The Value of Vulnerability (12 page)

“Are you wearing them?”

She laughed aloud. “Yes, Ford. I really am.”

“Good.” And the line went dead.

Staring at the phone console, her smile uncontrolled—she was certain she looked like a fool—she removed a glove to key-in the call-back code.

“Mr. Howard’s office,” said a feminine voice.

“Erin Russell returning his call,” she replied, rubbing the glove against her cheek. Instantly put through, she thrilled to the sound of his stern voice.

“Ford Howard.”

“Thank you.” And she hung up, hearing his chuckle as she did so.

Unbelievably, he called the very next day. She answered her station phone distractedly when it rang, her attention focused on the lines of code on her screen.

“Have lunch with me,”
he demanded.

“What time is it?”
her eyes flicking briefly to the monitor clock.

“Almost eleven.”

“Already? I can’t. I have a two o’clock with Spencer and others, and I’m up to my neck in work as it is, with about a million lines of code to debug,” she exaggerated a few hundred thousand lines. “Lunch of any description is fantasy for me today.”

“Fine.”

“Goodbye,” she said dryly to the dead line, and replaced the receiver, never taking her eyes from the screen.

Spencer approached her desk not long after. “I’ve rescheduled our meeting to tomorrow.”

“Good! That’ll give me time on this,” she indicated the monitor.

“Actually, how do you feel about getting your feet wet with a client? They aren’t having problems as yet, but they’ll need an upgrade soon. Take a look and chat them up.”

“I’m not dressed to meet with a client. And is anyone coming with me? Like a sales jockey type? An analyst? You? Anyone?”
Please?

“Clients
trust techs who look like geeks and nerds rather than the suit-and-tie set. And you aren’t selling anything, just making an assessment. The pitch comes later.”

She heaved an excited breath. “All right. I guess I asked for it. Who’s the client?”

He was already moving away. “BHG head office. Take a cab and submit your receipts.”

Her head snapped around and she stared, frozen, at his retreating back.

Damn it, Ford.

***

Two hours she spent with the in-house IT team at BHG, touring the server room, checking cooling systems, reviewing software. Angry as she was at Ford for his interference—for how else could this have happened?—she enjoyed herself. The BHG team started the meeting with a bit of attitude out of resentment that not everything was in-house—what need did they have for consultants? But Erin talked them off the ledge, pointing out that outsourcing their hardware concerns freed them up to play in their wheelhouse: software, functionality, and security.

It won them, and
as they would soon be moving into deeper waters, responded to questions promptly and honestly. An Xcess competitor provided BHG server support and consultancy, but with the buyout, everything was to be migrated to Xcess. Furthermore, most of the subsidiary companies of BHG needed server upgrades.

Enthralled by the expansiveness and complexity of it all, Erin had some ideas for bringing BHG and its affiliates’ servers under a consistent and compatible system
. Eagerly, she looked forward to discussing it with Spencer.

Finally, she bid the team goodbye, assuring that Xcess would be in touch with recommendations, but left her card in case
of questions or additions to their wish list.

Of Ford, she heard nothing, and began to doubt her initial belief that he had orchestrated this. That was, until security accosted her as she walked through the granite-and-oak lobby past main reception.

“Miss Russell? Mr. Howard would like to see you. This way, please.”

Refusal was obviously not an option.

The security guard escorted her to a private elevator, inserting a pass card into the slot on the panel. The car swept up with a hum while Erin seethed. As the elevator stopped and the doors opened, he nodded to her with a polite smile and indicated that she go on alone.

Huffing with annoyance, she stepped off, right into Ford’s private office.

“It’s about time,” Ford said, pouring wine into crystal goblets. “I’m starving.”

Scowling, she shoved her gloved hands into her coat pockets. “I don’t like being kidnapped. Or manipulated.”

“I’ve done neither, silly. Though I’d like to hear about your other kidnap incidents. The aspects that put you off the experience.”

You’re a bloody riot.

Grudging admiration rose as she viewed the office. On the top floor of BHG Tower, the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the enormous desk afforded a spectacular view of the western waterfront, from Coronation Park to Sunnyside and beyond. The floor was herringbone hardwood, glossy and intricate, and the walls were panelled in dark wood. Closed double doors led, presumably, to executive assistants and the main elevators, as she imagined that not many came in the way she had. A seating area, which included a deep sofa (built for seduction—awfully tempting), was next to where Ford stood in front of a fieldstone fireplace wherein a merry (real wood!) fire crackled. A table was set for an intimate meal: linen and silver and the whole nine yards. Soft jazz played from hidden speakers.

“Come on, don’t look so angry,” he
mocked, crossing to her.

“All right. I’ll just be angry inside.”

“Are you wearing them? Let me see.” He tugged at the sleeve of her black melton-cloth coat and she reluctantly took her hands from her pockets.

“Aren’t they lovely on you,” he murmured, threading his fingers through hers. He kissed her, having to bend his head to do so as she stood at her normal five-
nine in her flat-soled boots.

She closed her eyes, parting her lips for him, hating that her desire for him was stronger than her anger.

“Mm.” He lifted his head, his amber eyes aflame. “Don’t be angry. I wanted to see you.”

“But I
told
you I was busy. What the hell will Spencer think of me?”

“He will think what I give him permission to think,” he stated arrogantly, stripping the gloves from her unresisting hands and tucking them into her pocket. He smoothed her high ponytail in his hand, pulling slightly as he wrapped it around his fist.
Tingles ran through her scalp. “Stay for lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.” Her head tilted back as he tugged, and she subjected him to a steady glare.

His mouth quirked, as if he found her great defiance as intimidating as a basket of mewing kittens. “Are you sure you aren’t hungry?”

