Page 8 of Unspoken Promises

I search his words for suspicion, but he’s hard to read.

I grip the strap. “Yeah.”

“Here…” He reaches out to take my bag.

Instinctively, I flinch but quickly compose myself. “I got it.”

His words are tempered, a sort of command. “I won’t let a lady carry her bag.” He places his hand into the air between us, palm up.

Something inside me stirs, threatening to melt completely at his gesture. I’ve always wanted friends. I’ve always wanted someone who would carry my bag just to relieve my shoulders rather than so I didn’t run with it. Not that he’s befriending me. I know Enzo was raised by rancher parents and I guess this is that cowboy chivalry in motion.

I oblige and hand my backpack over. “Thank you.”

We sweep past the guards. I follow his broad shoulders and muscular backside through the winding paths of the sanctuary of well-thought-out plants and rock gardens. I welcome the patches of shade dotted along the private road we walk. It’s relaxing here, something of a desert sanctuary, not that this is the desert, but it certainly felt like El Camino Drive was paved through one on my way here.

When we reach his Spanish-style house, Enzo finally turns and offers me a wordless glance and a thin-lipped expression that I can only interpret as disapproving, then turns his attention to his keypad. His demeanor is nothing like the one Santiago greeted me with on the phone. Enzo is stern, serious, and all about the business.

He shields a keypad and types in a code with tanned fingers. I listen intently to the tones. But knowing this man,he’ll have a keypad that changes the location of the numbers every time it’s used, and simple cracks are an impossible task.

It was my luck he left one for me to slip through at GhostEye. The odds were so small that someone as iconic and talented as Enzo Mendez would leave a breach in his system. So when it happened, I couldn’t help but feel GhostEye is my destiny.

But by the look on Enzo’s face, he doesn’t agree.

4

I followhim out of the foyer and off the red-brown hexagon tiles onto a wooden floor. The place is minimalistic but perfectly designed. Earthy, neutral tones are everywhere, but it isn’t boring. It’s relaxing. And there’s quite a bit of tasteful art on the walls, too.

“Wow. You have great style.”

He glances back barely long enough for me to see his eyebrow rise but he doesn’t answer.

Okay.Either I’m proving really crappy at small talk or this man isn’t up for it.

We leave the main living area and reach an arcade hallway lined with windows to theoutside. At the end, he pushes open a door to allow me entry into the room first. It’s his office. It’s cool in here compared with the rest of the house. It’s a corner room, and on the side, lined curtains are drawn but a sliver, and though the sun blazes outside, it’s almost intimate here. Or maybe that’s just what I’m thinking because I still can’t seem to shake that tingly feeling in my stomach.

He places my backpack down next to the door and sits behind his desk. He gestures toward the chair opposite him without glancing at me and I drop into the seat.

He clicks his cordless mouse. Types. Shifts his glasses once on his strong, masculine nose while blue light illuminates his cheekbones. Is this what he looked like all those late nights he must have pulled creating one of the most disruptive tech companies to enter the scene since cloud computing? What did he think about? What drove him? What was his caffeinated beverage of choice?

Enzo furrows those dark eyebrows of his in concentration, and after a few beats it’s clear he won’t be making conversation, so I scan the space. He has three screens in a semicircle.Three.I had a laptop that would give me cramps, bent over it for hours, cracking code in an uncomfortable C-shape on my bed. He has an ergonomic keyboard. I dip down for a peek at his processor. ADell Precision 7920. My God, this man sure packs some power under that desk.

My pun nearly draws up the corner of my mouth.

“Thanks for taking me in early.” It’s probably appropriate to say it. “I really appreciate it. I’m ready to take on a new challenge.”

I wring my hands on my lap, waiting for him to say something, anything, but I’m met only with the clacking of his keyboard and the tick of his mouse.

He must wonder why I didn’t stick around for mydegree, maybe why I’m such an old graduate student, too. “Since your article inFutureware,I’ve been admiring your work. When I got a chance to work at GhostEye, I didn’t want to miss it.”

The next sound is the whirr of his printer. Several pages slip out, and he slides papers over across the desk along with a pen.

“Before we can talk, Miss Scott…”

“Ava,” I correct.

I love my new name.I wanted something classy, mature, powerful. Everything I intend to be.

“Ava…” He says my name as though he believes it.

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