16. Serena #2
My stomach dipped. Still, I summoned a look of mild embarrassment—chin slightly tilted, brows drawn together, just enough to look harmless.
“Oh my God yes,” I said, laughing softly. “I was looking for the bathroom. Must’ve taken a wrong turn.”
Too breathy. Too casual.
I used to be better than this.
The man didn’t move, his eyes narrowing as he assessed me. “The bathrooms are back by the main hall.”
Get the fuck out of here and pray they don’t recognize or remember my face.
I nodded, stepped back, slow and easy like I wasn’t dying to bolt. The door shut behind me.
And then it hit me— hard .
What the hell was that? I used to be smooth. Lethal. Jenese had taught me better than this.
But now? I was offbeat. Sloppy. Rusty.
I heard the door open up behind me, and I knew the man was watching me.
I pretended to look into a few open doors before I found a restroom and stepped inside and closed the door.
I was fucking up.
Mistakes. Mistakes. Mistakes.
Once inside the bathroom, I locked the door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. My pulse was racing. Reaching into my clutch, I slipped my gloves on, each finger fitting snugly. The sensation was strangely comforting, but there was no time to savor it.
I glanced once more at the door. Silence—no one outside. I moved quickly. The hallway was quiet, but I could hear faint murmurs in the room.
Alan’s office wasn’t far away.
I had maybe two minutes.
I quickly but quietly checked each door down the hall’s right side. The first opened to a supply closet, rows of neatly stacked linens and catering supplies. Then a mailroom, a mess of boxes and cubbies.
Locked. Locked. Another locked door.
I let out a sharp breath. Time was running out.
Then, finally, one handle gave way.
I went in quietly and closed the door, on high alert.
Alan’s office. The desk was super clean, just a stack of papers and a few photos.
I quickly scanned the room for anything useful. A filing cabinet was on the left, locked up tight, no surprise there. The desk was the most important thing. I stepped closer, fingers hovering over the top drawer, and started opening drawers, hoping he left a laptop somewhere in here.
Bingo.
I pulled out the laptop, opening it.
I looked at the sign-in screen. Jenese didn’t tell me a password or anything, just to put the USB in. I reached into my clutch and slipped it into the laptop’s port.
Immediately, the screen lit up. The screen went blue before white text started to form across the screen. This…
Whoa. What the hell was Jenese into now?
We didn’t have this technology before. It was mostly just talking, manipulating people out of their money or deals. Viruses? When the hell did she learn this? I tried to track the lines of code, but they were moving too fast.
Finally, the laptop lockscreen opened, revealing his homepage.
Jenese was definitely holding out on me.
Then things began to move on the screen. It started to open things up. Files, folders, an open email inbox, and… shit . Another window popped up that showed something I hadn’t expected. Financial transactions, personal details, passwords.
This was bad. This was felony bad. And I didn’t know if I was the accomplice…or the bait.
Think. Compartmentalize. Control.
The files kept pulling up, one after another, too fast for me to process. Whatever Jenese had set up, it was working on its own, scanning, collecting, taking.
Then— footsteps .
I froze, my pulse hammering in my throat. Quickly, I grabbed the laptop, fingers hovering over the USB. Could I pull it out now? Would that screw up whatever Jenese had running?
The screen stopped, and I yanked the USB out of the laptop.
A shadow passed under the crack of light at the threshold. Someone was standing there.
I slipped the laptop back into the drawer.
I scanned the room. The desk was too obvious. The closet was too far. Then, I spotted it. A narrow gap between a tall filing cabinet and the built-in bookshelf in the dark corner of the room.
Heart pounding, I moved fast, pressing myself into the tight space just as the door creaked open. The smell of old paper and wood polish filled my nose as I wedged myself as far back as I could.
Alan stepped inside, his shoes clicking against the floor.
A pause. Then the scrape of a chair.
A drawer opened. The same one I’d just closed.
My breath felt trapped in my lungs as I watched through the tiny sliver of space.
Alan’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. The screen glowed as he typed something, then stilled. His brow furrowed. The cursor flickered. A beat of silence.
He exhaled sharply. “What the hell?”
My stomach twisted.
He tapped a few keys. Still nothing. My heart slammed against my ribs as he grabbed his phone and snapped a picture of the screen.
Then, with a frustrated huff, he slammed the laptop shut. Stood. Pocketed his phone.
And walked out.
I waited. Counted the seconds. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
The hallway outside remained silent.
I slipped out of my hiding spot, my legs stiff, my body wired with adrenaline. I moved carefully—silent steps, no fingerprints, no evidence.
The laptop was closed tight. No getting in. I took a photo of the office. Just one. No flash.
One step into the hallway my heels were hitting the carpet too hard. I needed to get out. Now.
Through the lobby and past clusters of guests still sipping expensive scotch, past waiters balancing silver trays. My breath felt too loud in my own ears, but I kept moving.
What did I just do?
The second I hit the front doors, I didn’t stop.
I stepped into the cool night air and kept walking, heels sharp against the stone, every nerve lit like a live wire.
My heart was racing—but not from fear. Not just fear.
Something darker. I knew I shouldn’t feel this way. It wasn’t the right sensation. The kind of sick exhilaration I hadn’t experienced in years. I’d forgotten how alive this made me. The rush.
I hated it.
I loved it.
And I couldn’t stop smiling.