Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
I may not work in the office at Smashbox, but I do interact with other employees. And I’ve heard a lot about the company’s premier data engineer and developer, Donovan Frost. Sexy as sin but cold as ice, from Jill in accounting. Has to have everything his way, from Georgia in marketing. Never talks to anyone, prefers coding to conversation, brusque, brilliant but demanding, probably has sex according to a color-coded spreadsheet, wouldn’t be surprised if he starches his underwear.
Well, now I’ve met him, and I can imagine his reputation is well-earned. Except for the brilliant part. I suppose that remains to be seen.
“We’re going to be working together?” I say, pasting on what has to be the world’s sickliest smile, just as Donovan blurts out, “Just the two of us?”
You don’t have to sound so horrified, I think, shooting him a disgusted look. He ignores it, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
“Well, there will be other people involved, of course. A team of app developers, for example,” Ethan says, frowning as he glances between me and the aptly named Mr. Frost. Talk about growing into your name. “Is there a problem here?”
I need this job. I need this job, I repeat to myself, trying to ignore the prospect of working every day alongside a man who can’t be bothered to hold the elevator for me, hides in the corner of the car, and then flees from me as soon as the doors open, like my very existence is poison. “Not at all,” I say, resurrecting the sickly smile.
Donovan’s eyes fall on my face, and he grimaces at the sight of the smile—or maybe, just at the sight of me. “Of course not,” he says, each syllable ice-tipped.
God, what is his problem? “So,” I say, forcing cheer into my voice, “what’s this project all about?”
Ethan grins. “Why don’t we talk about it in my office?”
Donovan and I trail after him to the office at the end of the hall. I haven’t been in here in quite a while, but it hasn’t changed much either, other than the addition of a new baby to the family picture on his desk and an expansion of his inexplicable Marvel bobblehead collection to include Doctor Strange. Same floor-to-ceiling windows comprising one entire wall, fake plants trying too hard to look real, bookshelves displaying Smashbox’s awards and accolades, walls displaying Ethan’s degrees. This high up, we have an excellent view of the mountains that surround Sapphire Springs. The sky over them is darkening, portending a storm.
Ethan gestures for us to sit. We slide into the leather armchairs across from his desk, Donovan clutching his Brew Box cup like a lifeline, me feeling like I’ve been called to the principal’s office. And then we wait while Ethan fiddles with his keyboard, looking anywhere but at each other.
“So,” Ethan says at last, “let me properly introduce you. Rune Whitlock, creative genius, meet Donovan Frost, Smashbox’s gifted senior developer and data engineer.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, even though so far, it’s been anything but.
Donovan gives me a stiff nod in return. He doesn’t offer to shake my hand.
“Rune normally works from home,” Ethan says, unfazed by what must be Donovan’s usual attitude. “She isn’t typically here at Smashbox. But you’ve seen her work, Donovan. She updated our logo, redid our website, handled all the collateral for the Ciderology campaign, which as you might remember, won a Green Dot Design Award…” He goes on, listing my accomplishments like I’ve hired him to do my PR. The Ice Man sips his coffee, showing no indication of thawing, listening like maybe there’s going to be a quiz on it later.
“And Donovan,” Ethan says when he’s run out of things to say about me, “designed the Titan security app, which has made our company a lot of money. You would know, Rune; you worked on their marketing campaign. He’s an unparalleled data engineer and an app developer in one, which is somewhat of an unusual combination. He’s an analytics guru; you’re the expert at making things look good. The two of you have vastly different skill sets. Which is why you’re perfect to collaborate on this project.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say when I’m sure he’s done. “We’re the perfect collaborators because we’re…opposites?”
“Exactly.” Ethan looks pleased. “And your skills complement each other nicely. That’s what we need here—out-of-the-box thinkers who can design a gorgeous product that will function smoothly behind the scenes and on the front end, with the graphic user interface. I know you don’t normally come into the office, Rune, but this is different. To get the creative synergy you need, the two of you will be collaborating in person, every day.”
He's speaking English, but somehow, I must have misunderstood. “I can’t…work from home?”
Ethan shakes his head. “Not on this one. Sorry. I want the two of you together, in the same space. Bouncing ideas off each other. Able to spin your chairs around when you come to a brilliant conclusion and brainstorm face-to-face.”
“You want me to share my office ?” Donovan’s jaw tightens, as if Ethan’s told him we need to share a bedroom, instead.
“Is that a problem?” Ethan says, eyebrows knitting. “Because if so?—”
“No.” The fingers of Donovan’s free hand beat a tattoo on his knee. “Not at all.”
But, of course, it’s all too clear that it is.
