Julie James - About That Night

Troy nodded politely, clearly humoring him. “Fine. Hypothetically speaking, what would I be doing for Rhodes Network Consulting?”

“Well, other members of the team, including myself, will be creating secure operating systems for our clients. Obviously, the only way to confirm that those systems are airtight is to have another member of the team test them for vulnerabilities.”

Troy’s expression reflected his surprise. “You want to hire a hacker?”

“I was thinking we’d call the position ‘security analyst,’ but in essence, yes—you would be a professional hacker.”

Seeing the gleam of interest in Troy’s eyes, Kyle continued on. “Professor Sharma says you’re brilliant and ambitious.” He leaned forward in his chair, speaking earnestly. “Nine years ago, I was given the opportunity to learn from the best in the industry. It wasn’t the path I’d seen myself taking at the time, but one I have no regrets about following. Today I’m here, giving you the same chance. Maybe it’s not for you—but speaking from personal experience, you won’t know that until you try.”

Troy spoke cautiously, thinking this through. “And what if it turns out not to be for me?”

Kyle shrugged. “Give me a six-month commitment. If it’s not working out, you can walk away after that. No hard feelings. We both know I can find plenty computer geeks out there who would be thrilled to have this job.” He went in for the kill, knowing exactly the last button to push. “After all, those are my systems you’d be trying to hack into. A chance to beat the Twitter Terrorist at his own game.”

Troy said nothing for a long moment, then his lips curved up in a slight smile. “Can I dress like this at the office?”

“Troy, three months ago I was wearing an orange prison jumpsuit and gym shoes without laces. I think it’s safe to say we won’t be putting on too many airs at Rhodes Network Consulting. Just don’t scratch up my keyboards with those spiked bracelets.”

Troy smiled at that. “Deal.”

LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Kyle was once again staring at cornfield after cornfield on I-57, heading back to Chicago.

The day had been a success.

He wasn’t ready to throw out his shingle quite yet—he may have been good, but he needed more than two smart guys with computer science degrees and zero practical experience on his team. He still wanted to hire at least one person with several years in the field for a management position—the guy in Seattle he’d made an offer to had turned him down—and an administrative assistant, too. Also, he needed to implement phases one and two of his marketing strategy. He had a comfortable amount of start-up capital and was prepared to get more by selling the penthouse if need be, but that wasn’t going to last forever.

Tonight, however, he simply wanted to enjoy his accomplishments, especially since it had been a long time since he’d felt this excited and pumped up about work. For years he’d thought about striking out on his own, of stepping out of his father’s shadow, and finally that was about to happen.

The sun had just begun to set as Kyle approached the city, the impressive Chicago skyline welcoming him home. He was in a celebratory mood, and thought about dropping by Firelight to knock back a few victory cocktails with Dex. Going as far back as grad school, that had always been his default—hanging out at Dex’s bar—whenever he’d been in the mood to kick back and unwind.

Interesting, then, that his car stayed on Lake Shore Drive and drove past the exit that would have taken him to Firelight.

He had a rough idea where he was going, since Rylann had previously mentioned that she lived in Roscoe Village. At the stoplight at Belmont Avenue, he pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts. The beauty of text messaging, he realized, was in its simplicity. He didn’t have to try to explain things, nor did he have to attempt to parse through all the banter in an attempt to figure out what she might be thinking. Instead, he could keep things short and sweet.

I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU.

He hit send.

To kill time while he waited for her response, he drove in the direction of his sister’s wine shop, figuring he could always drop in and harass Jordan about something.

This time, however, she beat him to the punch.

“So who’s the brunette bombshell?” Jordan asked as soon as he walked into the shop and took a seat at the main bar.

Damn. He’d forgotten about the stupid Scene and Heard column. Kyle helped himself to a cracker and some Brie cheese sitting on the bar. “I’m going to say…Angelina Jolie. Actually, no—Megan Fox.”

“Megan Fox is, like, twenty-five.”

“And this is a problem why, exactly?”

Jordan slapped his hand as he reached for more crackers. “Those are for customers.” She put her hand on her hip. “You know, after reading the Scene and Heard column, I’d kind of hoped it was Rylann they were talking about. And that maybe, just maybe, my ne’er-do-well twin had decided to stop playing around and finally pursue a woman of quality.”

