A Very Merry Bah Humbug (PCU Frat #2)

Chapter 1

JAMES

The familiar Salford accents a white noise I'd never admit to needing. This is my element. The digital world makes sense in ways people never do. Predictable. Logical. No messy emotions or unspoken expectations.

"James," Drew calls from the doorway of our makeshift office, interrupting my flow. "We need you."

It takes a minute before I look up. "System update at ninety-two percent. Give me three minutes."

"It's important," he insists. "We've got the guy who manipulated those photos of Tyler."

That gets my attention. I've spent the last forty-eight hours trying to track down the origin of those images, photos that made it look like Tyler cheated on Ethan. The fact that someone physically standing in our house might have the answer is irritating. All that work for nothing.

"Fine.” Pushing back from my desk, I grab my hoodie from the back of my chair and zip it halfway up over my "404: Christmas Spirit Not Found" t-shirt.

The frat's sudden obsession with tinsel and holiday playlists started three days after Halloween, and my silent protest via wardrobe has gone completely unnoticed. Typical.

Drew leads me to a small conference room, where Tyler stands with a sullen, dark-haired man who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Slender, pale, with long hair partially hiding his face, cornflower blue eyes that—

Well shit.

Of course, the guy who nearly destroyed Tyler's relationship is unfairly attractive. Wonderful. Just what this situation needed.

He looks exactly like the type of pretentious a-hole I've spent years trying to avoid. The type who's probably also ridiculously fit under those dark, slouchy clothes, which makes this whole thing even more annoying.

"James, this is Caleb Huntington the third," Drew introduces. "Caleb, James is our Webmaster. He'll help you extract the files we need."

Caleb gives a quick once-over, his expression distinctly unimpressed. "You're the computer guy? Great."

The dismissive tone hits a nerve that didn't need to be hit. "And you're the guy who takes money to ruin people's lives? Charming."

His blue eyes flash. "I didn't know what they were going to do with the images."

"Right," my voice is flat. "Just doing your job. Classic."

Drew clears his throat pointedly. "James, Caleb has agreed to help us prove the photos were manipulated. He has all the source files."

"I still have the originals and the composites," Caleb explains, not looking at me. "And the work history that shows the exact manipulations."

"Show me."

He hesitates, clutching his laptop bag closer. "I'll need to log into my cloud storage."

"Use my machine," I say, pointing to my station. "It's more secure than the house Wi-Fi."

Something like respect flickers across his face before he masks it. "Fine."

While Drew and Tyler step out to talk, Caleb sits at my desk, automatically adjusting the chair back. I stand behind him, arms crossed, watching as he logs into his account. His password is complex; at least he's not completely careless with security.

"So, what's the going rate for character assassination these days?"

His shoulders tense. "I didn't know they were setting up anyone."

"But you knew you were manipulating photos to make it look like someone was cheating."

He turns to look at me, defiance in his eyes. "I knew I was putting someone's face on another body. It could have been a joke, a prank, whatever. I didn't ask questions."

"That's convenient."

A girl from high school during my last foster placement flashes through my mind —Megan, something.

Quiet, kept to herself. Then someone photoshopped her face onto porn stills and spread them around school.

She stopped coming to class after two weeks.

Just... disappeared from the school entirely. Never found out what happened to her.

This asshat might not have pulled the trigger, but he loaded the gun and handed it over. That's enough.

"That's survival," he snaps. "Some of us don't have the luxury of moral high ground when rent is due."

The bitterness in his voice surprises me. According to Tyler, this guy is Caleb Huntington the Third. How hard up for cash could he possibly be?

"Here," he says, opening a folder labeled simply 'Face Swap Job.' "These are all the source images they provided, and these are the composites I created."

Leaning in close, examining the files despite wanting to find fault with everything about this guy. The work is actually impressive. Clean, precise, with attention to detail that most amateurs would miss. Shadows match perfectly, lighting is consistent, and pixel density is uniform.

Would be easier to stay angry if his work was sloppy. But it's not. It's really not.

"You're good," I say.

He shrugs, but I catch the slight straightening of his posture. "It's just technical skill. I like working with images in my spare time."

