Possessing Liberty (Claimed 1)

He nods.

"Did you really receive a Purple Heart for saving a family from an IED?"

"Yes." His gaze shifts across my face. "You looked into me."

"I did," I admit, not trying to lie about it. I'm not a very good liar. "It seemed like the smart thing to do since I'll be working with you for a while."

His lips lift into a tiny smile.

Lord, he's handsome when he smiles.

I take a sip of coffee like that's going to make him less gorgeous.

"You said you started working on some ideas for me," he says.

"Yeah…um, yes." I have to stop to clear my throat. "I already have a basic application we can build on and tweak to fit your needs. It'll collect necessary data on your men in the form of a questionnaire and then compile it into a profile and make suggestions for services based on their responses. Your staff will be able to add their own assessments and update their records through the app as well, sort of like online services and digital charting at a doctor's office."

"Can we keep it secure?"

I nod. "We've used the software before to code a program for a group that provides free medical care to low income families and for a few other data sensitive projects, so it's already AES compliant. Since AES encryption is the standard for classified information, it should pass any required security tests by military officials."

"How long will it take to get it up and running?"

"I need at least a week. And then another to test it out and make any changes."

He arches a brow, clearly surprised. "Two weeks?"

"I work fast, but I don't work miracles," I mumble.

"That's faster than I expected."

"Oh." I take another drink of my coffee. It's surprisingly good. "Like I said, the foundation is already there. It's just a matter of plugging in the specifics and getting all the moving parts working together. I'd also like to add a few features for the men you serve."

"Such as?"

"Even though your program will provide any necessary services, I'd like to add a feature that allows participants to communicate with one another with some level of anonymity. People tend to recover faster when they have the ability to form their own support networks. It'll be like a chat room, accessible only to those in your program."

"They'll be anonymous?"

"If they want to be," I say. "The choice should be theirs to make."

"Agreed."

"You can use it for group sessions as well."

"You're good at this."

I smile at him, proud of myself. I've worked hard to get where I am in life. It's nice to have that recognized without someone attaching a "for a girl" to the end of it. Women in this field still don't get a lot of respect. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he's different though.

We lapse into silence, both sipping our coffee and pretending like we aren't both staring at each other. I can't help but look at him though. His presence is hard to ignore. He commands attention and respect. The way he carries himself is confident and sexy as hell.

"Where'd you learn to do all this?" he asks eventually.

"I taught myself mostly." Computers and programs always fascinated me, so I taught myself how they work. I coded my first program when I was fourteen.

"You went to school for this shit?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I haven't finished my degree," I confess, hoping that's not a dealbreaker for him. I could use the money he's offering me for this project to finish paying for school. And even if I don't have a degree yet, I can do this for him. "I'm still working on it."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

He processes that for a moment, a little furrow between his brows. "Why haven't you finished?"

"I can't afford to go full time," I mumble, glancing down at my cup to avoid seeing the pity in his eyes. His family is the kind of rich you read about in magazines. Literally. There were tons of stories about his family when Summer and I Googled him yesterday, just not much on him specifically. "I'll be finished later this year."

"Not many can work full time and put themselves through school."

"Sometimes, we don't have a choice." Dom pays me well, but I couldn't afford school if I didn't work. Despite having the grades in high school, I wasn't offered much in the way of scholarships. I couldn't afford the application fees and extra testing like a lot of the other girls could and I didn't have anyone to advocate for me.

He doesn't say anything, but I can feel the weight of his gaze. He's always watching me.

"So…um…what should I call you?" I ask, feeling awkward again. I'm used to people staring at me because of my weight, but this is different. He doesn't just see a smart, overweight girl. He sees me. No one ever sees me.

"Killian."

"Colonel or sir seems more appropriate given that you're a decorated war hero," I say, nodding toward the awards displayed on the wall.

He cocks a brow. "Should I call you baby girl then? It seems more appropriate given how sweet you are."

I blink at him.

"Shit," he says before I can find a response. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to look at it. "We're late for debriefing." He steps toward me, putting a hand on my lower back. I jump, not used to being touched, but he doesn't move away. "Come on."

I let him lead me from the office, my head spinning all over again.