Designer Genes - The Boyfriend Cut (31 page)

"Why? Because you're afraid I'll convince you to cross enemy lines? Make you a traitor?"

I slammed the freezer door and whirled around, my eyes immediately locking on the shiny white plastic between Doug's legs. I closed my eyes and quickly conjured up the picture of Jordan kissing me goodbye before opening them again. It wasn't easy training my focus on Doug's face, especially when he smiled and purposely crushed the package.
Ass.

"You couldn't even if you wanted to."

He rose, reaching me in two long steps, arms folded and hands tucked in his armpits.

"Trust me, I could."

Something about the way he said it, made me nervous he may be right. I rubbed my forehead as if to erase the thought. "Doug, I think you should leave."

He moved closer, backing me against the cool appliance. "Don't worry. I'm not going to kiss you." He lifted my chin with a finger. "I'll leave if you promise me something in return."

"What?" A nervous quiver circled the word.

He stepped back, but grabbed my hands."Come to Italy with me. Our family has a villa outside of Florence where we go each summer to visit my grandparents and I want to take you there."

"
Italy
?" Anxiety gripped as I tried to wrap my mind around his request and the reaction I'd get from Rick, not to mention Jordan. "Wow! I didn't see that coming. I-I 'm pretty sure my dad won't let me," I answered, trying to reclaim the hands Doug now held to his chest.

"He doesn't have a say if I request it through The Program."

"Sounds like I don't either."

"Marli, the last thing I want is to force you to spend time with me. I was wrong for being pushy in Alaska. Please consider coming? Italy's beautiful and in all fairness, you haven't given me a chance in this fight."

"I'm not a battleground."

"You most certainly are, but I intend to level the playing field it so it's a fair war. Two weeks is all I'm asking."

Then what? A six-month hold?

Doug placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. "Please?"

Before his lips could travel to my mouth, the back door opened with a lazy whine. "Marli?"

The Calvary had arrived.

17

MY MISSION IMPOSSIBLE

U
nable to sit a second longer, I sprang to my feet and marched the length of the reception area. On my tenth turn, the door opened and one of my favorite men appeared, his toothy grin softening the edges of his rugged face. Chuck Wilson.

"You're wearing out my carpet."

"I almost ordered 'take-out' you were taking so long."

He draped his arm loosely around my neck, lugged me into his office. "I've missed you, too."

Chuck rolled his chair close to the desk, which served as a computer. The top appeared clear, but when turned on, became a screen. Rows of small drawers holding the pods of the candidates he sponsored, filled the bottom shelf of the credenza behind him. He pressed a code in the center and my drawer, sixth down on the left side, popped open.

I slipped my feet out of my shoes and curled my legs under me. I watched him slide my pod into a slot and an uneasiness bucked in my stomach.

He pushed back, crossing one leg over a knee. "So, how are things, starting with your love life?"

"Straight to business," I answered in a gruff, mocking voice. His brow curled into a heavy no-nonsense ridge. "Hmm…my
love life.
A mess—no, more of a disaster
.
"

A mischievous grin returned his casual demeanor. "How so? I've nothing but glowing reports on you from two very smitten young men."

I'd sell my soul to see those reports.

"That's the problem, isn't it? They both want me. How does The Program feel about bigamy? I could live the summers in Alaska and the winters in Florida."

"You should be flattered, my dear. Let's get the preliminaries out of the way and I'll see what I can do to help. Lend me your arm so I can get your records updated. Anything new you want to warn me about?"

I laid my arm across the glass desktop, now illuminated in soft sky blue. "Not unless there's some limit on hormones. I think mine have gone berserk."

He laughed, turning my pink band until the tiny gold chip lined up over a flashing black bar on the corner of the desk. "Oh what I'd give to be young again. Sorry, but hormonal overload is normal for your age."

Three small beeps sounded and the bar changed to neon green. Blue changed to opal gray and my record instantly appeared. Numbers cascaded over the desktop. No new information highlighted in lemon yellow, or flashing red alerts. After the report downloaded, he scanned my bracelet a second time to restart my data field for future entries.

"Chuck, is there any way besides the DNA sticks The Program could find out if someone, um…"

I struggled to find some way to explain without having to blurt out the obvious. I needed to know if my wristband could sell me out. Things with Jordan had heated up and I felt my guard weaken each time we were alone. Luckily, Doug topped my list of things to avoid like poison ivy and black widows. But then there was Jesse.

He tapped the screen and it returned to a glass desktop. He leaned on his elbows, resting his stubbly chin on folded fists."Exactly what are you asking?" I ducked my face in my arms and he patted my head. "Remember, what you tell me doesn't leave this room."

I left my face hidden, forced to say the word. "Sex. Would my bracelet register if I've had
sex
?"

The caring hands lifted immediately. Chuck sucked all the air in the room into his lungs and held it. His tone took on a steely edge. "Marli, please tell me you haven't. I know this is personal, but have you been intimate with someone?"

"
No
," I answered, mortified. His forehead crinkled, his eyes hooded. "What?"

A frustrated sigh ruffled his upper lip. He buzzed his receptionist. "Carol, please reschedule my next appointment and hold my calls." My eyes widened. "We need to talk, Marli. Bring your chair around here. I have something to show you, but I warn you, I could get fired for this, not to mention it's going to upset you."

The pit of my stomach lurched.

Chuck pulled a small remote from his desk drawer, clicked a button, and opaque shades covered the windows to his office. Another click projected a wall-size viewing screen. His hands flew over a small illuminated keyboard until a graph appeared on the screen—
my
name in the first block.

