Chapter 83
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Yes, I read the audit reports you sent, and you’re sure they’re accurate?” I crush the phone between my ear and shoulder as I type.
“Absolutely sure. There’s no story here, Miss Finnegan.”
Yeah, we’ll see about that.
“Okay, thank you for your time. If I think of any other questions, I’ll be in touch.”
There is a heavy sigh on the other end that I mirror after I hang up.
“No luck with the bank?” Sterling pushes backward from his desk, rolling over to take a look at the reports on my screen.
“They’re adamant that there hasn’t been an external breach of their system. No customer data has been compromised.” I repeat the stock response I’ve been getting since I started looking into the story. “And the reports back it up.”
“Who ran the audits?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.
I’ve grown used to his uncanny ability to maintain a conversation while researching. It’s what makes him so good at his job.
“The bank ran their own internal investigation when the initial complaints came in, then hired two objective third parties to complete independent audits after the first lawsuits were filed. All got the same result—their system is secure.”
“How many lawsuits are there now?”
I return to my notes. “Twenty and counting, with over four hundred complaints. They’re looking at a class action now.”
The whole thing is nagging at me. I can’t put my finger on it. The data isn’t lying, but it doesn’t explain how hundreds of customers of the same bank have suffered identity theft in the last two months.
It’s too much of a coincidence, and Sterling doesn’t believe in coincidences.
When I look up, his eyes are on me, a telltale smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. Tingles shoot up my arm as he traces his fingers lightly over the back of my hand.
“What is that brilliant mind thinking?”
Right now, all I can think about is tasting that smile with my tongue, digging my fingers deep into those dark curls and likely getting us both fired.
Instead, I flip my hand over and curl my fingers around his. “I’ve traced the complaints back to the earliest case, and it all started right after the bank was robbed. Something happened that day—I’m sure of it.”
“Want my help?”
Always. But there’s satisfaction in getting the result on my own.
I shake my head. “I’m going to keep looking, put together a timeline of events from that day so I can see if there’s even the slightest chance it fits.”
“You’ll piece the puzzle together. You usually do.”
“What can I say?” I lean in. “I learned from the best.”
“Don’t you two ever stop? This is an office, for fuck’s sake. I’d like to work without losing my lunch.”
“And I’d rather the Sports column had none of your insipid, bullshit takes,” Sterling says, directing a cold stare at Andy, “but we can’t all get what we want, can we?”
Andy rolls his eyes and walks away.
Sterling rolls back to his desk, but not before I catch the spark of celebration in his eyes. Sterling’s quiet is soothing. His focus helps me focus.
A wolf whistle silences the entire floor. There’s only one man it can belong to, and I’m grinning before Lucky steps out of the elevator.
He places a cake box in front of me.
“What’s the occasion?”
“It’s my birthday.”
Ah, so that’s what the note in Sterling’s calendar is for.
“And you brought your own cake? I feel awful.”
“ ’S all right, love,” he says, flattening the box on top of a coroner’s report. It’s a much better view. “You can both make it up to me later.”
“Jesus …” Sterling whispers under his breath.
“I meant presents, but if you’ve got something else in mind, please, share.”
If left to themselves, I swear Lucky and Sterling would do nothing but stare at each other. I, however, want cake, so I steal the knife and start cutting a generous piece for myself. If they want any, they’ll have to stop flirting long enough to get it.
“Oh, was I supposed to get you something?” Sterling teases, settling back in his chair with his arms crossed.
“It’s tradition.”
“Hmm. Thought maybe you’d want to take something instead. You do it so well.”
Fuck. It might be a while.
Sterling isn’t wrong though; Lucky does take it well. I have firsthand experience of that, and on a good day, I can go, oh, about three hours without thinking about it. Remembering it. Wanting it.
The three of us have fallen into a rhythm, smooth and easy, a lot of talking. It works.
I could never choose between them. My feelings have grown roots, deep and nourishing, seeking out both of them. There’s no favorite, no second place, just us—fitting together so perfectly that I think I missed them my whole life.
Maybe I did. Maybe that’s what this great, aching need inside of me always was.
Some have questions, but the people who are most important are supportive. It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else. It makes sense to us. I’m happy. We’re happy.
THE END
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