Can't Touch This (21 page)

Jiles throws his pen across the room, nearly hitting Kyle, who’s deep in thought.  Little Baby Jesus rails on.  “SalesTracker is touting enhancements that are exactly like ours.  Even the fucking graphics are the same as our in-house designs.  They don’t give a shit that they stole it directly from us!”

Kyle speaks up.  “The only way SalesTracker could’ve busted the code was if they
have
an actual demo disk.  I told you the programmers shouldn’t have made it so easy.”

Oh... shit...

My mouth turns arid and I nearly begin to gag.  My demo disk is missing.  Last I’d seen it was when I popped it out of my computer in my San Francisco hotel room to play music.  It was lying on the desk next to the envelope where I kept my travel receipts.  I’d looked everywhere for it before checking out, but figured it must’ve fallen into the trash. No big deal... right?

Oh, but it
is
a big deal.

Our competition is making a huge splash in the marketplace with our enhancements and I’d hosted their top sales guy in my room for a slumber party.  My breathing grows sparse and I focus on Jiles, trying not to black out as the reality of my actions sinks in.

Jiles sweeps his notebook off the table, sending papers and business cards flying.

Kyle goes over to him.  “We can figure this out.  We just need a game plan.  Everyone needs to remain calm.”  He’s so professional, never missing a beat.  I can’t believe Jiles is letting a subordinate tell him to chill, but it’s working.  It’s that smooth voice of Kyle’s that makes you want to do anything he says, like give a pint of plasma, bake homemade brownies, or roll over on your back and beg for more.

Then my heart nearly stops.  The realization hits me like ice cold water in the face.  Rory was only into me for this one purpose.  He probably took the disk out of my room, right underneath my nose.  I don’t want to think the worst, however, it’s hard not to.

My pulse slams into overdrive and I know for certain that I’m going to have a myocardial infarction here on the conference table.  Just my luck, it’ll be someone like Ted, or God forbid, LBJ, who’ll give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to save my pathetic life.

A voice inside my head screams “wise up, fool!  Rory used you!”  I want to fight it and tell it it’s wrong.  “No.  He wouldn’t have taken the disk from my room,” I mutter.

“What did you say, Vanessa?” Jack asks.

“Nothing, I just...  This is really weird, don’t you think?”

He shakes his head.  “Someone screwed up and let SalesTracker get our new version.  There’s going to be hell to pay.”

I have to think.  Reenact everything.  Knock at the door, heavy kissing, third date-like petting and then the phone rang.  I talked to Kyle and that must’ve been when Rory swiped the disk from wherever I’d tossed it on the desk.  He was sitting at my computer, after all.

Wait a sec, Rory had been undressing.  His hardware was on the brain, not my software.  It was about our impending corporate merger.  Then again, he didn’t exactly fight me when I told him I didn’t want to have sex.  He seemed ever so happy to just… leave.

Little Baby Jesus’ voice returns me to the room.  “I want a check on every new demo disk that’s out there.  Reel them all in.  Contact the clients, the prospects, everyone.”

A nervous tide rolls through the conference room.

Kyle holds his hands up in protest.  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting, Jiles?  Clients are going to want to know what’s happening.  This is going to be one hell of a PR nightmare.”

“I don’t care.  I pay you to triage shit like this.  Earn your goddamned paycheck, Nettles.”

Kyle’s mouth opens and closes and then he stares across the room in disbelief.  Our eyes meet and I lower my face into a pout to let him know I feel for him.  He’s got his work cut out.

And it’s all my fault!

“Everyone on this staff who has a demo disk must turn it in,” LBJ says.

What am I going to do?

Jack notices my sporadic breathing.  “What’s up with you?”

“This makes me nervous, that’s all,” I manage to say.

“This is the programmers’ fault,” Jack says assuredly. “Nothing marketing could’ve done to prevent it.”

Yeah, marketing could have prevented it by keeping the competition out of her hotel room.

Jiles continues.  “We’ll match up the license numbers and see if we can track this down.  I’ll be damned if those jackasses in Seattle are going to do this to us.”

An unfamiliar rumbling starts in my stomach and a sharp pain spreads across my belly.  My heart triples its rhythm and I have to concentrate to breathe.

I am completely screwed.

Tears sting the back of my eyes and I fear I’m going to have an emotional outburst.  I can’t believe what I’ve done.  I’m a horrible person and I’ve ruined everything.  I’m a disappointment to my company.  I’ve failed at the corporate game.  I’m a disgrace to the marketing team, to my friends, my family.  To women everywhere.

