Is this guy actually as awkward as he seems? As I can be sometimes?I don’t think he’s rude exactly, I understand being wrapped up in work, but he looks stunned speechless at the sight of me, which doesn’t make sense, since he should know I’ve been hired.Does he know I’ve been hired? Is this a mistake? Am I about to be fired from a job I haven’t even started?
Visions of zeroes that aren’t even there yet, leaving my bank account, fill my head. I try to tamper my anxiety with a smart comment, which isn’t always the best tactic but sometimes works in my favor. Guys aren’t usually used to pretty women who speak up, especially not brainy ones to boot.
“You’re the brother Vince told me about, right? The one running this gig?” I grin at him with a confidence I don’t feel, taking his hand that’s hovering between us. He doesn’t shake it, just stares at me like he’s seeing not just me for the first time, but a woman, period. Which feels a little awkward but also weirdly good. No one’s ever looked at me the way he is, with those green eyes that look as if they’re staring into my soul, shaggy dark hair, and a chiseled face that looks like it was designed by a god. It’s enough to tell me without words that he is the brother; only Vince’s brother could have these same stunning good looks packaged into what appears to be a hard-muscled body wrapped in joggers and a NASA t-shirt. And, if the device he’s working on is any indication, the brains to go along with it.
He seems to shake himself out of his daze suddenly, smiling down at me. “That’s right. Tito San Giovanni. I am, in fact,running this gig.”
His voice is almost teasing; a nice recovery. “Scout Summers,” I introduce myself quickly, feeling a real smile playing on my lips at the conversation. “Although you probably heard that weird-ass robot introducing me as I walked in, if you weren’t too distracted.”
“I was. Distracted, I mean. But I still heard her. It. The robot.” Tito stumbles over his words, still holding my hand, and if it was anyone else, I’d be shaking him loose. But his hand feels good. Broad and warm, making mine feel small and delicate inside of it, and I have to tear my eyes away from his lips as he speaks. They’re full and look soft. “Nice to meet you, Scout.”
“Likewise.” I pause, glancing at the table strewn with what appears to be work and designs. “So, want to explain to me what it is I’ll be doing here?”Anything to stop thinking about his lips,I think frantically, as Tito finally lets go of my hand.
He turns back to the table, beginning the explanation of the work, and I do my best to follow. Inwardly, I’m wondering what the hell this is that I’m feeling, standing next to him. I took a job, and he’s my employer. The kind of tingles I felt when he touched my hand is entirely inappropriate, as are all the thoughts I had about his lips and his body—
I’ve never had time for dating. I’ve been out on one or two, but the problem with dating is that eventually, they want to know things about you, and my life typically scares men off. Or so I assume. I’ve never actually shared because of my overall awkwardness when it comes to dating, and my aversion to the idea of sex with any of them right off the bat meant I rarely got a date two, let alone three or more.
But if ithadever gotten that far, I would have had to share that I have a manic mother and a half-sister I’ve been helping to raise, and that doesn’t exactly turn men on. Nor would the shabby apartment they’d eventually see or the fact that I can’t ever offer to pay for anything.
My goals for myself, to get my family to a good place and finally be able to focus on my own future, have always been bigger than the urge to find a partner. To fall in love. Right now, I’d look like I was trying to find a man to take care of me, and the last thing I want is to be dependent onanyman. I saw what that did to my mother.
This job is the key. Which means that, even if Tito is the most drop-dead gorgeous nerd I’ve ever seen, even if he’s fascinating and brilliant, even if our conversation for the rest of the morning flows smoothly right into me going off to start on the tasks I’m assigned. All of those things are absolutely true; I can’t get distracted by him. More than that, I can’t risk this job by fooling around with my boss. I can’t riskanything.
Tito is, at first impression, the kind of guy I never thought I’d meet. And he is absolutely, completely, one-hundred-percent off limits.
I just have to be okay with that.
---
Two weeks in, I’m absolutely certain of two things, that taking this job was absolutely the right decision and that Tito San Giovanni is the biggest temptation I’ve ever faced. If he were interested inme, that is, which I don’t think is even the faintest possibility. He doesn’t flirt with me at all, which I appreciate, considering the fact that most men in tech can’t wrap their heads around a girl being good in this field at all, let alone an attractive one. And it allows me to push aside my attraction to him and focus on the work, which is the most challenging and best that I’ve ever had the opportunity to take part in it.
I fucking love every second I spend in Tito’s lab. The days are long and grueling, but they seem to go by in a flash. There are a lot of things that are kept secret even from me, the project head just under Tito, and that, coupled with their last name and clear Italian heritage, has me wondering from time to time if there might not be more to this than they’re letting on.Mafiahas run through my head more than once, but I always push it aside as overdramatic. I know there’s plenty of mob presence in LA, but surely I didn’t end up accidentally working for them?
The hefty payment coming to me at the end of the month makes it easy to not think too hard about it, too. It does occur to me that I’m waiting on a payment when the job is finished and that if theywerethe mob, enforcing that contract I signed would be impossible. Still, I force myself not to think too hard about that, either. I’m already in it, and I can’t get either of my jobs back, so I might as well see this through.
Titoand I have been arriving early every morning, like an unspoken agreement that we both follow to geek out about tech and show each other ideas we’ve never revealed to anyone. It’s the best relationship I’ve ever had, and we’re not even together.
“This is brilliant, Scout. I mean, seriously. I can’t believe you’ve never shown anyone else this.” He’s sliding through images on the iPad he gave me for company purposes, looking at the drawings I’ve transferred to it. They depict a type of stun gun that connects with the frequencies in nerve endings to allow for temporary control of body movement. It’s such a long shot and purely hypothetical stuff.
“Thank you. I seriously doubt its logistics, but—”
“What? You’re the smartest person I know.”
“You barely know me.” I laugh.
“Then you must believe how true it has to be if I’ve determined it so early on.” His eyes focus on mine, and the heat from my cheeks makes me look away for a second. “Honestly, you really are, Scout.”
I’m suddenly aware of how close he is to me, how his hand is nearly brushing against mine, and how, despite the fact that he always wears much more casual clothing than his brother, his cologne smells expensive and warm. If I were in his bed, pressed up against him, I’d come away smelling of it too.
What the fuck are you thinking, Scout? You’re never going to be in his bed, and that’s just fine.
“Howdy!” McLaren, welding and constructing devices department of this project, busts in the room with his booming set of pipes, thankfully breaking the moment before I can say or do anything stupid. Tito and I jump away from each other, and my heart thuds in my chest because there was no reason for him to jump away, too, unless he was thinking the same things I was. Or something like that.
Get a grip, Summers.
McLaren’s chubby, unaware frame bounces over to us as he pulls his Matrix-looking sunglasses off, replacing them with his tiny wire-framed glasses. His light-brown hair is sticking to his forehead as he pulls a clear plastic box the size of a pen from his pocket. Inside is a copper coil.
“Oh, thanks, man!” Tito exclaims, taking it from his hand as McLaren nods, still trying to catch his breath from the walk over to us.