“Not even a little bit.” Her stomach growled. “Damn it.”

Smiling, Ford unbuttoned her coat. Parting the lapels, he bit his lip as he read the tiny black lettering on the white baby tee she wore. “‘
No, I won’t fix your computer.
’ That must not inspire confidence on client calls,” he scolded.

“This
call was sprung on me, and your IT people thought it funny. They know what it’s like being a computer geek with friends and families who always need something fixed.”

He pushed her coat from her shoulders and she allowed it without protest. “
See how easy it is to give in?”

“Ford—”

“Hush. Let me look at you.” He tossed her coat aside and held her at arm’s length. “So this is the ordinary, everyday Erin.”

The baby tee was not exactly modest, given her stature and full breasts, but it was the first time she had felt naked in it. The hem barely grazed the low waistband of her faded black jeans, and when she shifted nervously from foot to foot, it rode up to expose an inch or so of soft skin.

Confident male fingers trailed over the revealed flesh and she sighed, swaying towards him. Her nipples beaded in hard arousal.

He
set her firmly away. “I can’t believe you dress like this for the office. No wonder—” He did not finish the thought, but seemed put out. “Sit. We’ll have a quick lunch and you can go home for the day.”

“I can’t go
home
. I didn’t lie about the code I’m debugging,” she protested, annoyed, and sat abruptly. “This looks good.”

It was a cold lunch
: fruit, pâtés, cheeses, antipasto, and other assorted delectables artfully arranged on silver platters. The white bone-china plates on silver chargers were translucent, and the silverware heavy and elegantly plain.

He
sat across from her, regarding her broodingly. “Do you really have that much work?” At her curt nod, he huffed slightly. “Then I’m sorry.”

She smiled crookedly at the surly yet honest tone, thinking again that his apologies needed some slicking up to fit into his facade. “It won’t be the first time I’ve worked late. This is a nice treat, and I didn’t mean to sound ungracious.”

“However?” he prompted, cocking an eyebrow.

“However
, whatever happens between us, I don’t want you to interfere in my career.”

“How have I interfered?”

“You can’t do the innocent thing convincingly, Ford, so don’t try. I know you’ve called me an idiot, but I’m not. Obviously, you told Spencer to send me on this call. And being ordered to your office for an intimate lunch—! Well, the inference is clear. I’m to be favoured. But I don’t require a helping hand. And it isn’t
helping
me in any case.”

“How long have you given your prospects?”

“See, that’s annoying! How do you know I’ve had offers?”

His shoulders moved dismissively. “You told me yourself that you had options. I merely extrapolated from that information.”

“Some extrapolation. My options could have been to run away to join the circus or settle down with a shoe full of kids.”

“Either of those options would suit you perfectly, I imagine, so are entirely possible. Consider me corrected for my wildly arbitrary postulation. Regardless, are you going to leave Xcess?”

“I haven’t decided. Spencer Ward’s an exciting guy—”

“Is he?” A dangerous tone.

“Calm down. Let me finish. He’s an exciting guy
professionally
speaking, and I’m looking forward to working with him.” She sipped the wine. Soft red berries with black pepper and a hint of tobacco led into a big, but very mellow, tannin finish. “Hells, that’s delicious.”

“How long?” he insisted.

She held the vellum-thin Bordeaux glass to her nose, inhaling the bouquet of the wine with pure delight, her eyes closing for moment. “Friday next.”

“It’s unusual to be given so much time to make a decision.”

“It’s Christmas season, so they don’t have too much urgency. And they both really want me.”

He grunted. “Are the offers good?”

“You tell me,” she said slyly, lowering the glass and popping an olive stuffed with gorgonzola between her lips as she shot him a mischievous glance.

He watched her mouth.

Swallowing, she slid her eyes away. “Stop looking at me like that. It makes me nervous.”

As though she were prey on the edge of impending capture between demanding paws. Drawing a breath, she took the bull by the horns—
or the cat by the scruff
, she silently corrected with nervous humour.

“You have to promise not to interfere again, Ford. My career is a long-term plan, while I’m certain your plans for me are of a much more transient nature.”

Guarded and cool, he studied her. Finally, he straightened his posture, reaching for his glass. “All right. I will not interfere with your career—unless you ask me to,” he hedged silkily. “Also, I will believe you when you say you are busy. Assuming you won’t lie about it.”

“Of course not.”

His attitudes were puzzling. She had expected—if she expected anything—that he would call her, ask her out, maybe have very demanding sex with her (in her fantasies, sex with him was demanding . . . and very satisfying), and let her go in short order. His interest in her, in her career, disarmed her a good deal. Ever curious about people’s motivations, his remained a mystery.

“Why
did
you interfere?”

“Most people want interference. Help. Handouts. Hand ups.
Your attitude the other evening broadcasted a degree of resistance, so I was interested in . . . winning you over.”

H
er eyes widened with dubious deliberation as she raised her eyebrows. “Is this winning me?”

“Apparently not,” he retorted, and she laughed.

“But was it meant to?”

Shrugging, he said, “It goes with the territory.”

“Handouts and favours? I really just find it intimidating.”

“You don’t appear intimidated. And a man who needs to intimidate a woman in whom he is sexually interested has bigger problems on his hands. I did not intend coercion,” he added gently.

“I know. It’s fine. As for winning me—I’m not entirely resistant to the idea of seeing you. I thought it rather obvious that would entail sex,” she flushed a little at the statement, demonstrating the fine line between confidence and uncertainty. Collecting the threads of her poise, she met his business-deal attitude with amused facetiousness: “What else were you thinking?”