Why would a man he never knew build him a home on one of the most spectacular beaches on the West Coast?
Micah Taylor stared out the windows of his corner office overlooking Puget Sound, rapping his palm with an edge of the cryptic letter. Cannon Beach, Oregon. Right on the ocean and built by his great-uncle Archie, at least that’s what the letter claimed. But of all the towns up and down Highway 101, why there? A place that repulsed him. A place he cherished. Both at the same time. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel.
Shake it off. There couldn’t really be a house in that spot with his name on it. No way. Not there. This was exactly the kind of practical joke his team might try to pull off. No one would ever accuse RimSoft’s culture of being stoic. If they only knew how badly they’d misfired this time. Micah sighed.
But if the letter was real—
“Time to go, boss.”
Shannon stood in the doorway, eyes bright behind her Versace glasses, short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair outlining her face. She’d been Micah’s administrative assistant for three years. Smart and not easily intimidated, what churned in her five-foot-eight frame made her one of the strongest links in his company’s chain.
“I hate being called boss.” Reminded him too much of his dad.
“Yes, I know.” She pulled her glasses down and gave him her pirate look—one eye closed, the other squinting.
Micah tried to smile and tossed the letter announcing his inheritance onto his desk. Shake it off, he told himself again. It didn’t help.
“You all right?”
“Yeah. Great.” He grabbed his notebook and wagged his finger at Shannon as they walked out of his office. “You shouldn’t call someone boss when you’re almost old enough to be their m—”
“—much older sister.”
“Right,” Micah said as they fell into step and marched down the halls of RimSoft. Normally he loved Fridays. The creativity his team poured out was astounding. If employing people better than yourself were an Olympic event, Micah would be swimming in gold.
But today wasn’t a regular Friday. Today a bizarre letter sat on his desk trying to dredge up memories he’d buried forever.
As they turned the final corner on the way to the conference room, Kelli Kay, one of Micah’s more talented programmers, approached. “Want to hear something really cool?” Her red curls bounced like a Slinky.
“Absolutely.” Micah kept walking—now backward—his Nikes scuffing lightly on the teal carpet.
Single mom until four months ago, Kelli put herself through computer school while working forty hours a week and taking care of her ten-year-old son. Never complained about fifty-hour weeks. Never complained about sixty-hour weeks.
“My kid won that art contest I told you about last week; he’s headed to L.A. this summer to compete in the national—”
“You serious? Listen, if he places, let’s fly him and you and that new husband of yours to New York to see the MET. I’ll bring Julie, and we’ll all go check out the art with him and time it so we catch a Mariners-Yankees game.”
“Really?” Kelli half-jogged to keep up with him.
“RimSoft’s already made $2 million off that little antivirus program you developed last year. You’re amazing.” Micah turned and picked up his pace.
Shannon picked up hers too, her white Adidas running shoes helping in the effort. He couldn’t believe this was the same woman who showed up her first day wearing three-inch heels and a business suit straight out of Uptight Dresses for Corporate America. Micah told her to get rid of the heels and put on whatever she loved wearing and felt comfortable in.
“You could actually stop when you talk to people.”
Micah frowned at Shannon. “We have a meeting. You know, the company? Work to do. Software programs to develop. Lots of sales. Happy stockholders. Make money. All that stuff.” He brushed past a lush, broad-leafed dracaena plant and walked faster.
“You’re not exactly yourself this morning.”
“A lot on my mind.”
“They just want more time with you, Micah, to know you like them.”
“I like everyone. But, to be sure, let’s get out an e-mail that says, ‘From Micah Taylor. To you. I like you. I really, really like you.’ ” He pushed open the conference room door and held it for Shannon. He returned her glare with a forced smile.
The conference room was small but comfortable. No vaulted ceiling, no massive table, just two light tan leather couches and six overstuffed espresso brown chairs all circling the center of the room. RimSoft’s version of Camelot. The room wasn’t designed for ego;