Page 9 of My Mystery Billionaire

I also made some new friends there pretty quickly, and kept them, too! A couple of them were new hires coming on about the same time as me, but most had been there since before the sale of the business a year and a half before I joined.

My direct supervisor was a man named Jeff. He was about the lowest-tech technology manager anyone around me could remember meeting! Unfortunately, he came in a few months after I did, and his predecessor was just a fond memory.

Frickin’ Flute, but the guy was clueless! How’d he get where he is now?

It was a mystery to me. Cousins Mark and Jim teased that my boss “slept his way to the middle” and I called them reverse sexists.

We had a good laugh, butshucks! The guy was one hot tech-mess!

“Bea! How are you feeling about Jeff being the one to present the product next week? Your signature is all over the thing, and he's gonna take credit!”

Joseph was one of my biggest cheerleaders in the department. “Joseph, I've said this again and again. The business owns my work. I don't have my name carved in blood on it.” But I was frustrated. Jeff didn't have the first clue how to present my product. He didn't know what it was for in any detail or how to explain to any other tech head how it functioned.

Heck, he didn’t even get what kind of client it was made for.

Jeff? What a jerk. But at least he gave me free rein to create and get the job done.

“I know how you feel about your creative license, Bea. It's just the principle of this thing. The guy wants to own everything any of us create. It’s like we don’t exist.”

I just have to shrug. I had made my peace—more or less—once I got the measure of Jeff and his ego. “Joseph, are you still refusing to go to the convention? I'm just too curious not to go. So much creativity out there now!”

Joseph holds a grudge. But I love my work too much. I'm going to the convention. New ideas come from hearing new ideas!

I took the subway. I got there around 10, about an hour after it started. My boss Jeff was just getting on stage to present. MetriCooks is making three separate presentations at the event. The convention organizers have rented a university theater seating 2000 for three 12-hour marathon days of presentations.

Dadgummit! As big as the place is, I’m not finding a seat.

I stand just inside the door at the back of the theater.

A couple of minutes go by and the door opens. I ignore it. I’m too busy being pissed at Jeff!

I am trying to keep my voice down, but what Jeff is saying is so ridiculous! What the heck is he talking about? I mumble to myself trying to keep fairly quiet.

Great Jupiter! The jerk is an idiot! He gets mesomad!

I’m holding up the program in front of my face for some discretion. But I can’t keep myself from mumbling and grumbling, “Great Guns, the man doesn't get it. The man shouldn't be up there. How can he present something he never understood? Itoldhim how it worked and he’s makinggoulashup there.”

Someone had stepped up to stand beside me. He got my attention when he leaned over as if to talk to me or hear what I was saying. I finally broke away from my frustration to look at the man. It wasn’t that dark. And …

Mr. Mystery Music Man!

Big smile on his face. Gaah-ahh-ahh-ly Gee Whizzikers! He’s more handsome than I remember!

And he doesn’t seem to hold a grudge, since he’s grinning at me.

Without me noticing, he had come to stand right next to me, nearly shoulder to shoulder. I looked up at him again.

He’s looking happy and worried at the same time.

He leaned in closer and closer to me and then quietly whispered near my ear, “So this guy doesn't know what he's talking about?”

I looked over at this tall gorgeous, muscular man who had given me one heck of a going-away party. I was still angry at Jeff and commented, “He absolutely does not, but he wouldn't let me do the presentation.”

He whispered to me in that deep, sexy voice I was starting to remember, “Then perhaps we won't give him any of our time or attention. Do you like fruit smoothies?”

Huh?

I looked at him and nodded. He whispered again in that hot, hot, low baritone, “Wanna get a smoothie with me?”

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