Chapter 24
The guy who’d stolen Aubrey’s algorithm didn’t look like a douchebag. Exactly the opposite, as it turned out.
Nick squinted through the windshield. Half a block away, David Ballard ambled along the sidewalk, wearing the same coat he’d
had on in his grainy Facebook photo. Except the picture hadn’t captured the beatific innocence emanating from David’s wide-set
brown eyes, or the way his rounded cheeks brought to mind one of those baby angels from an Italian painting.
Nick promptly absolved Aubrey of all blame in trusting the guy. He looked about one good deed away from growing a halo and
a pair of wings.
“That him?” Jackson rumbled.
“Yep.” Nick rubbed his hands together in front of the truck’s anemic heater. He’d circled the block nine times before finding
a parking spot, and leaned in as David paused at the gated entry to his apartment building.
“Really?” Jackson said. “Because that dude looks like he runs a kitten rescue. Or saves babies from burning buildings.”
“Yeah, well, he’s actually a dickhead thief who ruins people’s lives.”
Jackson made a thoughtful sound. “Kind of seems like a crime to hit him, anyway. But hey, man. You do you.”
Nick snorted. He waited for a rush of guilt, but . . . nope. Nothing. “You know the rule. He’ll have to hit me first. Which
I sincerely hope he does. Anyway. Go time.”
Before Jackson could respond, Nick slipped from the truck alone and arrowed along the sidewalk. Up ahead, David unlocked his
security door and pulled it open.
The block pulsed with vibrancy. Brightly painted fire hydrants competed for attention with whizzing yellow taxi cabs, while
the warm waft of roasting shawarma meat softened the November chill. But Nick barely registered the surroundings. His fingertips
caught the edge of David’s security door just before it snicked shut. He ducked inside.
Ahead of him, David sauntered through a tiled entryway, then down a hall and up a musty flight of stairs. Nick trailed him,
but the guy didn’t glance back. Apparently, he had the situational awareness of a turtle.
Halfway down a bland hallway, David stopped at an unassuming door. His key grated in the lock, prompting Nick to up his pace.
Once again, he caught the door just before it shut. He pushed it open and stood on the threshold.
David paused and turned. He scanned Nick up and down, blinking with those too-big eyes. “Uh, hi. Do I know you?”
A whisper of sympathy ghosted across Nick’s mind. He hadn’t taken off his beanie or oversized jacket since Indiana, considering
the heater in the truck barely worked, and he knew how he must look. Any sane person would assume this was a break-in. Worst-case
scenario, David had a gun and would go for it.
Nick primed every muscle. If this guy was armed, he’d have to lunge before—
“I think you have the wrong apartment.” David gave a puzzled frown. “Or are you lost? Do you need help?”
Nick paused. Weren’t New Yorkers supposed to be rude? Or cautious, at least? Had this guy missed the memo? “I’m not lost. You’re David Ballard, right?”
David’s frown deepened. “Yeah. What’s this about?”
“A . . . friend of mine. Aubrey MacLean.”
The guy froze. A complicated procession of emotions marched across his face before his features crumpled. “Oh, thank god.”
“Thank . . . Wait, what?”
“I’ve been hoping she’d get in touch.” David pulled the door open wider. “I haven’t known how to reach her. Anyway, you should
probably come in.”
Nick glanced around the hallway. Had he fallen asleep in the truck? Was he dreaming? Could be, except nothing struck him as
out of place—tatty brown carpet stretched in both directions, lit by a harsh fluorescent glare.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, sure.”
David nodded and led Nick inside, to a compact kitchen with cheery yellow linoleum, where he rifled through an aged refrigerator.
“Do you want a beer? Maybe some orange juice?”
Nick took his bearings, searching for hidden cameras peeking from the light fixtures. Maybe this was like one of those reality
TV shows where some unsuspecting bystander got pranked.
But also, he was pretty damn thirsty, now that he thought about it. “Yeah, man. Orange juice sounds good. Thanks.”
David poured two glasses and pulled out chairs from a nearby bistro table. Nick sat and sipped. The juice was the pulpy kind
that left spongy bits in his mouth. His favorite.
But also, what the fuck?
“So Aubrey sent you?” David began. Up close, his saintly aura took on a hint of the bovine.
“Um.” Nick sipped again, mostly to distract from the fact that he had no intention of answering that question. “I’m just going to cut to the chase, okay? Because I didn’t come to ask you to admit to stealing her project.”
“Oh. You . . . didn’t?” David’s shoulders drooped. He looked, of all things, crestfallen.
“No. I came to tell you that’s what’s you’re going to do. I mean, thanks for the orange juice. I love this stuff, with all the little pieces
in it. But I’m not leaving until you email your boss and tell her—or him, I guess—what really happened. I’m going to stand
behind you and watch. And you’ll make sure Aubrey gets credit for what she built. Because you sure as hell don’t deserve to
benefit from all her hard work.”
David’s lower lip wobbled.
Nick stared, equal parts horrified and fascinated. “We clear?”
David fiddled with his juice, then lost the battle with his trembling chin and burst into tears. He was an ugly crier, the
kind that got blotchy in seconds. Nick set down his glass, nonplussed.
