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“Not tonight, no,” he agrees. He has to stop staring at me like that or I’ll be worthless, too, and I have a deadline to meet. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
He smiles. “I don’t have any plans for the evening. Do you?”
“Work,” I blurt.
“On a Friday night?”
“Deadlines.” I have to end this conversation fast. I slipped and started flirting, and I have to reel it back in before I go and get myself infatuated with my boss’s brother.
“Charlie doesn’t strike me as a tyrant,” Chris mocks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What deadline has my brother imposed?”
“Not Charlie, Harper.” The words are out before I have time to think about them.
“Who’s Harper?” Chris sobers.
“My…Harper.” Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask.
“Your Harper?” He frowns.
“Someone else I work for,” I say dismissively.
“Doing what?”
“Writing, of course.”
“Writing what?” he probes.
“Whatever she needs me to write!” I throw my hands up.
I did not put romance writer on my resume, so Charlie has no idea part of my income stream can be traced to sweet yet steamy stories that would make grown men blush. I have no idea how Charlie would feel about my romances, and I’m not looking to find out this soon in my employment. Fortunately, my romances are published under a pen name, Michele Lenard, so it’s unlikely they can be connected to me. That’s good for my work with Engage, but it means Lisa James still doesn’t have a publishing credit to her name. She also doesn’t have a romance credit, which maybe isn’t a bad thing since romance writer isn’t a viable crossover to children’s book author. I see the irony there, now.
“Does Charlie know?”
“Know what?”
“That you’re working for someone else? This Harper,” he presses. Harper actually works for me, but that’s hardly worth pointing out when I’m trying to keep my alter ego to myself. It’s actually safer if he believes I work for her.
“Yes,” I huff. “Freelance workers typically have multiple jobs. Like most new companies, Charlie can’t afford everyone full time, and those of us that are part time have other jobs.”
Chris’s eyes go wide, knowing that’s a plausible explanation. “Of course, you’re right,” he backtracks. He has the decency to look guilty, which, dammit, is still a good look on him. “Sorry, I get a little protective when it comes to Charlie. He’s worked so hard…” He trails off.
“It’s okay.” I soften. “I understand. I want this to work, too, not just for me but for him.”
“I just worry about people stealing his idea or coming up with something that makes his irrelevant,” Chris says. “It’s like you said, innovations are happening so fast now, but each one still takes time to develop, and I just hope that Charlie’s development time keeps pace with the bigger picture.” He shakes his head, exhales. Kicks the porch with the toe of his boot. “I’m not making much sense, am I?” He looks to me, almost like he’s seeking validation.
“No, you are. I understand what you’re saying,” I reply. “He has a great idea, but not all the time in the world to perfect it, and if he wants to be relevant, he has to be the first, or the best, at what he does, because innovation doesn’t wait.”
His eyes snap back to mine. “Yes. Exactly.”
“I’ll do my part to keep things moving forward,” I reassure him, laying my hand on his arm. “And I don’t have a conflict of interest. I know that’s what you were really getting at.”
“Thank you.” Chris exhales. He pulls his arm back until our fingers brush together, giving mine a gentle squeeze. “I appreciate your understanding. I’m glad you’re here to help him.” He smiles then releases my hand. “I’ll let you get back to work.” He walks back to his truck, giving me one last, lingering look, and drives off.
I walk back to my computer and sit down in a daze, replaying the last fifteen minutes in my head. What the actual F?
Chris had been flirting with me. True, I thought that about our first encounter, when he had been on a date. And not just any date; a date with a woman who could grace magazine covers. I don’t buy that he actually forgot about her, because what guy could forget about a specimen like that? Not that I should be reducing the woman to her looks, but now I know exactly what my next female character will look like. So obviously I misinterpreted our first encounter as flirting when he was really just being nice. But tonight? Tonight, he was flirting. And I flirted back. Or at least tried to. I’m a little rusty in that department, which happens when your brain is wired for internal dialogue rather than actual, verbal conversation. But there was a moment there when we really did connect, right?