I have to fight the feeling that settles over me, the familiar voice that rears its ugly head: not wanted, not good enough, wrong wrong wrong. A lifetime of growing up in foster care—never the right kid to keep, shunted from house to house for being too strange, knowing things that families would rather keep secret—gave that voice years of fodder. Even the kids at school wanted nothing to do with me. The weird girl. The girl with no parents. The girl who talks to herself, the girl who stares into space, the girl who thinks she can see the future, the freak. Only Charlotte stuck by me, and because her mother was the mayor of Sapphire Springs, that helped a little. But her mother never liked me much, either.
I tend to make people uncomfortable, if they spend enough time with me. Even though I’m cursed to never have them believe my predictions, they still sense I’m different somehow. The only place I’ve ever felt like I fit in, other than at home with my cat, Valentine, is with Charlotte’s family, and that’s mainly because her daughters are too young to know any better. But I’ve worked hard at putting on an act, smiling and asking the right questions and working hard to make sure people feel at ease. Donovan never even had a chance to get to know me before he decided he couldn’t stand me. That shouldn’t hurt, but somehow it does.
“I won’t go through your files,” I say, too loudly. “Or…or touch your computer screen. Or steal your passwords. Or whatever it is you think I’m going to do.”
Donovan’s nostrils flare. “You couldn’t steal my passwords if you tried.”
As if to punctuate his statement, thunder booms, so close I swear Ethan’s windows tremble. A moment later, the sky opens up and rain pours down, streaking the glass. Hello, terrible omen.
Ethan is undeterred. “Donovan is very particular. It’s what makes him such a good engineer. You’ll loosen him up a little, Rune. It’ll be good for him,” he says, like Donovan isn’t in the room at all.
Donovan chugs his coffee as if he wishes it were something stronger. He doesn’t say a word.
“Um,” I venture, watching lightning flash over the mountains, “you haven’t said what the project is. Or the timeline. Or the deliverables. Or, come to think of it, the client.”
“Haven’t I?” Ethan frowns at an email that’s just popped up on his computer screen, then glances back at me. “The timeline is six months, starting now. I hate to be cloak-and-dagger about it, but our client has asked to remain anonymous. I suggested an NDA as an alternative, but…” He shrugs. “All I can say right now is that the project involves creating a package to compete with genealogy software like 23andMe and Ancestry. We’ll be revealing more information to both of you on a need-to-know basis.”
“Six months?” For the first time, I hear a crack in Donovan’s impassive facade. “You expect me to do this by myself…in six months…alongside my other responsibilities?”
“Of course not. This will be your only project. And you’re spearheading it, not lone wolf-ing it, obviously. As I said earlier, you’ll pull in teams as you need them, based on my approval. App developers, UX designers…”
“But—but—” Donovan runs his hand through his hair. “I’m in the middle of the Nebula project. You’ve got me crunching data for at least two other clients. What am I supposed to do about them?”
“Hand them off,” Ethan says, rising to his feet. “You’ve got a competent team. Take advantage of them.”
“But—” Donovan says again.
“I’m sorry. I know you like to finish what you start, but this is too good an opportunity to pass up. It could do wonders for the company. Get your name on this, Donovan, and people will be lining up at your door. Yours, too, Rune.”
I want to tell him that I have no desire to have anyone lining up at my door. That I’m happy with my life as it is—or, if not happy, at least able to maintain it. I may not have a family, someone to love, or answers about where the hell I came from, but at least I’m stable, which is more than I’d ever hoped for. My experience with change—and I have a lot of it—has rarely been good.
But you don’t tell your boss that, not when you need the financial security your job provides. Not when he pays for your health insurance and your mortgage on your little cottage and your chai lattes. So I just say, “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Now, sorry to run you both off, but something urgent’s come up.” He shifts his gaze to the windows, where rain is sheeting down. “You said you had car problems, Rune. Do you need a ride?”
Right. My Subaru, abandoned half a mile away. “I can take an Uber.”
As soon as I say it, I realize the error of my ways. Sapphire Springs has two Uber drivers (not an exaggeration), and in this weather, they’re both likely in high demand. I’ll be waiting forever.
Ethan must come to the same conclusion, because he says, “Don’t be silly. Donovan will drive you.”
Donovan will what? “That’s not necessary,” I protest, just as Donovan says stiffly, “I really don’t think?—”
“Nonsense!” Ethan says, clapping his hands. “The two of you need to learn to work together. And right now, you can barely hold a conversation. A little drive would be good for you. Get to know each other a bit.” He grins, as if he’s just announced that he’s giving us both huge raises. I’ve never seen him look so happy.
If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect Ethan Godfrey had a little matchmaking in mind.
But honestly? The only thing he’s setting us up for is failure.