between them. Not enough distance, he told himself, but silently admitted that to feel safe right now, he’d have to be inCalifornia with her in Rhode Island, and that wasn’t likely.
“A baby, huh?” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
“Why not?”
“Worth a try,” she said and hit a few more keys. When nothing happened, she muttered an oath, hissed at the computer and slumped back in her chair, arms folded across her chest.
“Problem?”
“This stupid computer just isn’t fast enough.”
“Why use it then?” he asked as his gaze automatically went to the bottom lefthand corner of the screen’s frame, searching for the computer’s brand name. When he saw it, he winced.
“Because it’s the best,” she grumbled, and sat up to poke at a couple more keys.
“The best, huh? But not fast enough?”
“Nope.” She tossed him a glance, then went back to the keyboard, her fingers flying like a concert pianist at Carnegie Hall. “Still, the P3 has better graphics, easier menus and a bigger memory than most of its class.”
“Is that right?” John asked, smiling to himself.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, tapping and clicking and humming to herself. “With a little more work and a bit more imagination, the P3 could take over the lion’s share of the personal computer industry.”
“Really?” Oh, he was enjoying this.
“It’s a relatively small company right now,” she was saying. “Family held. What they need is to expand. Get some fresh blood in there.”
“Younger blood, you mean.”
“Not necessarily, though from what I hear, the oldman who founded the company doesn’t take kindly to change.”
“How do you know so much about it?” he wondered aloud.
“I read the business section of the paper,” she said. “Come on, sweetheart,” she cooed to the computer, “one little baby, that’s all I’m asking. Anyway,” she went on talking as she worked, “apparently the old man wants his sons to take over, but they’re not interested, and right now, he’s trying to protect himself from a takeover. Though why his sons aren’t interested is beyond me.”
“Actually, that’s the easy part,” John told her. “None of us wants to leave the Corps for a desk job peddling computers.”
Annie’s fingers stopped dead on the keyboard, her right index finger poised over the letter h. “Us,” he’d said. None of us. P3. Paretti Computer Corporation. John Paretti.
Oh, good God.
Slowly she turned around to look at him, hoping she was wrong. But one look into his pale-blue eyes, dancing with suppressed humor, told her she wasn’t.
“You’re one of those Parettis?” she asked unnecessarily.
“Yep. Surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Sorry about that.”
He didn’t look sorry. “You could have said something.”
“I don’t usually open up conversations by saying, ‘I’m John Paretti, of the computer Paretti’s.’”
“Okay, fine,” she said, willing to give him that much.“But once I started complaining about the stupid thing, you could have said something.”
“Why? I don’t make ‘em.”
“Your father does.”
“Don’t I know it. And he’s pretty much just how you described him, too. Hardheaded. Wants his own way. Doesn’t like change. Wants his sons to come into the company and take it over. Fighting off bigger names who want to swallow the company.”
“And this doesn’t interest you?” Complete bafflement colored her tone. She heard it herself. But how could she help it? What kind of person didn’t want to be involved in the family business? Especially this business?
He frowned slightly. “Not until recently.”
“What changed?”
John pushed up from the chair, walked across the small kitchen floor to the counter and turned around, leaning his backside against it. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked at her, and Annie tried not to notice how well that green sweater fit him. Or just how long his legs looked,
“A baby, huh?” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
“Why not?”
“Worth a try,” she said and hit a few more keys. When nothing happened, she muttered an oath, hissed at the computer and slumped back in her chair, arms folded across her chest.
“Problem?”
“This stupid computer just isn’t fast enough.”
“Why use it then?” he asked as his gaze automatically went to the bottom lefthand corner of the screen’s frame, searching for the computer’s brand name. When he saw it, he winced.
“Because it’s the best,” she grumbled, and sat up to poke at a couple more keys.
“The best, huh? But not fast enough?”
“Nope.” She tossed him a glance, then went back to the keyboard, her fingers flying like a concert pianist at Carnegie Hall. “Still, the P3 has better graphics, easier menus and a bigger memory than most of its class.”
“Is that right?” John asked, smiling to himself.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, tapping and clicking and humming to herself. “With a little more work and a bit more imagination, the P3 could take over the lion’s share of the personal computer industry.”
“Really?” Oh, he was enjoying this.
“It’s a relatively small company right now,” she was saying. “Family held. What they need is to expand. Get some fresh blood in there.”
“Younger blood, you mean.”
“Not necessarily, though from what I hear, the oldman who founded the company doesn’t take kindly to change.”
“How do you know so much about it?” he wondered aloud.
“I read the business section of the paper,” she said. “Come on, sweetheart,” she cooed to the computer, “one little baby, that’s all I’m asking. Anyway,” she went on talking as she worked, “apparently the old man wants his sons to take over, but they’re not interested, and right now, he’s trying to protect himself from a takeover. Though why his sons aren’t interested is beyond me.”
“Actually, that’s the easy part,” John told her. “None of us wants to leave the Corps for a desk job peddling computers.”
Annie’s fingers stopped dead on the keyboard, her right index finger poised over the letter h. “Us,” he’d said. None of us. P3. Paretti Computer Corporation. John Paretti.
Oh, good God.
Slowly she turned around to look at him, hoping she was wrong. But one look into his pale-blue eyes, dancing with suppressed humor, told her she wasn’t.
“You’re one of those Parettis?” she asked unnecessarily.
“Yep. Surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Sorry about that.”
He didn’t look sorry. “You could have said something.”
“I don’t usually open up conversations by saying, ‘I’m John Paretti, of the computer Paretti’s.’”
“Okay, fine,” she said, willing to give him that much.“But once I started complaining about the stupid thing, you could have said something.”
“Why? I don’t make ‘em.”
“Your father does.”
“Don’t I know it. And he’s pretty much just how you described him, too. Hardheaded. Wants his own way. Doesn’t like change. Wants his sons to come into the company and take it over. Fighting off bigger names who want to swallow the company.”
“And this doesn’t interest you?” Complete bafflement colored her tone. She heard it herself. But how could she help it? What kind of person didn’t want to be involved in the family business? Especially this business?
He frowned slightly. “Not until recently.”
“What changed?”
John pushed up from the chair, walked across the small kitchen floor to the counter and turned around, leaning his backside against it. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked at her, and Annie tried not to notice how well that green sweater fit him. Or just how long his legs looked,
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