he was always filled with tension, like a coiled spring, and it invariably made Liv feel uncomfortable.
“Just . . . getting ready for my lunch break.” She picked up her mother’s package and stuffed it into her purse, deciding she didn’t want to leave it at her desk after all, then slung the purse strap over her shoulder.
“Kinda late for lunch.” Upjohn frowned. He liked his employees to take their meals at noon and be back at one P.M. sharp, one of his personal quirks that didn’t seem to be grounded in anything that made sense.
“I’ve been running late all day,” she admitted.
“Phil said he gave you the financials from last quarter. . . .” He sounded cautious, his brows pulled together.
“Um, no. I don’t think so. I haven’t seen them.” And why would he give them to me, anyway? Liv thought. Phillip Berelli was Zuma’s internal accountant whereas she was an inputter, not an analyst.
“Okay.” He seemed relieved. “Maybe he said something else.”
Liv lifted her shoulders and after a moment Upjohn walked off. She’d heard rumors about Zuma, about how they could be in financial trouble, but if they were she didn’t know anything about it. She had pieces of the financial mosaic, but getting the whole picture was way above her pay grade.
She’d heard other rumors as well, though. Like how Zuma’s war games were so accurate and well thought-out that there was some military connection—the think-tank guys upstairs being secret government employees—and that Zuma Software itself was merely a cover.
Even with her paranoia, Liv didn’t buy that one. She’d seen the guys upstairs when they came out of their locked room, walked down the stairs, and passed by her with barely a look as they headed out the front door. Invariably, their conversation made her feel like she was listening to the goings-on inside a thirteen-year-old boy’s mind; mostly they talked about other games and popular movies and their eyes darted quick looks at Jessica Maltona’s breasts when they thought she wasn’t looking. Jessica was the only other woman on the main floor with Liv. Count in Aaron, Paul and Kurt Upjohn, and that was the extent of the business staff, except for Phil, the accountant, whose office was upstairs with the game builders.
Aaron was just stubbing out a cigarette when Liv opened the unlocked exterior door and met him on the side patio. “Man, this place is boring,” he said, punctuating his statement with a yawn.
Liv merely nodded. Her mind’s eye wouldn’t stop going over the papers from inside the package whenever she had a free moment. The birth certificate named her biological parents. She’d never known who they were. Hadn’t really cared. But now she wondered if she should make an attempt to meet them . . . like maybe that was important to Deborah? Did that sound right? It was much more likely that her mother had just wanted Liv to have the information in case anything happened to her. . . . Maybe she was toying with the idea of suicide when she’d made up the package? Or, maybe she’d sensed something else . . . something coming toward her . . . something—
“Hey.” Aaron snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Come back.”
“I was just . . . thinking.”
“I could see that. Did you hear what I said?”
She tried to run back the last few minutes, but it was useless.
“I said,” Aaron reminded her in a measured tone, “that I think I’d like to meet Tiny and get to know her on a more personal basis.”
“Tiny . . . oh, the cat. Yes. Well, about that—”
“You don’t have a three-hundred-pound cat.”
“Well . . . no.” She smiled.
“Figured.” His answering smile was faint. “Just thought maybe you and I . . . could do something? Before I’m gone for good.” He made a face, as if he’d tasted something bad.
“What does that mean?”
“My father . . .” He looked back inside through the glass door with an unreadable expression. “He and
“Just . . . getting ready for my lunch break.” She picked up her mother’s package and stuffed it into her purse, deciding she didn’t want to leave it at her desk after all, then slung the purse strap over her shoulder.
“Kinda late for lunch.” Upjohn frowned. He liked his employees to take their meals at noon and be back at one P.M. sharp, one of his personal quirks that didn’t seem to be grounded in anything that made sense.
“I’ve been running late all day,” she admitted.
“Phil said he gave you the financials from last quarter. . . .” He sounded cautious, his brows pulled together.
“Um, no. I don’t think so. I haven’t seen them.” And why would he give them to me, anyway? Liv thought. Phillip Berelli was Zuma’s internal accountant whereas she was an inputter, not an analyst.
“Okay.” He seemed relieved. “Maybe he said something else.”
Liv lifted her shoulders and after a moment Upjohn walked off. She’d heard rumors about Zuma, about how they could be in financial trouble, but if they were she didn’t know anything about it. She had pieces of the financial mosaic, but getting the whole picture was way above her pay grade.
She’d heard other rumors as well, though. Like how Zuma’s war games were so accurate and well thought-out that there was some military connection—the think-tank guys upstairs being secret government employees—and that Zuma Software itself was merely a cover.
Even with her paranoia, Liv didn’t buy that one. She’d seen the guys upstairs when they came out of their locked room, walked down the stairs, and passed by her with barely a look as they headed out the front door. Invariably, their conversation made her feel like she was listening to the goings-on inside a thirteen-year-old boy’s mind; mostly they talked about other games and popular movies and their eyes darted quick looks at Jessica Maltona’s breasts when they thought she wasn’t looking. Jessica was the only other woman on the main floor with Liv. Count in Aaron, Paul and Kurt Upjohn, and that was the extent of the business staff, except for Phil, the accountant, whose office was upstairs with the game builders.
Aaron was just stubbing out a cigarette when Liv opened the unlocked exterior door and met him on the side patio. “Man, this place is boring,” he said, punctuating his statement with a yawn.
Liv merely nodded. Her mind’s eye wouldn’t stop going over the papers from inside the package whenever she had a free moment. The birth certificate named her biological parents. She’d never known who they were. Hadn’t really cared. But now she wondered if she should make an attempt to meet them . . . like maybe that was important to Deborah? Did that sound right? It was much more likely that her mother had just wanted Liv to have the information in case anything happened to her. . . . Maybe she was toying with the idea of suicide when she’d made up the package? Or, maybe she’d sensed something else . . . something coming toward her . . . something—
“Hey.” Aaron snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Come back.”
“I was just . . . thinking.”
“I could see that. Did you hear what I said?”
She tried to run back the last few minutes, but it was useless.
“I said,” Aaron reminded her in a measured tone, “that I think I’d like to meet Tiny and get to know her on a more personal basis.”
“Tiny . . . oh, the cat. Yes. Well, about that—”
“You don’t have a three-hundred-pound cat.”
“Well . . . no.” She smiled.
“Figured.” His answering smile was faint. “Just thought maybe you and I . . . could do something? Before I’m gone for good.” He made a face, as if he’d tasted something bad.
“What does that mean?”
“My father . . .” He looked back inside through the glass door with an unreadable expression. “He and
Similar Books
