and getting her and her boss fired.
When Don Carpenter first hired Megan to help out in the store a few months back, the job had been a godsend. And despite the fact that she knew very little about computers—and not much more about bookkeeping—it hadn’t taken long for her to realize the store was in big trouble.
Don was a wonderful older man, a kindhearted boss and a loving husband, but she feared that his worry about his wife had caused him to become scattered lately. He’d also been so busy looking after her and taking her to appointments that he’d gotten behind on his work. And to top it all off, he was intent upon doing things the “old way” and had been resistant to converting to a new, electronic accounting system.
Megan tried to do what she could to help, but the store was going under, and she wasn’t sure if she could turn things around on her own. Sadly, poor Don couldn’t afford to lose his job right now, especially with his wife still undergoing chemotherapy. So Megan had brought in Tyler to assist him with some of the easier repair work. And while her twelve-year-old son had been helpful at times, he was also causing her more stress lately.
She glanced at the sulky boy hunched into the front seat beside her. His lip was split, and he hadn’t said a word since she’d blasted into his principal’s office and exchanged some heated words with the woman—and with Conner Doyle’s parents.
She hated being a tattletale or fighting Tyler’s battles for him, but it was unfair for her son to get suspended for retaliating the only way he knew how.
Conner had been picking on Tyler ever since they’d moved to Brighton Valley last summer, and the bullying had only gotten worse. She’d sensed a change in her son during the school year. The sweet, fun-loving boy had grown quieter each day, withdrawing into books and technology and other solitary activities. It concerned her because it was something she couldn’t relate to, and she feared losing the connection they’d always had.
She stole another glance at Tyler, noting his red hair, his thin frame. In many ways, he’d taken after her side of the family in looks. She had no idea where he’d inherited his amazing intellect. She’d never been a great student, and her ex-husband, Todd Redding, who’d been athletic and quick on his feet, had excelled far better on the football field than he had in the classroom.
To make matters worse—and no doubt compounding what Tyler might be going through now—Todd had never wanted much to do with his nonathletic, bookish son, even before he’d abandoned the family. And that was one reason Megan had taken back her maiden name when they were divorced. Another was to distance herself from the terrible financial situation Todd had left her in.
When she stopped at the intersection near the town square, she reached over and tousled her son’s red hair. “I love you no matter what, Ty. And I want you to know that when you’re ready to talk about what happened, I’ll be here to listen.”
He didn’t respond, yet he didn’t move away from her caressing hand, either.
She pulled her old Civic into the parking spot in the back alley behind Zorba’s and shut off the ignition, her thoughts still desperately groping for a solution. And while she wasn’t sure what to do to help her son, she couldn’t very well leave Mr. Johnson alone to poke around the store more than she already had. But she’d had no other choice. Had he not been there, she would have locked up and left an “out to lunch” sign on the front door.
Megan glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, wishing she had some lip gloss and mascara.
And why was that? She hadn’t gone out of her way to look attractive for anyone since before her divorce. Of course, there’d never been any extra money for frivolities like makeup or new clothes. Besides, the last thing she needed was for a man to show any interest in her.
So why was she now so concerned with how she looked for Mr. Big-Shot Accountant?
“Did Mr. Carpenter leave that MacBook for me to adjust?” Tyler asked as he hopped out of the car and headed toward the back entrance.
Oh, no! She’d forgotten to tell Tyler that Mr. Johnson was here. And for that reason, he couldn’t do any more of the repairs—at least, not during business hours.
She unlatched her seat belt and hustled out of the car, trying to intercept the boy before he made it inside.
“Whoa,” Tyler said before she could stop him. “Who are you?”
Mr. Johnson, who’d been seated at Don Carpenter’s desk, spun the chair toward the door as they entered.
Had he gotten better-looking while she’d been gone? Or had she just been too distracted on the phone to notice that his eyes were an amazing shade of blue, that he had a square-cut jaw, that his lips were full and sensuous?
“I’m Peyton Johnson.” He stood and extended his hand to Tyler. “I work for Zorba the Geek.”
While Megan hadn’t paid too much attention to his facial features before, she definitely noted them now, especially the way his blue eyes narrowed in on her as he said, “And now will somebody be so kind as to tell me who you two are?”
Oh, no. Hadn’t she introduced herself when he’d arrived? Her memory replayed the sequence of events between when he’d entered the shop and when she’d dashed out. As the conversation, at least most of it, played back to her, she could have sworn she’d told him her name. But maybe she hadn’t.
“I’m so sorry. I’m Megan Adams. I help Mr. Carpenter here in the back office. This is my son, Tyler. He got in trouble at school today, and I’m afraid dealing with all of that made me a little flustered. I’m not normally like this.”
Peyton’s intent stare sent a nervous flutter through her, threatening to scatter her thoughts to the winds, so she averted her eyes from his face, her gaze slipping down to the open black collar that exposed a sliver of dark chest hair.
“So,” Mr. Johnson said, reining in her thoughts from the slight sexual diversion they’d taken, “what exactly do you do here at Zorba the Geek? Are you a computer tech?”
“Ha!” Laughter came from the boy behind her, but before she could turn and shush him, he added, “Mom wouldn’t know a gigabyte from an integrated circuit.”
Peyton’s brows rose, and he looked over Megan’s head, which wasn’t all that hard for him to do, since she stood only five foot two. “And you do?”
“Of course I do. Take this Geekon hard drive right here.” Tyler pointed to one of the black boxes disassembled on an empty workstation against the wall. “This model uses a digital integrated circuit.” He went on to talk about logic gates and signals and values of ones and zeroes, all of which went over Megan’s head. “See, all the Geekon series use digital ICs.”
“What do you think of the Geekon series?” Peyton asked the usually quiet boy, who hadn’t said more than three sentences to her all week.
Tyler perked up and launched into a full discourse on the uses of microprocessors and transistors and everything else that caused Megan to tune him out.
“So basically,” Tyler said, “straight out of the box, Geekon computers are the best you can buy. But they’re not the best that can be made.”
“Tyler, Mr. Johnson works for Zorba the Geek, which is part of Geekon Enterprises, remember?” Megan left the
