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Chapter 2
Cord
Eight years ago
I RAN FORthe elevator, slipping my hand between the closing doors and hoping the sensor picked it up in time. The Mountain Dew in my Big Gulp cup sloshed and my Chucks slid along the tile floor. Why anyone would willingly choose to wear a suit to work was beyond me, and I’d thrown away every pair of khakis I owned the minute it was official that I owned this business. My best friend and business partner told me I’d regret it, but he was wrong. Throwing away the khakis and polos of my corporate days had been the best decision I’d made. And whether it was luck or talent or a combination of both, things had been going well since then.
Luck was on my side again and the doors sprang back open, revealing a tall woman in a skirt that fell past her knees. Was that a pencil skirt? It went straight down, and my vision snagged on the utter perfection of her calves. I wasn’t sure I’d ever noticed a woman’s calves before. It felt illicit to find them so appealing and to trace the lines of her legs up to the hem of the skirt. “Uh, sorry about that,” I said, stepping inside. “Didn’t want to wait for the next one.”
She’d glanced back down at her padfolio with a dismissive nod. “Sure.”
I didn’t recognize her, although she looked like she could be anactress or a model, with skin a shade of brown that looked warm and smooth. Her braids were pulled into a bun I immediately wanted to undo.Who is this woman?
I reached for the keypad to punch in my floor—twenty-three—but it was already illuminated, and I glanced back at her. “Are you visiting the FitMi offices?” I sipped from my straw as the elevator inched up. I knew from experience that we’d stop on at least four floors before reaching our destination, and I’d never been so thankful for the delay.
She nodded without looking up, studying her notes closely.
“Interview?” Wes, my partner, had said something about interviewing assistants today, and I wished I’d paid closer attention. Part of me hoped she bombed her interview and didn’t end up working for us. I could maybe work up the courage to ask for her number then, but one glance at her set jaw and straight spine and I had the feeling she’d never bombed an interview in her life.
She finally looked up, meeting my eyes briefly as I stepped closer to her to make room for two women entering the car. “Yes, interview.” She was, no doubt, unimpressed by my jeans and hoodie, and probably thought I was an intern or lost. “You?”
“Just a normal day for me.” I’d never minded looking like an intern until that moment, when I wanted to be the guy she noticed, the guy who looked like someone who should stand next to her. I brushed my hair off my face. I was perpetually overdue for a haircut. “Can’t you tell from my three-piece suit?”
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “I’m not sure that counts as a suit.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said as we waited for the doors to open and close on floor fifteen, where the women stepped out. I pointed to my jeans. “Pants. Jacket.” I tugged on the sleeve of the sweatshirt before unzipping it and pointing to my T-shirt. “Shirt.”I’d chosen a black one with the outline of a wagon and oxen, readingYou Have Died of Dysentery.
Her eyes were back on her notes, but she smiled. “But a three-piece suit has a vest.”
“Damn. You’re right. Next time I see you, I’ll have a vest.” I held out my hand. “I’m Cord.”
“Pearl.” She took it, her shake firm and her skin smooth and soft. Her voice had this breathy quality. It was subtle, like a whisper on top of her normal voice. “It’s nice to meet you, Cord.” I immediately loved how my name sounded coming from her lips and wanted to hear it again.
Chapter 3
Cord
Today
“THANKS FOR COMINGwith me tonight.” Abby squeezed my hand and smiled, blue eyes bright. She looked pretty in a dress that matched her eyes, and with her hair pulled back in some kind of twisty thing.Did I tell her she looks pretty?After six months of dating, I still worried I was saying the wrong thing most of the time and she was too nice to point it out.
“Oh, sure. I mean, of course I came with you. And you look nice.”
She smiled wider and looked back toward the closed elevator doors. Two other couples joined us, and relief flooded me when Abby started talking to one of the other women instead of focusing on me. The doors whooshed shut and their conversation filled the mirrored car.
I caught my reflection across the space—hand in my pocket and wearing a tux, I almost didn’t recognize myself. Standing there with Abby on my arm, I looked like someone who was comfortable in this kind of environment and not like someone wishing this night was already over. I glanced around. I never stepped into an elevator without thinking about Pearl, and I could almost picture the way her heels would look against the floor of the car and smell her subtle scent.
“Earth to Cord?” Abby nudged me as the other two couples were stepping through the open door, the sounds from the ballroom filtering into the hall.
“Sorry.”
Abby slid her arm through mine. “I demand you to stop thinking about work. Give yourself a night off.”
It was normally a good guess. Work seemed to always be taking over every thought, even when I was doing things I enjoyed. Even when I was spending time with Abby. Really, every time I was spending time with her. I shook off the inkling that was a telling sign, determined to do better. “Sure. Of course. Sorry, Ab.”
We walked into the ballroom, filled with people who didn’t need to talk about money because they sounded like money. Abby had volunteered for OurCode for over a year, mentoring a high school student interested in a career in tech. She’d tried for months to convince me to volunteer. She’d pushed me as far as signing up and going through the initial background check, but I always begged off from finishing the training—I didn’t have the time, and I didn’t particularly like teenagers. I hadn’t liked them when Iwasa teenager. The least I could do was attend this ridiculously opulent fundraiser with her and donate, because the donating, I was happy to do.
I brushed my forehead, an old nervous habit, only my hair was shorter now and pushed back off my face. I glanced around and stifled the urge to shove my hand in my pocket. Mingling and cocktail chatter were part of my life now, and luckily my date was skilled at the talking part, moving from group to group, introducing me, and then leading the conversation. Screens hanging from the ceiling showed pictures of girls in the program along with quotes. It wasn’t as if the dearth of women in coding and programming was new to me. Before moving into a management role, I’d been in the trenches—usually trenches full of guys who looked like me.
