Blame It on the Blackout. Heidi Betts
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to help work bugs out of their systems or simply get things running more smoothly. But what he loved most was designing his own games and programs, and that had been his focus for the past two years, ever since she’d started working for him.
Reaching past his sleeping form, she collected several empty cola cans scattered over the desktop and on the floor. He drank too much of this syrupy stuff, especially when he was busy and became nearly obsessed with a particular project.
Two of the aluminum cans slipped from her grasp and rattled as they bounced against each other on the way to the carpeted floor. The noise startled Peter and he shot upright. Blinking sleepily, he looked around as though he wasn’t quite sure where he was.
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He rubbed a hand across his eyes and yawned. “What time is it?”
“A little past nine. How long have you been working?”
“I started after dinner. Around six, I guess.”
Pushing back his chair, he got to his feet and stretched. His knuckles nearly grazed the ceiling as he raised his arms high above his head and stood on tiptoe. The posture puffed out his chest and showed the taut, well-defined muscles of his calves and thighs.
A ripple of awareness shot through Lucy, but she pretended not to notice.
“I was working on that GlobalCon glitch. It took me longer than I expected, but I think I took care of the problem.”
She moved to the wastebasket near the door and dumped the soda cans in, making a mental note to recycle them later. “So those were billable hours you spent last night. What time did you finish?”
“Damned if I know.” He scratched a spot on his chest and yawned again. “The last time I remember looking at the clock, it was about 3:00 a.m.”
She nodded, wondering if GlobalCon and all of Peter’s other clients realized just what a bargain they usually got with him. Sure, he was expensive, but he was also the best. And since he rarely remembered to log the times he began and ended his work for them, the bills she sent were generally best-guess estimates.
“Why don’t you go lie down for a couple of hours. You look exhausted.”
The grin he shot her swept right down to her toes and curled them inside her plain navy pumps.
“Nah. Now that I’m up, I might as well get showered and dressed.”
Peter in the shower. Now there was an image she needed floating around her brain the rest of the morning. As though he didn’t already keep her wide-awake most nights.
“Besides, I want to call GlobalCon and let them know I took care of their problem, then see if I can make any more progress on Soldiers of Misfortune.”
Soldiers of Misfortune was Peter’s latest obsession, a virtual guerilla warfare game with enough blood and guts to keep adolescent boys entranced for hours. Lucy tried to work up a modicum of outrage for his perpetuation of teen violence, but she played the games herself from time to time and had to admit they were fun. And so far, she hadn’t snapped and committed any acts of mass destruction.
Careful not to touch him, she moved around the office, collecting the rest of the clutter from Peter’s long work night. “Don’t forget to try on your tux and see if it needs alterations before tomorrow night.”
Halfway out the door, he froze. Twisting his neck just far enough to look at her, he asked, “What’s tomorrow night?”
“The City Women benefit against domestic violence. You’re giving a speech and receiving an award for your support of the organization and donations of refurbished computers to local battered women’s shelters.”
He’d spent weeks upgrading old systems so women who were trying to escape unbearable situations could train for new jobs to support themselves and their children instead of feeling forced to return to abusive husbands.
His eyes closed, chin dropping to his chest. “Damn, I forgot. I don’t suppose there’s any way I can get out of it,” he said, shooting her a hopeful expression.
She bit down on a smile, not wanting to encourage him. “Not unless you want to disappoint hundreds of grateful women and children.”
With a sigh, he rested his hands on his hips. “Fine. But I’m going to need a date.”
A stab of pain hit her low in the belly. Followed quickly by envy and regret.
Peter had dated hordes of beautiful, successful ladies. Models, actresses, news anchors, real estate agents… He was handsome, funny, charming, and—though he was still striving to build his software company into one that would rival the best of the best—wealthy enough to catch a single girl’s attention.
Lucy told herself it didn’t hurt to see him with all those other women. Except when she came to work in the morning and discovered them still in his bed, or just leaving, or found a stray pair of panties while cleaning up between the housekeeper’s visits.
“I’ll go through your Rolodex and see who might be available.”
A minute ticked by while Peter stood in the doorway and she lifted the now-full plastic bag from the metal trash can.
“No,” he said, startling her. “I don’t feel like putting on a show for someone who just wants to be seen with the great Peter Reynolds.”
“That’s all right. I’m sure the City Women will understand if you attend alone.”
“I have a better idea,” he announced, turning around to face her. “You can come with me instead.”
He said it as though he’d decided to have chicken for dinner over steak, and Lucy couldn’t help but feel like the feathered creature unfortunate enough to be dragged to the chopping block.
If he’d meant it as a real invitation, if he’d even once looked at her as though he wanted her on his arm for the evening because he was attracted to her, she might have considered it.
Oh, who was she kidding? She’d have jumped at the chance and prayed he didn’t lose interest before the main course.
Shaking her head, she gathered the edges of the garbage bag together to keep the items from falling out and headed for the stairs, brushing past him with barely a millimeter of space to spare. “No, thank you.”
“No? What do you mean no?”
His voice, raised in surprised indignation, followed her down the steps. As she rounded the newel post and headed for the kitchen, she noticed he was hot on her heels.
“Lucy, you can’t possibly mean to leave me to my own devices. I’ll drown in a sea of shiny, happy people. You know how much I hate crowds and public speaking.”
“You should have thought of that before you agreed to be there.” She set the trash from his office on the countertop and began separating it into the plastic recycling bins set in one corner.
“God, that coffee smells good,” he murmured, tossing a longing glance at the pot that had just finished dripping. “Look, I can’t go alone. I need you with me. There are going to be some very important people in attendance. People who could turn into future clients or help get Reyware and Games of PRey off the ground. You’re my assistant. You know our software programs and intentions for the company almost as well as I do. And no one works a room like you do. People love you.”
When she didn’t respond, he continued, sounding more desperate by the second. “Consider it in your job description. I’ll pay you overtime. You can take the appointment book and set up a dozen meetings with potential backers for the next month.”
Ah, yes. She was, indeed, his assistant. And if he was making this into a work-related affair, then she had no choice but to go with him.
But she didn’t have to make it easy for him.
Turning