Even if Rory didn’t take the disk—if it truly had been thrown out or misplaced—I still have a lot of explaining to do because my copy of the software is missing.  That points the finger of blame straight at me, no matter what.

The meeting breaks up.  I grab my stomach and I feel like I’m going to be sick.  Turning the corner, I dash to the Ted Williams conference room and shut the door.  The tumultuous feelings roiling through my body come to a boiling head and I completely lose it.  I can’t stop the flow of hot salty tears as everything cascades around on me.  I’m blanketed in shame, spiraling down to the lowest point in my life.

The creak of the door brings me back to my senses and I quickly wiper-blade my tears.

“Vanessa?”

Oh dear God.  It’s Kyle.  I can’t look at him.  I can’t lie to
him
.  Not again.  He’s so professional.  Forthright and honest.  I want him to think I’m smart, with-it, together.  Not a sobbing, runny-nosed mess.

He shuts the door and then reaches into his jeans for a white handkerchief.  That’s classy; I didn’t know guys still carried those.  I accept it and wipe at my face, trailing mascara on the crisp white fabric.

Kyle kneels in front of me.  “Let me do that.  You’re making it worse.”  He takes the cloth and gently sweeps it over my face.  The material is soft and worn and smells of Downy freshness.

My eyes sync with his and suddenly my body is covered in a warm sensation.  Like a warm fire and hot chocolate on a winter’s day.  Like being away for a long time and finally coming home.

“Sorry you have to see me this way,” I say, finally getting my lungs to capacity with some air.  “Real mature, huh?  I’ve never cried at work before.”

“There’s always a first time.”  He dabs under my eyes.  “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

I don’t know if I can trust him, especially since he’s so tight with LBJ.  What if he whistle blows on me if I admit my wrongdoings?  Then I gaze into his eyes that are so kind.  And his smile.  I could get lost in that dimple for a week.

Look what happened the last time I got involved with a dimple.

Taking a brave breath, I strike out.  “I lost my demo CD.”

He doesn’t bolt to go tell LBJ.  Instead, he flattens his mouth in a “thinking about it” gesture.  “Where?”

“When I was in San Francisco.”

He smiles.  “No, I mean specifically.”

“I think the maid threw it away when she cleaned my room.”  I leave out the tiny detail of Rory being in my room.

“That’s not worth crying this hard over.”  He trails his thumb under my chin, watching me intently with his clear hazel eyes.  Every fiber of my being is on fire from his caring touch.  The concern on his face is overwhelming and my chest actually hurts.

I get a good breath and look away.  “Jiles is going to blame me for all of this and I’m going to get fired.”  The reality of my words seeps in.  I won’t have a job and I’ll be living on a grate in Harvard Square.  I’ll beg people to pay me for holding the ATM door open.  I’ll have to collect bottles and cans just to eke out enough to buy cat food for my dinner.

I collapse, my head in my hands, not caring if Kyle sees my continued breakdown.  I’m a really strong person, but my immediate future is on the line.

Kyle’s strong hand curves around my neck and he begins to rub.  God, that feels so good.  I’m not supposed to be attracted to his warm eyes, his reassuring hand, or his silky voice.  Perhaps not all men are jerks who use you for what they can get out of you.

Then he says, “How can I help?”

I sit up.  He drops his hand to his knee, which is covered in denim stretching across his fine-toned hamstrings.  “Thanks Kyle, but this is my mess and I’ve got to clean it up.”

I’m drowning in a sea of guilt battering me over and over again with another wave.  Kyle’s offering me a life jacket, and I don’t deserve it at all.

“I’m here if you need me,” he says with a smile.  “Anytime.  I mean that, Vanessa.”

I compose myself, take a deep breath.  “I might take you up on that.”

*****

“H
eard from Rory?”
Griz asks later that afternoon, setting a Diet Coke on my desk.  She’s asked me this every day since I returned from my trip.  Today is not the time to continue the line of questioning.

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you mad?”

“Yeah, but not because of that.”

“What then?”

“He’s a jerk.  Typical male.”

She maneuvers to sit on my desk.  “I hear SalesTracker’s kicking our ass in new sales these days.  Their marketplace downloads on Android phones are one of the top purchases this week according to the office gossip.”

“It would seem so.”

