Merry and Bright(6)

“Oh, Alice. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Alice usually wore an expression of general angry-at-the-world emo-ism. But today there was something new, hurt. “Me, too. But definitely blue glass. For your cream. My grandmother loves blue glass.”

Talking with Alice made her dizzy. “I’m aiming for a younger crowd here.”

“Hey, my grandmother is a tough chick. She rides with the Hells Angels, and is armed to the teeth at all times. And isn’t it a wrinkle cream?”

Maggie looked into Alice’s face, which was gorgeous, smooth, and covered in pale, pale foundation. “Yes, I’ve made several wrinkle creams. But I’m also working on a drug delivery system. And trust me, you’re only a few years away from your first wrinkle.”

“I am not. I don’t allow my skin to touch the sun. Haven’t you heard? Goth is the new tan.” She took a big bite of her PB&J. “The drug delivery system thing is cool. I should start reading the reports I’m filing for you guys.”

Scott poked his head in the lab, his gaze passing over Alice to meet Maggie’s. “Lunch?”

Maggie had been waiting so long to have him ask her out again it almost seemed surreal. She was crazy not to jump up and say “yes!” but the fact was, Scott was a Mr. Right and she’d given up Mr. Rights. Thanks to Janie, she was going to go for her Mr. Wrong.

Soon as she figured out exactly how to do that. She held up her half-eaten sandwich. “Sorry, I’m almost done.”

He nodded, nonchalantly looking around her lab, as if not sure what to do with himself. “Well, okay then. See you later.”

When he was gone, Alice looked at Maggie. “He wants into your pants.”

“Because he offered me lunch?”

“Yeah, I think you should go for it. He’s rich and he’s hot. And rich. Which always trumps hot. My boyfriend’s rich. Or his family is.” Some of her perpetual anger made room for that hurt again. “Unfortunately he’s also a dick.”

Maggie squeezed her hand in sympathy. “Neither hot nor rich are important criteria for me.”

Alice seemed baffled by this. “What’s more important than rich?”

Maggie sighed. “Scott’s my type.”

“The bastard.”

“No, I mean . . . I’m trying a new thing. I’m going for the opposite of my type. I’m going for Mr. Wrong.”

Alice put down her sandwich. “Okay, this is interesting. Go on.”

“It’s my sister’s idea. She made me promise that my Christmas present to her would be me ignoring all the Mr. Rights and going for Mr. Wrong.”

“So have you found him yet?”

Maggie hesitated, and Alice pounced with glee. “You have, haven’t you?” She grinned. “Who is he, that geek in accounting—what’s his name, the one who actually carries pencils and pens and a calculator in his shirt pocket?”

“Alan, and he’s a great guy, but no. He’s not a Mr. Wrong, he’s . . .” Her own type. The overeducated thinker, nice but distracted, and to be honest, a little aloof. She wanted passion, she wanted aggression, she wanted . . . wild sex.

Oh, God, it was true. She wanted wild sex from her Mr. Wrong. “I’m not really ready to share.”

Alice sighed and packed up the trash from lunch. “Fine. It’s none of my business and it’s going to end badly anyway, these things always do.”

“Alice—”

“I have to go. It’s time to get filing. Hey, maybe I’ll learn something.”

Maggie got back to work. At the end of the day, she closed up and left her lab. The place was completely void of Data Tech employees, which was typical of Christmas week. Everyone wanted to rush home to their families.

Their significant others.

She sighed again and kept walking, trying not to notice the boughs of holly, the lights . . . the noise of the construction workers. Two of them were mumbling about the long night ahead and their looming deadline, and she wondered if their boss was still in the building. Maybe like her boss, Jacob had deserted his workers. Maybe he was home drinking eggnog with his friends, enjoying the holiday; maybe he was on a date, which for some reason tightened a knot in her gut and made her head hurt. She rubbed her forehead and—

And tripped over an open toolbox, hitting the floor on all fours. Her briefcase went flying, and the pen she’d forgotten she had behind her ear skittered across the floor. “Dammit.”

“So much for watching where you’re going.”

Accompanying this most annoying statement, two big, warm hands gripped her waist and hoisted her up. When she tilted her head back, her gaze collided with a set of dark brown eyes. Terrific. Now he showed up. She bent to look at her burning knees, which were both skinned good and already starting to bleed. “Dammit.”

“You said that.” Jacob crouched down, seeming big and bad and just a little irritated. He had drywall dust and sawdust all over him, and was hot and sweaty, and clearly not exactly thrilled at the interruption. He picked up all her things, easily tucking them beneath one arm. “Shit, you’re bleeding,” he said, looking at the trickle running down her calf. “Tommy, bring me a clean rag!”

“It’s okay.” She sucked in a painful breath. Liar, liar...