Read Online The Lives Between Us by Theresa Rizzo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Theresa Rizzo
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laptop closer and squinted at the monitor. Mark Dutton, graduate of University Michigan MBA program... Worked for... Before joining the team in 2013 as the President of Operations. She moved through several links looking for pictures, but couldn’t find any of the staff.
Hmm. Would have been handy to know him months ago when she’d been scouring the earth for stem cells for Niki. Now it was too late. Niki was dead and Skye had absolutely no use for a stem cell company or this man’s knowledge. Was this some sick cosmic joke? God sent her this guy after Niki’s gone? What’s the message in that?
Maybe there isn’t one and you’re just being paranoid, Skylar.
Maybe, but she still needed to find Mark Dutton and give him back his money. Skye could pay for her own dinner. It was reassuring to discover that he didn’t seem to be some desperate creep with nothing better to do than hang out in bars. Still, why had Mark Dutton come to a total stranger’s rescue and then gone one step further and bought her dinner? It couldn’t be a pick up; he hadn’t stuck around to meet her or get her phone number. He hadn’t even left his business card to make it easy for her to get in contact with him. What was his angle? If he was trying to make her crazy thinking about him, he’d succeeded—not that she’d ever let him know that.
Skye lifted the notebook off her lap and tossed it onto the bed beside her. She crossed her ankles. Maybe Mark Dutton was shy or socially awkward. Maybe he’s married. Maybe it was like Beauty and the Beast and he’s hideously ugly. Not that she was beautiful, but ridiculous occurrences often had equally ridiculous motives. Hmm, what would he look like?
A guy that smooth and confident must be either movie star handsome or homely. One extreme or the other. A president of a research company was probably on the nerdy side. Skye pictured this tall, scrawny, anemic, pocket-protector nerd, with thick glasses that would slide down his nose. And blond; he’d have straight blond slightly-greasy hair, a little on the long side ’cause he never made time to take care of his appearance. And if he didn’t look like that, he’d be prematurely balding and paunchy.
Skye rolled over and turned out her light. Fluffing her pillow, she snuggled down under the covers and closed her eyes, but her buzzing brain refused to slow. Darn Mark Dutton. She didn’t even know the man and already he was causing her to lose sleep.
She’d thought of going back to Luigi’s to question the bartender, but as curious as she was, Skye wasn’t desperate. And that smacked of desperation—and shallowness—as if she wouldn’t be looking him up and repaying him if he wasn’t young, handsome, and available. She was doing the right thing, and it had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with appearances.
Mark Dutton could be a lonely elderly gentleman who came to her rescue because she reminded him of his granddaughter. In fact, she hoped that was the case. It’d make meeting him tomorrow much less awkward.
* * *
Finishing up her Dear Darlene letters, Skye left the office early and drove through downtown Detroit a good fifteen minutes before pulling into a near-empty parking lot. Though it was late afternoon on Wednesday, the weekend was approaching, and Skye hadn’t wanted to leave this hanging over her head all weekend.
Skye picked up the white envelope from the passenger’s seat, threw her shoulders back, and walked toward the red brick building. The two-story structure bore the name of Aviva Technology in tasteful black lettering. Hunter green awnings shaded the entrance and nondescript beige blinds protected the inside from the strength of late-day sun.
Skye let herself into an open reception area. Live plants leisurely stretched out in the corners. Soft, calming music piped in, complementing the gentle mauve and taupe chairs, and large pastel framed landscapes of innocuous countryside scenes graced the room. The
Hmm. Would have been handy to know him months ago when she’d been scouring the earth for stem cells for Niki. Now it was too late. Niki was dead and Skye had absolutely no use for a stem cell company or this man’s knowledge. Was this some sick cosmic joke? God sent her this guy after Niki’s gone? What’s the message in that?
Maybe there isn’t one and you’re just being paranoid, Skylar.
Maybe, but she still needed to find Mark Dutton and give him back his money. Skye could pay for her own dinner. It was reassuring to discover that he didn’t seem to be some desperate creep with nothing better to do than hang out in bars. Still, why had Mark Dutton come to a total stranger’s rescue and then gone one step further and bought her dinner? It couldn’t be a pick up; he hadn’t stuck around to meet her or get her phone number. He hadn’t even left his business card to make it easy for her to get in contact with him. What was his angle? If he was trying to make her crazy thinking about him, he’d succeeded—not that she’d ever let him know that.
Skye lifted the notebook off her lap and tossed it onto the bed beside her. She crossed her ankles. Maybe Mark Dutton was shy or socially awkward. Maybe he’s married. Maybe it was like Beauty and the Beast and he’s hideously ugly. Not that she was beautiful, but ridiculous occurrences often had equally ridiculous motives. Hmm, what would he look like?
A guy that smooth and confident must be either movie star handsome or homely. One extreme or the other. A president of a research company was probably on the nerdy side. Skye pictured this tall, scrawny, anemic, pocket-protector nerd, with thick glasses that would slide down his nose. And blond; he’d have straight blond slightly-greasy hair, a little on the long side ’cause he never made time to take care of his appearance. And if he didn’t look like that, he’d be prematurely balding and paunchy.
Skye rolled over and turned out her light. Fluffing her pillow, she snuggled down under the covers and closed her eyes, but her buzzing brain refused to slow. Darn Mark Dutton. She didn’t even know the man and already he was causing her to lose sleep.
She’d thought of going back to Luigi’s to question the bartender, but as curious as she was, Skye wasn’t desperate. And that smacked of desperation—and shallowness—as if she wouldn’t be looking him up and repaying him if he wasn’t young, handsome, and available. She was doing the right thing, and it had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with appearances.
Mark Dutton could be a lonely elderly gentleman who came to her rescue because she reminded him of his granddaughter. In fact, she hoped that was the case. It’d make meeting him tomorrow much less awkward.
* * *
Finishing up her Dear Darlene letters, Skye left the office early and drove through downtown Detroit a good fifteen minutes before pulling into a near-empty parking lot. Though it was late afternoon on Wednesday, the weekend was approaching, and Skye hadn’t wanted to leave this hanging over her head all weekend.
Skye picked up the white envelope from the passenger’s seat, threw her shoulders back, and walked toward the red brick building. The two-story structure bore the name of Aviva Technology in tasteful black lettering. Hunter green awnings shaded the entrance and nondescript beige blinds protected the inside from the strength of late-day sun.
Skye let herself into an open reception area. Live plants leisurely stretched out in the corners. Soft, calming music piped in, complementing the gentle mauve and taupe chairs, and large pastel framed landscapes of innocuous countryside scenes graced the room. The
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