Nicole retreated, making it to the door. “Send me an email.”
‘I will,” he said, his gaze never leaving her.
“Okay.”
33
An Epistolary Interlude
Nicole,
I wasbrusque in our discussion about your designs. I overstepped, and I’m sorry.
I’m just a sales guy, trying to save the company any way I can. I know you value Sidewinder, and I do, too.
Your designs are beautiful, and powerful, and more people deserve to use them. Sidewinder is being elitist, hoarding the designs and only allowing the richest, most connected people access to them.
I wanted more people to see what I see in you because you’re amazing.
Sincerely,
Kingston
Kingston,
Bullhockey.
Whatever,
Nicole
34
The Copy Room
KINGSTON MOORE
Kingston was walking down the utilitarian hallway on the second floor of the Sidewinder building in late June, when Southern California became incrementally warmer than its standard daily high of seventy-five degrees and the locals thought the sky was raining fire, when he saw the Nicole Lamb disappear into the copy room.
He hadn’t seen her during his three previous trips to Sidewinder Golf after he’d emailed her and she’d rejected his entreaty.
The fault might have been his because he hadn’t gone up to the third floor to try to see her in her lab or office, but she might also have been avoiding him.
Probably both.
The front lobby was carpeted with deep, plush carpeting and furnished to impress investors and buyers, and the lab was equipped for engineering marvels.
The second floor, however, was where legal and accounting languished unloved and walked on a floor of industrial tile. Fluorescent bulbs flickered unflattering blue light from thedropped ceiling, turning lawyers and CPAs ghastly as they haunted the corridors.
Nicole was a ghost slipping through the door to where the copiers were corralled, her white skirt fluttering inside just as the door closed.
His legs sped to a half-run. His hand reached, desperately grabbed and caught the door.
Kingston hurried inside, dodging into the over-warm room after her. “Nicole!”
She whipped around, spinning in the small space not taken up by the beast of a copier, shelves stacked with office supplies, and one geriatric fax machine, even though the copier and most of the printers in the building could also fax.“Oh.”
His soul writhed in his body, spewing stupid confusion. “I know you’re mad at me?—”
