Page 4 of The Five Year Lie

Staring at the boss’s daughter is not part of the plan. It’s just that Ariel Cafferty is so damn distracting.

The cursor blinks expectantly on his screen, but he can still see her out of his peripheral vision as she bends toward her sketchbook again, her brow creased in concentration as her pencil meets the page.

He edits the last command he’s written and waits for the compiler to update. Ariel twirls a lock of her hair around a finger, and he holds back a sigh.

He’s not above chatting up a girl for information. But what wouldthisgirl know? Probably nothing. The whisper network saysshe’s just filling in while the office manager is out on maternity leave. And only because her daddy makes her.

Still, she probably lived with that asshole for most of her life. There could be something there. Maybe she knows why her father and her uncle hate each other so much.

Unbidden, his glance finds her again. That keeps happening. Partly because she’s ridiculously attractive, with shiny hair in a rich shade of brown and eyes that flash like she knows a secret. She’s wearing a sleeveless dress that shows off tanned shoulders. If she were any other girl, he’d like to test their smoothness under his palms.

The really fascinating thing about her, though, is her obvious disdain for this whole place, and particularly for her father. It’s fair to say that she’s the only one in this room—besides Drew—who isn’t afraid of that man.

If shewereafraid, she wouldn’t take those long lunches. And she wouldn’t answer the phone with an expression that implies its existence offends her. And she definitely wouldn’t sit there sketching at her desk, the pencil case propped open in front of her.

Maybe he’ll ask her out for drinks. Just once. So he can find out what she knows.

As he watches, she taps a blue pencil against her lip, eyeing her work with a critical stare.

From this angle, he can’t see the drawing. But he’s not about to invent a trip to the espresso machine or the men’s room just to look. Even if the curiosity is burning him up inside.

Absolutely not.

Nope.

“It’s not you,” a low voice says from nearby.

It takes Drew a beat to realize which guy at an adjacent workspace is speaking to him. “Sorry?”

“She’s not drawingyou,” his neighbor continues without looking up. The guy’s name is Zain, and he’s barely said ten words since Drew started this job. “There are cameras all over this room, by the way. If you spend a lot of time staring at her, somebody will notice.”

Well, fuck. “Good tip. Much appreciated.”

Zain is silent for another long beat. “She draws glass,” he continues eventually. “If you’re so curious.”

“Glass,” he repeats like a dummy. “Like, things you drink out of?”

Zain smirks. He’s a thirtyish guy with a thin face, outrageous eyebrows and wildly curling hair. And his skin has the pallor of someone who never goes outdoors.

He doesn’t fit the Chime Co. mold. At all. The office favors a frat boy vibe that Drew has been trying to mirror—clean-shaven faces, nice shirts and foul mouths.

“She’s an artisan,” Zain adds. “Think vases and candleholders. Some of it is pretty great.”

“Oh. Cool,” he says in a voice that betrays no interest. But his traitorous eyes go right back to their new favorite place as he tries to fit this information into the impression he’s formed.

For starters, she’s the heir to a fortune. Chime Co. grew its revenue by over a hundred percent last year. More than a million customers are panting to pay a few hundred dollars for a premium doorbell camera. There’s big money in deterring thieves from stealing your gluten-free meal kits off your front porch.

And this girl only cares aboutglass, a technology that probably hasn’t changed much in a thousand years?

Huh.

“Incoming,” Zain mumbles, dropping his chin and typing like a madman.

After a couple of years in combat situations, Drew has excellent instincts. He drops his gaze just as the big boss himself rounds the aisle and crosses in front of him, blocking out the view of Ariel.

That should make it easier to concentrate. Except Drew is blatantly eavesdropping as he scrolls through his block of code again.

Edward Cafferty doesn’t open with a friendly greeting for his daughter. Instead, he growls a question at her in exactly the same tone that makes the programming managers quake. “Where are the presentations?”