“Possibly. I’m cleaning it up now.”
“Rewrite it if you have to. Just get the thing running again.”
Ireland blinked. “You want me to rewrite the program?”
Bran shrugged. “Are you capable of it?”
“Oh, I’m capable. It would take some time… It’s just, well, James might not like that.”
After James had left, she’d tightened the code here and there, but she hadn’t gone so far as to rewrite entire sections. That would be time-consuming, and it might not make Tech Banquet happy. Even she wasn’t so bold as to rewrite proprietary work.
“I don’t give a crap what James thinks. I bought an expensive ordering system that doesn’t work. You’ve been hired to fix it with Tech Banquet’s approval. Do whatever you need to do.” He rubbed his jaw. “Maybe save the original, though. And don’t make the problem worse,” he said sharply. She chose to ignore his tone.
Ireland pressed her fingers to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Have you any idea how much rewriting James’s code would cross the line of programmer etiquette?”
“I don’t care about hurting James’s feelings. You don’t work for him; you work for me.”
She looked up, and her eyes narrowed. “Why does you pointing that out make me edgy?”
Bran scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sorry…about the boat incident.”
Shit, he was actually bringing it up? “You mean the kiss?”
“I meant the hands. The kiss had been coming.” The corner of his mouth quirked.
He was flirting with her? The ass.
“I liked the hands,” she said, her blood molten with annoyance. “It was the words out of yourmouthI could have done without.”
“Good to know. Next time, less talking and more touching.”
Ireland’s jaw dropped. “Who says there will be a next time?”
“You didn’t say there wouldn’t.”
Ireland tugged her workbag over her shoulder. God, he was infuriating. But for some reason, she couldn’t put him straight into the ugly-guy dungeon the way she had James.
Though reasonably handsome, James was unattractive after the way he’d spoken to her and undermined her intelligence. Bran, on the other hand, was a conundrum.
On the booze cruise, Bran suggested she’d come on to him. Then he’d said he didn’t care about her.And thenhe’d done the epitome of assholian moves and pointed out her stutter—a stutter she only got when she was nervous. She’d written him off as a lost cause and dove into the water. But the stupid man had followed her.
To make sure she was okay.
And to kiss her. Hotly.
With hands roaming, heatingparts. Delicate female parts that had never been heated to such an extent.
Ireland had been ready to lock the key on the dungeon, but Bran had flipped the script on her with that kiss and sealed her confusion after he’d told her she looked pretty in her glasses—the ones she’d thrown on to make a fast getaway.
No one had ever told her she was pretty when she wore her glasses. If anything, she’d had a boyfriend or two insist she wear contacts when they hung out.
It might be safer to put Bran in the ugly-guy dungeon and lock away the key, but she wasn’t quite ready. And now he was flirting with her.
It wasn’t helping.
“I better go.” Ireland glanced nervously at the laptop sitting out. “You’ll lock up?”
“I’ll take care of it. Come on”—he stepped back and gave her room to pass—“I’ll walk you to the entrance.”
