Taking Care of Business
Kathy Lyons
Dear Reader,
One night, my fiancé had a huge project due at work that required a ton of data entry. Because I loved him, I agreed to help. We finally got it done at 2:00 a.m. when, flushed with elation, we realized that we were alone in a huge office building. And given that he worked in an electronics firm, my mind quickly danced through a zillion gadget and gizmo fantasies.
I will never tell what exactly happened that night, but suffice it to say that I had much more imagination than stamina. I will also confess that we did not resort to raiding the lab. Turns out there’s a lot you can do in an office that has nothing to do with high-end electronics!
So there you have it. My deep, dark secret: I have office fantasies. Thankfully, I was able to put some of them to paper in Taking Care of Business. It helps that I modeled my hero after my own special geek of a husband, a man with more integrity than sense, more heart than hunkiness. Hopefully you’ll fall in love with him as quickly as I did.
Sincerely,
Kathy Lyons
Table of Contents
1
THANK GOD FOR COFFEE, James Samuel Finn thought as he reached for his triple venti latte.
“I made it extra sweet,” said the barista with a smile. “You look like you could use it this morning.”
Sam gave her a rueful smile as he dropped a generous tip in the jar. “At least I got the project done.”
“Good for you,” she quipped as she turned to the next customer.
Yes, Sam thought as he took that first glorious sip. Good for him, but more importantly, good for his company. He’d stayed up all night putting together the prototype, hence the celebratory latte. He just had time to polish up the presentation, change out of his lab coveralls, and make it to the board meeting at ten. And didn’t he just feel like the genius inventor that everyone thought he was.
“Get out of the way, you old bat!” bellowed a cabbie. “You’re blocking the road!”
Sam started, looking up from his drink and blinking rapidly against the bright sunlight. It wasn’t hard to find the source of the problem. An older woman, probably in her seventies, was trying to parallel park an old Crown Victoria. The thing was too big for downtown Chicago parking spaces, and the woman was too short to see well over the dash as she inched her way into the spot. Meanwhile, traffic was backing up behind her, led by one extremely irate cab driver.
“Come on, lady. You shouldn’t be driving, and you know it!”
“That’s enough!” Sam snapped as he stepped forward. The woman needed help, not insults. He stepped out into traffic, completely blocking the cab who was now trying to squeeze his car around hers. The bastard started cursing up a blue streak, but Sam ignored him. Instead, he gestured for the woman to roll down her window.
She did, and he gently began directing her into the parking spot. It wasn’t that hard. Once she had someone else’s eyes to rely on, she relaxed and the car slid easily into place.
“Oh, thank you!” she breathed gratefully. “The parking garage was full, and I didn’t know what else to do! I never come out into the city, but my grandson fell and broke his teeth, and this was the only time the dentist had available. Usually my daughter …”
She rambled on, obviously still upset. Meanwhile, the cabbie finally streaked past, throwing more insults as he left.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said as he waved to the eight-year-old in the back seat. “Those guys give Chicago a bad name.”
“No, no,” the woman said as she finally killed the engine. “He’s right. I should get a smaller car, but we can’t afford it. And this old monstrosity has been with me for twenty years.”
Sam’s tired brain kicked into gear as she got her grandson out of the car and headed toward the dentist. She was a perfect candidate for his prototype. He’d designed a strip of sensors that attached to anything—robot, wheelchair, massively old car—and gave a beautiful display that anyone could read. There was even a state-of-the-art verbal interface. Making a sudden decision, Sam popped open his cell phone and called Roger, his best friend and CFO.
An hour later, the grandson’s teeth were done, Sam’s coveralls were streaked with street grime and engine grease, and the Crown Victoria had his brand-new prototype attached to its body. He’d even rigged a dashboard attachment for the display.
“See,” he explained to Mrs. Evans. “You won’t have any problems maneuvering out of the parking spot now. You can see right on the display exactly how far you can move.”
“Why, it’s just like on those fancy new cars!”
Sam nodded. The system was actually a great deal more powerful than what was in new-model vehicles, but