on the mound of paperwork at her side, but her mind kept replaying the conversation and her foolish defense of Chris. Why hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut? She didn’t care what anyone said about Chris. From now on, people could talk about him all they wanted, accuse him of anything they liked. They’d never hear a peep out of—
“Rollins!”
Melanie winced. Things were getting worse by the moment. She looked up, not surprised to find the department supervisor Mrs. Hardcastle bearing down on her. Hardcastle, nicknamed “Hard Case” by her subordinates, had a bloodhound talent for sniffing out inactivity. She’d already spoken to Melanie once today about her daydreaming.
Her quick strides brought her immediately to Melanie’s desk. “Rollins—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” Melanie interjected, remembering their previous conversation. “My production figures are down for the month. If they drop any further, I’ll lose my first-place standing in the department.” Not that she gave a damn, she added silently.
Hard Case nodded, briskly jotting a note on the clipboard she always carried. “Precisely. But that’s not why I’m here. Someone wants to see you. In my office.”
“Your office?” Melanie asked, surprised. Hard Case’s glass-enclosed office cubicle was off-limits to all the data-entry personnel. No one used it for private business, not unless they had a death wish. “Who?”
“See for yourself,” Mrs. Hardcastle said, stabbing her pen in the direction of her office. “Wants to see you pronto. Better hurry.”
Melanie stood up, smoothing her beige poplin shirtwaist before heading for the office. A central pillar hid most of the office from her line of sight, obscuring her view of its occupant. She started walking at a brisk pace, curious to see who could wield such power over her ferocious department head. She couldn’t imagine Hard Case hurrying for anyone.
Neither, apparently, could most of the other data-entry personnel. The click of typing had all butdisappeared from the department, filling the room with a deep, unnatural silence. Everyone was looking at the glass-walled office. Melanie rounded the central pillar, and saw why.
The man inside had his back to the office window, but neither Melanie, nor anyone else in the department, could mistake the broad shoulders and easy stance of Chris Sheffield.
Short and sweet. That’s how he planned to keep this meeting, and that’s how it was going to be. He needed Melanie’s blessing on the media presentation he’d worked up for the board, but he wasn’t about to spend one more minute with the woman than was absolutely necessary. No way was he giving her another chance to take a potshot at his character.
He’d liked her. That was the craziest part of this whole business. He’d looked forward to seeing her, to hearing her tell him in that cautious, guarded way of hers that she appreciated his help. Here was one person, he’d thought, who didn’t think of him as some empty-headed playboy. He’d started thinking of her as a friend.
But as he arranged the last of the transparencies on Mrs. Hardcastle’s desk, he remembered again that friendship with someone like Miss Rollins wasn’t an option. He’d spent dozens of hours on this presentation, foregoing sleep, meals, even his morning shave to get it completed. But was she likely to appreciate his monumental effort? Hardly. The woman functioned like a dedicated circuit, totally focused on that jumble of wires and processing chips she’d created. Einstein’s future was the only thing she cared about. Everyone else was, in the words of the computer age, strictly a peripheral.
Not that it mattered to him. Once he showed theboard how valuable Einstein could be to the company, they’d appoint him head of Product Research. Then he could wash his hands of Miss “Should have been born a computer” Rollins once and for—
“Chris?”
“Miss Rollins,” he began,
“Rollins!”
Melanie winced. Things were getting worse by the moment. She looked up, not surprised to find the department supervisor Mrs. Hardcastle bearing down on her. Hardcastle, nicknamed “Hard Case” by her subordinates, had a bloodhound talent for sniffing out inactivity. She’d already spoken to Melanie once today about her daydreaming.
Her quick strides brought her immediately to Melanie’s desk. “Rollins—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” Melanie interjected, remembering their previous conversation. “My production figures are down for the month. If they drop any further, I’ll lose my first-place standing in the department.” Not that she gave a damn, she added silently.
Hard Case nodded, briskly jotting a note on the clipboard she always carried. “Precisely. But that’s not why I’m here. Someone wants to see you. In my office.”
“Your office?” Melanie asked, surprised. Hard Case’s glass-enclosed office cubicle was off-limits to all the data-entry personnel. No one used it for private business, not unless they had a death wish. “Who?”
“See for yourself,” Mrs. Hardcastle said, stabbing her pen in the direction of her office. “Wants to see you pronto. Better hurry.”
Melanie stood up, smoothing her beige poplin shirtwaist before heading for the office. A central pillar hid most of the office from her line of sight, obscuring her view of its occupant. She started walking at a brisk pace, curious to see who could wield such power over her ferocious department head. She couldn’t imagine Hard Case hurrying for anyone.
Neither, apparently, could most of the other data-entry personnel. The click of typing had all butdisappeared from the department, filling the room with a deep, unnatural silence. Everyone was looking at the glass-walled office. Melanie rounded the central pillar, and saw why.
The man inside had his back to the office window, but neither Melanie, nor anyone else in the department, could mistake the broad shoulders and easy stance of Chris Sheffield.
Short and sweet. That’s how he planned to keep this meeting, and that’s how it was going to be. He needed Melanie’s blessing on the media presentation he’d worked up for the board, but he wasn’t about to spend one more minute with the woman than was absolutely necessary. No way was he giving her another chance to take a potshot at his character.
He’d liked her. That was the craziest part of this whole business. He’d looked forward to seeing her, to hearing her tell him in that cautious, guarded way of hers that she appreciated his help. Here was one person, he’d thought, who didn’t think of him as some empty-headed playboy. He’d started thinking of her as a friend.
But as he arranged the last of the transparencies on Mrs. Hardcastle’s desk, he remembered again that friendship with someone like Miss Rollins wasn’t an option. He’d spent dozens of hours on this presentation, foregoing sleep, meals, even his morning shave to get it completed. But was she likely to appreciate his monumental effort? Hardly. The woman functioned like a dedicated circuit, totally focused on that jumble of wires and processing chips she’d created. Einstein’s future was the only thing she cared about. Everyone else was, in the words of the computer age, strictly a peripheral.
Not that it mattered to him. Once he showed theboard how valuable Einstein could be to the company, they’d appoint him head of Product Research. Then he could wash his hands of Miss “Should have been born a computer” Rollins once and for—
“Chris?”
“Miss Rollins,” he began,
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