Page 1 of Work with Me

1

ALICIA

The sky wasthe color of pea soup. Angry pea soup.

Having lived in Texas all my life, I knew the sky turned that color and the clouds boiled only when they were brewing something especially violent.

I gauged the distance from the overhang of the parking garage to the building entrance across the cracked pavement of the four-lane street. There’d be no sprinting across in my four-inch heels.

“Trying too hard,” I muttered. “Flats would’ve been fine. Or even boots.” But I’d wanted to make a good impression at my first gig for my brand-new company. Serious. Capable. Flawless. Ready to use my pointy-toed shoes to kick ass and create a name for myself by turning around this troubled project.

This was my stick-it-to-em moment. To my old boss, Lowell, who’d said I was too “sensitive” to be management material. To Dr. Fletcher, who’d told our entire class—while I, the only woman in the room, sat there, too flummoxed to object—that women didn’t have the drive to succeed in technology. To every coworker who’d ever talked over me, taken credit for my work, or tried to mansplain programming to me. I was walking into Synergy Analytics, a Fortune 1000 company founded by two Stanford grads and now worth over sixbilliondollars, to use my smarts to help them succeed.

Not bad for a local girl who went to a state university. I brushed invisible dust off my shoulder.

My phone pinged. Thirty minutes until the meeting. Plenty of time to get through security, shake some hands, and take my seat at the head of the table. I drew myself up. For the first time in my life, I was my own boss. I was more than qualified to do this gig, and I could beat the rain, too.

As my shoe hit the sidewalk, I heard the first plink.Ha! Missed me!A good thing, since I was wearing a white blouse, my suit jacket folded over my messenger bag to keep cool in Austin’s early-September heat. A see-through shirt at my first meeting would not be a good look. Another quick step, and I checked the street for cars. Clear, if I went fast.

I stepped off the curb, and a raindrop bounced in front of me.Bounced?Another one to my right. A blur of white zoomed in front of my nose. That wasn’t rain; it was hail. Pea-sized. No sweat. Hail wouldn’t even get my blouse wet.

Crossing the second lane of traffic, I kicked a hailstone. That one was bigger, about the size of a marble. An anomaly.Still, better watch out.If I stepped on one that size, I’d probably go down in the middle of Sixth Street. And then I’d get run over by a car. I couldn’t let Noah lose another parent. Besides, I hadn’t yet bought life insurance to replace the policy my old employer had provided. “If I get into this building safely,” I murmured, “I promise I’ll call the insurance company as soon as I get home.”

Gritting my teeth against the pelting stones, I took two big steps to cross the last lane before hopping up onto the curb over the pile of white hailstones that had drifted against it. Two more steps took me under the building’s sheltering overhang. I glanced up at the green clouds. “Thank—”

A flash of white, and pain seared my forehead right at my hairline. “Ouch!” Cradling my face, I scuttled further under the awning. That’d teach me to practice gratitude.

“Are you all right?” A tall figure loomed up in my peripheral vision.

“Fine, I’m fine.” But when I pulled my hand away, my fingertips were smeared with blood. I dug in my bag for a tissue.

“Scalp wounds bleed a lot. Hurt like a motherfucker, too. Hang on, I’ve got something.” The man set down his duffel bag and rooted around inside. His faded black T-shirt with AC/DC’s distinctive logo rode up on his back, revealing a vee of lean muscle that disappeared into his jeans. Between working a desk job and hanging out at soccer fields, I hadn’t seen a lot of physiques like that. Not since Rick. I shook off the memory. I couldn’t let Rick ruin my you-go-girl attitude.

The man turned, a heather-gray T-shirt in his hand. “It’s clean, I promise. Mind if I—?”

Not sure whether my lost power of speech was due to his Greek-god bod or blood loss, I shook my head. Gently, he brushed away my hand holding the blood-soaked tissue and pressed the shirt to my face. The shirt smelled like fresh soap and something else. Leather. Like a boot shop. Or the inside of a luxury car. I inhaled, wishing I could wrap myself in that scent.

When he stepped closer, he kicked a hailstone. “What is this? It’s not snow.”

“It’s hail.” The shirt covered one eye, but I checked him out with the other. He was tall, a good three or four inches taller than me, even in my heels. Ah. It wasn’t all his laundry soap. He was wearing some fancy cowboy boots; thus, the leather scent. Ostrich. Expensive. Faded, broken-in jeans that showcased narrow hips, and the shirt I’d already noted that stretched tight in all the right places. Dark hair, somewhere between brown and black. Dark eyes, too. Sharp. Assessing. But also kind. My cheeks heated under that stare.

“Hell? You mean, as in frozen over?” He spoke crisply, like the people on TV, not like anyone I’d ever met in real life.

“No. Hail. H-A-I-L. You’re not from around here, are you?”

He smiled, the right side higher than the left. “Nope. Still trying to get used to some of these Texas accents.”

“Just visiting, or do you live here now?”

That lush mouth tensed a little. “A little of both. I’ve been in Austin for three months, but I hope I can go home soon.”

“You hope?” I flashed him an easy smile. “Clearly, you haven’t had the full Austin experience. Most people never want to leave.” Except me. After living my whole life here, my hometown had started to feel a little like a favorite shirt I’d outgrown. Soft and cozy, but a little too tight.

The tension disappeared, and his right cheek kicked up again. That smile should’ve been illegal. “Maybe I haven’t had the right tour guide.” His gaze started to trail down, and his eyes widened when they reached my chest. He blinked back up to my face. “You’ve, ah, you’ve got some blood on your blouse.”

“Oh, shit.” I put my hand over his on the T-shirt. His hand was warm and dry. Smooth skin, like he also worked at a desk. He slid it out from under mine so I could survey the damage. Dammit, two red drops right over my left boob. Holding one hand to the cut, I tried to unfold my jacket with the other.

“Let me help?”

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