He stole another cracker. “Now, that would be something.”

She shook her head. “Why do I bother? You know, one day you’re going to wake up and…”

Kyle’s cell phone buzzed, and he tuned out the rest of Jordan’s lecture—he could probably repeat the whole thing word for word by now—as he checked the incoming message. It was from Rylann, her response as short and sweet as his original text.

3418 CORNELIA, #3.

He had her address.

With a smile, he looked up and interrupted his sister. “That’s great, Jordo. Hey, by any chance do you have any bottles of that India Ink cabernet lying around?”

She stopped midrant and stared at him. “I’m sure I do. Why, what made you think of that?” Then her face broke into a wide grin. “Wait a second…that was the wine Rylann talked about when she was here. She said it was one of her favorites.”

“Did she? Funny coincidence.”

Jordan put her hand over her heart. “Oh my God, you’re trying to impress her. That is so cute.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kyle scoffed. “I just thought, since I’ve heard such good things about the wine, that I would give it a shot.”

Jordan gave him a look, cutting through all the bullshit. “Kyle. She’s going to love it.”

Okay, whatever. Maybe he was trying to impress Rylann a little. “You don’t think it’s too much? Like I’m trying too hard?”

Jordan put her hand over her heart again. “Oh. It’s like watching Bambi take his first steps.”

“Jordo…” he growled warningly.

With a smile, she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed affectionately. “It’s perfect. Trust me.”

RYLANN’S EYES DID a quick sweep over her apartment as she walked to the front door. Definitely not a penthouse, but it was cute and cozy and, thankfully, clean. Not that Kyle was staying long, she reminded herself. Friday night had been a one-time thing—with the drinks and the romantic lighting in the club and the way he’d been looking at her when he’d said that line about the most beautiful girl in the bar, she’d just sort of let herself be swept up in the moment. But now it was time to face reality.

With that in mind, she threw open the front door. Kyle stood there—more dressed up than she’d expected and looking strikingly attractive in his tailored gray pants and crisp blue shirt.

With an appreciative gleam in his eyes, he took in her cream peasant top and jeans. “So you do own pants.”

Rylann opened her mouth, ready to give him the speech about not complicating things, no matter how great the sexcapades had been—when he held up his hand, cutting her off at the pass.

“Before you get rolling with the lecture, or start heading for the hills again, you should know that this is a no-strings-attached visit. I have something for you.” He held up a silver wine gift bag that flashed with so many sparkles and sequins it nearly blinded her.

Rylann pulled back in surprise. “Oh. Wow.” She hadn’t been expecting him to come bearing gifts. Especially one so bedazzled.

He shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. “The bag didn’t look quite as shiny in the store.”

Whatever this was, he looked adorably nervous about it. Rylann held out her hand. “Let me see.” Intrigued, she took the bag from him, pulled out the wine bottle, and read the label.

India Ink.

“It’s one of my favorites. You remembered that,” she said, staring at the label. “Thank you.”

He made a big show of trying to look nonchalant. “It’s no big deal. Jordan had a couple bottles sitting out, so I grabbed one.”

Rylann leaned against the doorway. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Kyle, because I really love the wine. But what’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, I just thought we could…hang out and talk.”

He looked as shocked by the suggestion as she was.

“Talk?” Rylann stared at him. “Are you feeling okay? You’re being very…not you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked indignantly. “That I can’t hang out with a girl without sex being on the table?”

Good question. “I don’t know. Have you ever hung out with a girl without sex being on the table?”

He immediately scoffed at that. “Of course.”

“Not including high school.”

His busted look said it all.

Rylann smiled. “You might want to plead the Fifth to avoid self-incrimination.”

Kyle looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “I swear—no more law geeks. Ever. From now on, I’m sticking with simple, easygoing girls whose goals in life do not seemingly include driving me insane.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Look, here’s the deal: today was a good day for me. And strangely enough, you, Rylann Pierce, are the first person I wanted to tell about it.” He held out his hands in exasperation. “Do with that what you will.”