“Sorry.” David covered his face with his hands. “It’s just been so hard. Oh my god, I can’t tell you how hard it’s been. I
didn’t really think it through, you know? And now I’ve been living in a nightmare.”
Nick glanced around for a napkin. The guy was dribbling mucus. “Is that so.”
“Yeah.” David peeked up through his fingers. “People keep asking me about the program, how does it work, how did I come up
with this line of code, when will it be ready to go live, it’s endless. And I don’t know! I can see how Aubrey built it, mostly,
but I don’t get how she put all the pieces together.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s just never been my strong point, you know? I’m never the guy with the ideas. That was her. And I just got tired of it. Being in her shadow. You can understand that, right?”
Nick slitted his eyes. “So you screwed her over because you didn’t like that she’s smarter than you?”
“Yeah. Er . . . No.” David sniffed. “I don’t know. I just saw an opportunity and went for it. But it turns out when you do
something smart, people expect you to keep doing smart things. And I didn’t know how much pressure that would be. I haven’t been able to sleep. Or eat. I’ve lost ten
pounds in the past month.”
Nick jiggled his heels against the stool. He wasn’t about to shame a man for crying—sometimes, tears cleansed the soul—but
if this asshole wanted sympathy, he could look elsewhere. “I really don’t care. I’m just here to make sure Aubrey’s reputation
is cleared.”
David barreled on as if he hadn’t heard a word. “It’s been awful for me. Terrible. One challenge after another. First, my
boss wanted me to do a presentation to the whole department about how I brought the idea to life. Then he upped my workload,
said I was capable of more. And now the company’s trying to give me the Innovation Cup. The Cup! I’m supposed to give a speech.”
Nick quirked a brow. “A speech?”
“Yeah, Osos does this big company gala every year, for Christmas, you know? They give an award to whichever employee goes
‘above and beyond.’ I always thought I should win, but not if I have to make a speech about something I didn’t actually do.
It’s giving me nightmares. I keep having this dream where my name gets called, but when I go onstage, everyone’s laughing.
Then I look down and realize I’m naked. And I just . . . I need Aubrey to come back. I need for this all to stop.”
Nick looked at him, deadpan. “Wow. Sounds tough.”
“Really?” David swiped at puffy red eyes. “You get it?”
“No, asshole. I don’t.”
That quieted David, finally. He wiped his nose. “But . . . you can understand why I did it, can’t you? Or do you just think I’m a horrible person?”
Nick drained the last of his juice. “To be honest, yeah. That last one. But where’s your computer? You have an email to write.”
Nick hovered by David’s shoulder as he typed. Now that the adrenaline rush of his arrival had worn off, the clack of keys
grated on him, each staccato tick another nail in the coffin that held his hopes of ever touching Aubrey again.
He jammed his hands into his pockets. Think about something else. Anything else.
David paused, then pecked out a couple more words. Nick leaned in, scanning the text.
I understand my actions have effected Aubrey MacLean in an extremely unfortunate manner . . .
He jabbed a finger at the screen. “No, it’s affected. With an a.”
David squinted. “What? Where?”
“Here.” Nick pointed again.
“Oh. Are you sure? Does it actually matter?”
Nick grumbled. “Of course it matters. Affected and effected are two completely different words. Just because they sound the same doesn’t mean they have identical meanings. And if you
want people to take you seriously, you should pay attention to stuff like this. Say what you mean. Mean what you say. Spell
it right while you’re at it.”
David hunkered in his chair. “Fine,” he muttered, but dutifully backed up the cursor and corrected the mistake.
Nick read over the final version and fixed four more typos, but at least he agreed with David’s wording. It was almost like
the guy had been cooking up this letter for a while.
Still, when it came time to send, they both stared at the mouse, awaiting the other’s move.
Nick swallowed. Once this email reached its destination, Aubrey would have the option to disappear from his life. Forever.
But . . . she’d also be happy.
He reached for the mouse.
“Are you sure?” David whimpered.
Nick clicked Send. Simple. As easy as cutting his own rope so he wouldn’t drag his climbing partner off the cliff with him.
Done.
And to be extra sure, he printed out a copy and folded it into his pocket. Just in case.
David started crying again. A grim satisfaction settled in Nick’s bones, imbuing his steps with steely weight as he made for
the door.
“Hey.” David sniffled behind him.
Nick turned. “Yeah?”
“Are you leaving already? Do you want some more juice, maybe?”
He narrowed his eyes. Were there cameras in the walls, recording this absurdity for posterity? “No, thanks.”
“Who are you, anyway? Are you like, her boyfriend?”
His stomach shrank to a pinpoint. “No. Definitely not.”
“Okay. But . . . you’ll tell her I did the right thing, won’t you?”
Jesus, did this bag of dicks want credit? “I think she’ll hear about it eventually, whether I tell her or not.”
“Oh. Yeah, you’re probably right.” David clutched his knees. “But Osos . . . they’re going to fire me, aren’t they?”
“I really hope so.” Nick sailed through the door and let it slam shut behind him, then hurried down the hall, trying to escape
David’s question. It insisted on bouncing around in his skull, anyway, a mockery. Are you her boyfriend?
Not anymore, but he would forever cherish the seven months in which he’d worn that title. In which Aubrey had bettered his existence.
But now their hourglass had run out. The timer had ticked over to zero.
He’d just made sure of it himself.