Yes, I can be bribed through my stomach.
No, it’s not that deep.
Plus, there’s nothing more I’m going to accomplish here tonight. Even if part of me wants to tear through my laptop, file by file, until I discover once and for all if one of my employees is fucking over my business.
That’s not only inefficient, I likely don’t have the skills.
My background is in research, but of the medical nature. I’m more comfortable with microscopes than hard drives.
So, I need to consult legal. I need to give what they clear over to the FBI and let them conduct their forensic research, and I need to keep my eyes and ears open so that I can be helpful instead of a useless lump standing on the sidelines.
“Board problems?”
I blink, pulling myself out of my head, seeing that I followed him onto the elevator and we’re heading down without me even realizing it. “No,” I mutter.
“Production?”
I glance over at him. “What’s with all the questions?”
“You’re a million miles away and have a roadmap of scowl lines etched into your face”—he lifts and drops a shoulder—“it’s either work that’s giving you trouble, or…” His features sharpen, eyes locking onto mine. “Or it’s a woman.”
I jerk.
Then silently curse.
Because I’ve given away too much.
“Or it’s both,” he murmurs sneakily.
I jerk again.
Then sigh, knowing it’s no use. Brooks has been my best friend since college. We waded through the shit for years before our companies took off, and he was there when my mom’s health finally gave out and I lost her, inch by inch. And he didn’t turn away from me when I couldn’t handle it, spun out for probably far too long. Instead, he stuck by me, helped redirect my rage, and provided the initial capital to get Genen-core off the ground.
And I was there when his wedding imploded and he was forced to walk away from the woman he loved.
In a few words, we’ve seen each other through the fucked-up realities of life.
And we’ve made it through to the other side while still remaining friends.
“Yeah,” he says dryly. “It’s both.”
“Just leave it alone, yeah?”
He studies me for a few heartbeats then inclines his head. “I’ll get it out of you after a couple of beers anyway.”
He’s not wrong, but I don’t comment as the elevator doors slide open with a ding and we walk off, him trailing me toward my car. “I’m driving,” I mutter.
Brooks just grins and says, “I call shotgun.” He yanks at the passenger door handle and starts to climb in as he explains, “Had my Lyft drop me here and used my code to come up because I figured I’d have to tear you out of your office, you chronic over-worker.”
Just the word Lyft has me pausing, thinking about a feisty brunette who’s doing her level best to keep me at a distance.
Apparently for long enough that Brooks says,
“Definitelya woman.”
I jump. Then scowl at my friend before tossing my bag into the back seat, where he’s done the same with his duffle.
“And also probably work,” he says. “Because it’s always work.”
