Frankly, I don’t see what difference it makes where we discuss it.”

“The difference, Mr. Sheffield, is—” she began, and stopped. Her voice changed to a less formal tone. “Yes, I’m saying no. I’ll explain it to you later.”

“Why can’t you explain it to me now?”

“Not you,” she said, sounding harried. “It’s just … it’s just I’m not very experienced at telling my ideas to other people.”

“You were willing to tell them to my father.”

“That’s different. That was a company, not … an individual.”

An individual, she’d said. She’d meant an individual whose golf score was higher than his IQ. No doubt she’d heard those fabricated stories passed around the office by the local gossips. Damn! She didn’t even know him. Couldn’t she bother to hear him out before passing judgment on him? “Just let me talk with you. What could dinner hurt?”

“You don’t understand. I … look, I told you I’d explain it to you later. Quit bugging me.”

“I didn’t know I was,” Chris said.

“You aren’t. I mean, you are, but you’re not. I mean—thanks for the offer, but we’re not interested.”

Chris caught the
we
. Now he understood why her conversation had seemed so disjointed. “Is there someone else there with you?”

“Y-yes. There is.”

Boyfriend, Chris thought. Not in his original plans, but he could be flexible. “Well, bring him along to dinner. We’ll make a party of it.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Jealous type, is he? Don’t worry. I’ll bring a date.”

“You don’t … Look, I can’t bring him to dinner.
It’s Einstein. There’s no one here except me and Einstein.”

“Then who—?” Chris began, but stopped when he realized the implications of her words. Einstein. Her computer was interrupting their conversation, interrupting in an irritating, totally
human
way. “Are you telling me that you’ve been arguing with … Einstein?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it arguing, exactly.”

“I don’t care what you call it,” Chris said in a rush. “I want to see that computer immediately. Tomorrow. Tonight. Good God, what a find. And to think my father actually sent you away. I almost lost you.”

“You don’t want to lose me?” she asked, her voice oddly hushed.

“Hell, no,” Chris answered, still reeling from the unexpected windfall. At best he’d anticipated Melanie’s computer to be able to make decisions between three, maybe four alternatives. But to be sophisticated enough to follow a conversation! That was light-years ahead of anything on the market. Bringing a project of this magnitude to Sheffield Industries was certain to earn the respect of the board of directors. Not to mention his father. “Lady, that computer of yours is going to take me exactly where I want to go.”

“Where’s that?”

“Straight into the head office of Product Research. Once the board of directors sees this they’ll have to give me my promotion. And if that computer is half of what I think it is, that’s only the beginning. I hope you didn’t have any big plans for the next, say, thirty or forty years. I intend to spend a lot of time with your machine.”

Melanie made a small sound of disapproval. “Einstein’s not a machine. He’s got a heart. A soul.”

“Good, good,” Chris agreed. “A human touch always
helps in marketing a machine. ‘He’s got a soul.’ I can use that line in the campaign. People eat up that personification stuff.”

The silence on the other end should have alerted him, but it didn’t. Chris was too caught up in planning the future of the product that would save Sheffield Industries. First, he’d have to present it to the board. Second, he’d have to hire a development team. Third—

“Mr. Sheffield?”

“Oh, sorry,” Chris said, realizing he’d been ignoring her. “I guess I got carried away with—”

“Mr. Sheffield,” she interrupted. “I’ve … I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want you to work with Einstein.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m trying to teach him … that is, he’s very sensitive. I don’t think you’re the right kind of person for him to be around.”

“Why?” Chris asked.

“Well, his consciousness needs to be handled very carefully. Nurtured. He’s like a child: Eager, inquisitive—”

“And you don’t think I’m bright enough to teach him,” Chris finished.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said bitterly. “What you really meant is that you don’t think I’m bright enough to market your computer. What’s the matter? Did you think the truth would tax my tiny little mind?”

“That’s not … Look, we just couldn’t work together. If you have a problem with that, I’m sorry.”

“Damn right I have a problem with it. I’m bending over backward here. What is it you want me to say?”

“ ‘Good-bye,’ Mr. Sheffield. Just ‘good-bye.’ ” The soft click on the other end of the line added a final period to her words.

“Brains!” Chris jumped up and started pacing the floor like a caged lion. “God save me from
brains
.”

It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to be treated this way. Not by her. Especially not by her.

He remembered his last sight of Melanie Rollins, of her bowed expression and her sad, tear-filled eyes. Then and there he’d made up his mind to help her, whether her computer could earn him his coveted promotion or not. The fact that it could was an added bonus, or had been until she’d turned him down. She’d thrown all his good intentions back in his face.

“Not the right kind of person,” she’d said. Hell, why didn’t she just call him an airhead and be done with it?

This isn’t getting me anywhere
. He stepped out onto the deck, taking in a deep breath of the fresh night air. Spotlights illuminated the beach and the moving edge of the sea beyond. But the hushed beauty of the moment did little to calm the turmoil inside him.

Damn, couldn’t she see how important her invention was? If that computer was truly as sophisticated as she said, the whole world could benefit. The practical applications were endless: Mechanical helpers for the disabled, intelligent robots to replace human hands in deep sea oil drilling and other hazardous occupations, deep space probes.… An intelligent computer could help thousands of people, from heads of state to average Joes, to lead happier, richer lives.

Chris wanted that computer. But inside he knew that wasn’t the only thing he wanted. Despite her aloof behavior he couldn’t keep Melanie’s image out of his mind. He remembered his all-too-brief glimpse of her shapely legs as she bent to plug in the computer power cord. He recalled the unspoken invitation of her flower-soft mouth.

Most of all, he remembered her eyes—her smoky, dreamer’s eyes that wove their magic through him like some kind of spell. Eyes like that could make a man crazy. His mouth grew dry and his palms grew wet at the thought of being reflected in those eyes, of watching them change and darken with passion’s heat.

Whoa! Chris thought, shaking his head to clear it. Didn’t he have enough problems without fantasizing about Melanie Rollins? Talk about a lost cause. The woman had ice water in her veins. Brains were all that mattered to her, brains she didn’t believe he possessed. He could just imagine what she thought of him—the boss’s none-too-bright son, good at golf and not much else. He’d faced that kind of prejudice before, but this time it bothered him. This time it hurt.

The night wind, so sweet and fresh a moment before, had suddenly turned cold and indifferent. Chris pushed himself away from the back-porch railing and walked into the living room, closing the door behind him with a decisive metal click.