"Your technical skill nearly destroyed my friend's relationship. And you're not doing this full-time?"

His glare could freeze nitrogen. "I'm pre-law, you dick. This pays my bills." He turns his back on me and goes back to work.

Ok… he’s not here to make friends.

"Can you export all of this with the metadata intact? We'll need timestamps, edit history, everything."

"Already on it." His fingers fly across the keyboard, navigating his own cloud storage with practiced efficiency. The export settings load quickly; he's done this before.

Watching him work. Maybe he's not a complete pretentious asshole. He might be morally flexible, but he knows what he's doing. And he seems genuinely committed to helping now, which is... something, I guess.

"Why did you agree to help?" The question slips out unexpectedly.

He pauses, hands hovering over the keyboard. "Because what they did was wrong. I didn't realize how wrong until I saw how upset Tyler was." He glances at me. "I'm not a complete asshole, despite what you clearly think."

"Just partially an asshole, then?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "At least sixty percent, according to my last performance review."

Right. No smiling. This isn't some buddy-buddy moment; it's cleaning up a disaster he had a hand in making.

Tyler and Drew return as Caleb wraps up putting together the proof. He walks them through each image, explaining the manipulations in detail. His technical knowledge is solid, his explanations clear and concise.

Fuck me, he's good. Would be easier to stay annoyed if he weren't also unfairly attractive while being competent. Right. Focus on the evidence, not on how his hands move when he's explaining something.

"So all of these can be verified as fakes?" Drew asks, looking at the side-by-side comparisons on my screen.

"Definitely," Caleb confirms. "The originals have distinct digital signatures. Any forensic analysis would show these were composites."

"Good," Tyler says. "Now I just need to find Ethan and show him."

"All files are exported to a secure folder. I sent the link to your phone. Password-protected, but shareable. The evidence is solid."

As Tyler and Drew discuss next steps, Caleb begins gathering his things. He seems ready to bolt now that his part is done.

"Hold on," I say, stopping him with a hand on his arm. He tenses at the contact, and I quickly pull back, not wanting to make the guy physically uncomfortable. I'm not a complete asshole. "We need your statement too. For the formal complaint."

"I already told them what happened," he says louder than almost everything he has said so far.

"We need it documented. Official, with your digital signature."

Brilliant. Now the pretty boy is doing that thing where he looks both irritated and unfairly attractive at the same time.

He hesitates, jaw working like he's chewing on words he doesn't want to say.

"Worried about your reputation, Huntington?"

His jaw tightens. "My father's running for office. If this becomes public—"

"Maybe you should have thought about that before helping Cher and Ryan," I cut in.

"James," Drew says sharply from his chair; I've heard that tone before, usually when he thinks I'm being a prick. Then to Caleb, "Your statement will be confidential unless there's a formal hearing, which we hope to avoid."

Caleb nods, shoulders slumping slightly. "Fine. I'll write it up."

While Tyler and Drew step out again to talk about Gavin and sandwiches, don't want to know, I set up a template for Caleb's statement. He types quickly, efficiently documenting his interactions with Cher and Ryan, the instructions they gave, and the payment he received.

"You really didn't suspect anything?" The pictures they asked him to change practically scream red flags.

"I suspected they were being jerks," he admits. "But not that they were trying to destroy someone's relationship." He pauses, fingers hovering over the keys. "I needed the money. My father… he only pays for tuition and housing. Anything else, I'm on my own."

"Tough life, having to work for spending money like the rest of us mortals." Zero effort goes into hiding my sarcasm.

Three part-time jobs to cover what scholarships don't. Tech support for the university, freelance web security, and keeping this frat's digital infrastructure running. All while maintaining grades good enough to keep those scholarships. But sure, poor little rich boy has to earn his own beer money.

He looks up at me, eyes narrowing. "You have no idea what my life is like."

"And you have no idea what Tyler's been through because of what you helped do."

For a moment, we just stare at each other. His expression has shifted from defensive to actively hostile, which is fair enough. Not like I've been welcoming. The doorbell cuts through our standoff. Drew's already moving toward the front door, Tyler and Gavin close behind.

Following at a distance, staying in the hallway where visibility is good but involvement is minimal. Perfect vantage point.