Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) by Tiffany Snow Page B

questions?”
    “Yes,” he said. “Is this a government project?”
    “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to say.”
    That didn’t make me feel any better, but it wasn’t as though there was anything I could do about it.
    “Let me show you to your office.” Freyda rose and we followed her from the room.
    The office was severe in design, proving more functional than luxurious. It did have two desks, which was nice, though it was obvious the second one had been moved in last-minute as it didn’t really fit with the layout. Windows were on one wall, providing a view of the parking lot and trees outside.
    “Security went over procedure with you?” Freyda asked.
    “Yes, thank you,” I replied while Jackson inspected our computers. Each was hooked up to three monitors, which was nice.
    “The lock on the office door has been keyed to your fingerprints,” she said, handing me a business card. “Just dial my extension if you need anything.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    Freyda left and I sat down in one of the two chairs at the small conference table in the corner. Flipping open the thinner of the two file folders, I began to read. Jackson sat down opposite me and did the same.

    I was halfway through the thick file when my phone rang.
    “It’s me! Your favorite niece. Pick up the phone! I know you’re—”
    “Yes, Mia?” I answered.
    “Where are you?”
    “Work,” I said, glancing at my watch. I wasn’t that late. “Why? Did you need something?” I’d left her money to go grocery shopping in case she needed anything I didn’t have, like brownie mix.
    “You have a date tonight,” she said. “Remember?”
    Shit. I’d completely forgotten. “Oh no.” It was already six thirty and Superman—I mean Clark—had said he’d be by at seven.
    “You bet, oh no ,” she said. “Please tell me you’re on your way home because I will personally cry on your behalf for breaking a date with a guy that looks like Zac Efron on steroids.”
    Okay, I was drawing a blank on who Zac Efron was, but I got from the context that he was akin to Clark.
    “Yeah,” I began throwing all the papers together and back in the folder. “I’m leaving in two minutes.” I hung up. Traffic wouldn’t be too bad, I hoped, but it still looked like I’d be going to dinner dressed in what I was wearing. Jeans, a T-shirt— Tea. Earl Grey. Hot. —and the white button-up I’d thrown on over it was fine for tech work, but probably not a date.
    And it was Wednesday. I always had dinner with Bonnie on Wednesday. We’d met when she had a flat tire on the side of the road, in the rain no less, and I’d stopped to help her, though the statistics argued against such a thing. She’d looked like a miserable, drowned rat, her attempts at removing lug nuts proving futile. I’d helped her change her tire, she’d cooked me dinner as a thank-you, and we’d been best friends ever since, despite the barely edible dinner. Bonnie was in culinary school and loved trying her new recipes on me, bless her heart.
    Bless her heart came naturally when thinking of Bonnie and cooking. Try as she might, she just couldn’t get the hang of it and would get her recipes 97 percent right, which was good, but the 3 percent that was wrong was really wrong. Her family was wealthy, though, so her father had paid for her continued training.
    I’d completely forgotten about the date, much less having to cancel with Bonnie. She was going to kill me. She hated when I cancelled and thus removed her default guinea pig.
    “I’ve got to go,” I said, opening one of the file drawers and locking the folders inside. “Sorry. But I’ll come in early tomorrow.” I headed for the door. I could call Bonnie on the way and see if we could get together tomorrow night. Thursday night was breakfast-for-dinner night, but maybe Bonnie could be convinced to make pancakes. She couldn’t mess those up that badly. Could she? Hmm . . .
    “Aren’t you forgetting something?”