"When deciding candidates' commissions, The Program speculates what purpose would be the most beneficial for you and them. See these columns?" A little green arrow blinked
look here.

"They each represent an area you're rated on starting at birth, and each year an assessment is made—a 'grade' of sorts. A 5.0 is the highest-ranking number, with fractional allowances for anything falling below. You were chosen as a candidate based on your genetic code, but the final assessment reached at age fifteen determined your commissioned assignment in The Program."

"My destiny?"

"Yes, basically. That's why we meet every few months, to see if anything has happened that might alter 'destiny.'" He tapped my knee. "I'm happy to report that in spite of everything you've been through, nothing has affected you adversely. In fact, each evaluation reflects an increase."

He entered another graph to the side of mine. Candidate 2255: JORDAN MASON. Numbly, I watched him overlay Jordan's graph to mine, pointing out the similarities we had in almost every category. The only area where Jordan surpassed me was academically. Throughout his education, his grades were flawless.

Then I saw it. The "final score"—our genetic markers. Candidate 2255: 4.99. Candidate 5846: 4.98. A nearly perfect match. The room wobbled and I folded, my arms wrapping my head.

"I worried this might happen. There's more, but maybe we you're not ready."

I eased upright again. "I don't care. Tell me everything." I waited for him to gather his thoughts, undoubtedly struggling with ethical issues.

"Some things may be classified, which means I can't tell you. Understood?" I nodded. "And, if I feel something is too disturbing,
I
get to decide whether or not to tell you."

Proceeding cautiously, Chuck opened another file, pulling yet another graph to the other side of mine. The bold words DOUGLAS PETERSON jumped at me. At that moment, I noticed something identical on both Doug's and Jordan's graph, but not on mine. Under each of their surnames was a bold, black box with a small gold "lock" icon.

I pointed to the black bars."What are those?"

"Information neither of us has access to."

Jordan's secret.

Chuck rolled my band. "Back to your earlier question. See the diamond in the middle, how it's slightly larger than the others? It's a reminder of your commitment to abstinence. If this rule is broken and, how can I say this delicately,
virtue
compromised, but between committed assignees, they're allowed to remain with The Program.

"
Committed
assignees?"

"Those who have accepted each other in some form as sole life partners. If Jordan claims you and it's accepted, you'd be considered 'committed
.
'"

"What if I don't want to be claimed?"

"Marli, we've been through this. The last page of your contract clearly spells out the obligations you've agreed to. If Jordan had four diamonds, it would be a mutual decision, but he doesn't. He has five. The choice is his."

And Doug's.
The queasiness returned.

He poured me a cup of water from the dispenser next to his desk. "Shall I continue?"

"I'm fine."

His brows tweaked. "Sure?" I nodded. "Okay, back to our discussion. If a candidate becomes physically involved with someone else, they're expelled and lose everything. Purity is essential because of the risk for contamination of the gene pool. Now, do you understand why I'm so concerned?"

"Jesse." His name slipped from my mouth on an outgoing breath.

"
Jesse Mason?
Chuck jumped up and planted his hands squarely on the arms of my chair, his face close enough I could see
my
fearful expression in
his
eyes. "Swear to me you haven't been intimate with Jesse Mason."

Every seductive memory of Jesse flashed behind my eyes, ending with the morning I woke in his arms. "I haven't had sex with Jesse, if that's what you're asking."
Fantasizing doesn't count.

He dropped into his chair, rubbed his mouth hard. "I hate to pry, but I need to know. How involved have you been with
any
guy?"

"I haven't crossed any lines."
Tiptoed to the edge, perhaps dangled a foot, but not crossed.
The sudden feeling of intrusion into my personal life irked me. "I don't like what you're implying. I can pass your damn 'virgin dip-stick' test."

Chuck laughed so hard he snorted. "I'll remember that one."

"Why is Jesse such a big deal? Technically, he's 'blue banded.'"

"Not anymore, and any involvement with him could compromise your standing with The Program." Chuck tapped a couple more keys and Jesse's chart appeared with only one entry. Candidate 2256: 4.98. Exactly like me.

"Jesse was an unfortunate loss to The Program, but nonetheless, he's forbidden from getting involved with candidates. That means
you.
"

"But his numbers…"

"Are irrelevant!" Chuck blared over me. "Marli, just because the numbers are the same, there are other factors that make Jordan the best candidate selection."

"Hey!" I charged back, "for your information, the only thing I'm guilty of with Jesse, Jordan, and even Doug, in a momentary lapse of judgment
,
is having an overactive imagination."

Chuck's palms rose defensively. "All right, I get it. But would you clarify the momentary lapse in judgment?"

"A moment of weakness, that's all. Nothing to get excited about." He looked at me with eyes full of skepticism. "I said, it was nothing. Can we drop it now?"

"I'm worried, Marli. To what extent are your feelings for these boys?"

"I'm not sure. I know Jesse is supposed to be off limits and I don't know
what
I feel toward Doug, but Jordan? I think I'm in love with him
.
Is that possible so fast?"

Chuck's posture changed, his doe-brown eyes softening. He pointed to a smooth gold band on his left finger. "I fell for my wife on our second date and have enjoyed every moment of the past twelve years with her."

A wistful sadness snaked through me, wishing my parents' relationship had such an ending. I desperately wanted a "happy-ever-after," but worried my future would turn out as bleak as theirs.

"Marli? Do you want to go on?"

I shook my head, not sure of anything, but desperate to know everything. He referred back to the screen, closing Jesse's one-liner chart, leaving Doug's graph—his accumulative marker: 4.97.

"Wow. I'm stuck in the middle. Is Doug equal to Jordan as a match? He seems to think so, and threatened to claim me in Alaska."