Griz squints at me.  “You all right, Double-Vee?”

Do I dare tell her about the missing disk?  Everyone in the company is whispering about SaleTracker’s swoop of us, accusing this, that, or the other disgruntled customer of selling us out.  I trust Griz, but I don’t want to drag her into the corporate quagmire with me.  “What do you mean?”

“I think you’re hiding something from me, Vanessa.”

Am I that obvious?  “No, I’m sick of thinking about Rory. It’s not worth it.”

She screws her face up.  “I thought he was Mr. Right.”

I take a sip of soda.  “More like Mr. What Was I Thinking?”

“All of this attitude because you haven’t heard from him?”  She reaches around me and picks up my phone.  “Call him.  Right now.  This is stupid.”

She’s right.  Maybe I should at least give him the opportunity to deny that he swiped my disk.  Convince me it’s all a bad misunderstanding.  I shouldn’t immediately jump to conclusions before giving him a chance to explain.  “I’ll take care of it.  Now let me get back to work.”

I have to get to the bottom of this.  There’s more at stake here than my heart.  My career and way of life is on the line.

I dash off an e-mail: 
Rory...I know you’re busy with work, but we need to talk.  Vanessa.

There.  Short and sweet.  Non-committal.  Challenging.

Ten minutes later: 
Vanessa...I’m swamped, but it’s good to hear from you.  I can’t wait see you next month.  R.

Okay.  I’m feeling a little bit better.  Maybe I’m reading too much into all of this corporate hullabaloo.

My response: 
Did you take a CD from my room when you were there? 
That’s a roundabout way of getting to the issue.

Rory: 
The Jennifer Lopez CD?  Not a big fan of hers.  Why?

Me: 
Do you remember seeing one next to my computer?

Could I be more obvious?

Rory: 
All I remember is you in that dead-sexy red dress.

All right.  Nice dodge.  He’s squirming his way back into my good books, still something doesn’t feel right.  Maybe it’s only a terrible happenstance.  Bad timing.  Screwed up karma or biorhythms.  Perhaps I’ve convicted Rory on circumstantial evidence.  Still, a gnawing ache in my brain tells me my first instincts might be right.  I can only solve the puzzle by talking to him.  I’ll definitely get to the bottom of this in San Francisco.  He’s not out of the doghouse yet.

I am, though.

I still have to deal with turning in a disk.  My ass is on the line.  Jiles is out for blood and anyone with a missing disk will be a target.

That night, I wake up in bed drenched in sweat after a nightmare starring Little Baby Jesus.  He was dressed as Freddy Krueger chasing me down a long hallway.  Only, instead of razors on his fingers, he had shiny silvery CD-ROMs.  I need psychiatric help.

I can’t lose my job.  If I do, I’ll have to go back to Virginia to live with my parents.  My mother will insist I learn to give perms, blow-outs, and prom/wedding “up dos.”  I’ll spend time cutting Safeway coupons, shelling butter beans, and trimming the rhododendrons.

No.  That can
not
happen.

I’m an honest person, so I need to fess up.  Face the music.  Pay the piper and all those trite sayings that never make sense when you’re the one trying to get out of a situation.

At work the next morning, I’m about to knock on Jiles’ door and confess the loss of the disk when Kyle heads me off in the hallway.  He pulls me by the elbow into one of the Willies’ offices and closes the door.

“I thought of you in the shower this morning,” he says.

The thought of Kyle Nettles naked, wet, and soapy makes the walls of my mouth water.  The thought of Kyle Nettles naked, wet, and soapy and thinking of me makes my legs wobbly.

“Rather, I had an idea.”

I wash away the mental image with sarcasm.  “You decided soap-on-a-rope needs to make a comeback and you’re just the entrepreneur to do it?”

He snickers.  “No, but thanks for the marketing tip.”  He drops his hand from my elbow.  “You can make a demo disk.”

“Why?  To cover my butt?”

“Exactly.  And to make sure you don’t get blamed for something that’s the programmers’ fault to begin with.”

This is actually quite ingenious.  I perk up.  “The template for the disk label is on the server,” I say.

“I know where the disk labels and CDRs are,” he says proudly.  “They’re in the storage room next to the letterhead.  Everyone has access to them.”

The pieces of my life are starting to come back into place.  “I have the number of my ‘real’ demo disk from the copy of the license agreement I signed.  All I have to do is get a new disk, add the label with the proper info and turn it in.”