Chapter Fourteen
Sloane
I watch Oliver leave, and when he does, I let out a heavy sigh. I’m not sure what came over me. Truly, I’d envisioned my little speech going much differently, and I would say I’d envisioned Oliver’s reactions much differently too.
He’s such a damn puzzle. One moment he’s sweet and submissive, those precious lips forming those perfect yes, Sir’s, and the next he’s seething with an untenable sort of brattiness that begs to be broken.
Fucking hell, I’ve never wanted to bend a man over my desk so badly.
Christ.
It’s a miracle I had enough self-preservation to keep myself in line. But it was harder than it should have been, that is for sure, given the circumstances.
When he comes back, he’s colder than a witch’s tit in the dead of winter. And he’s still fucking pouting.
He tosses the stack of copies on my desk with such bitterness, it should make me feel like shit.
But it doesn’t.
It only stokes the fire, only feeds the monster inside of me.
“Good Boy,” I mutter as he sulks over to his table and takes his seat, not looking at me or speaking to me.
Perhaps I pushed too hard. Perhaps I should have gone easier on him.
But I needed to assert my expectations, and he needed to understand what I will and will not tolerate.
He is young. Perhaps too young to understand that sometimes life does not give what you want but what you need. Sometimes your boss will give you a job to do, and end up changing his mind.
It doesn’t negate the work you did. The work stands on its own. But more important than a list of restaurants and event centers, is whether or not you can adapt. If you can take the heat.
The two hours it takes until it is time to go to the lab is maddening.
Every minute feels like hours as Oliver continues to work on his paperwork, checking his phone every so often.
The silence is thick, heavy with tension. It pisses me off.
If he wants to be angry with me, he can be angry with me. I made my point, and now he knows when I say something, I damn well mean it.
“Come,” I bite as I push away from my computer. “Bring your Chromebook. I require notes.”
Oliver carefully rises and closes his Chromebook, tucking it under his arm.
He walks past me, glaring at me in disdain, and suddenly I feel like shit.
“Yes, Sir," he says, but his voice is not sweet, nor soft.
It is a fuck you if I’ve ever heard one.
“Oliver…” I sigh, but he brushes me off, slipping out the door.
“Come,” he mocks. “Or we will be late.”
A deep grumble escapes my chest. I have half a mind to throw his snarky, pretty little ass up against the god damn wall and remind him who owns this fucking building.
Whose company this is.
Who he works for.
My palm twitches, fingers flexing as I try to find my grounding.
His vicious green gaze holds mine in challenge.
So my sweet little Oliver has a bitter streak. How lovely.
“I am the CEO," I say pointedly. “They wait for me.”
“Sounds quite inefficient. I would think a man like you would be more… considerate of your employees’ time.”
I brush past him, our shoulders colliding as I try to take the lead, but he steps in front of me.
“Oh, I am quite considerate of my employees’ time,” I bite. “I think in due time, Oliver, you will understand I am very considerate.”
He scoffs, but finally relents and lets me get in front of him.
My stomach twists in knots. I can feel his gaze on me, studying me.
Judging me.
Why I care what he thinks is beyond me. I do not give a shit what most people think about me or my company. I would not be where I am if that were the case. But…
There is a strange inkling inside of me that beckons for his fucking approval in a way I haven’t felt in ages. Not even with my ex, and that fact alone is damn near terrifying.
Giving anyone that kind of power… it’s…
It’s like giving the Grim Reaper your soul and trusting he will not reap it when you let your fucking guard down.
I can not give anyone that power, least of all Oliver.
Oliver taps away on his computer as I let out a heavy breath. Chickadee purses her lips.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I bite at Ericson. He’s young, like Oliver, but he’s smart as a whip. Usually.
But today… today he is trying my patience. Or perhaps I am the one who is out of sorts. Again.
“The code is… conflicting,” Ericson says with a huff as Maria and Bill, the other two leads on Project Phantom, stare at me in concern.
“I don’t see how.” I cross my arms. “You three are the best engineers on my team. Are you seriously telling me that you can not isolate the cause of the malfunction in not one, not two, but seven prototypes?”
“Yes,” Ericson says skittishly.
“For fuck’s sakes, what the hell am I paying you for then?” I snap.
“Sloane…” Chickadee groans. “Take it easy. Let the man explain—”
“There is nothing to explain!” I shake my head. Oliver stops typing. I catch his gaze out of my peripheral vision. “They had one job, Chickadee. One! Isolate the source code for the malfunction. They’ve had months. Months, and yet here we are…”
“It would help if I had the original source for the code,” Ericson says and I bow my head in frustration.
The original source code.
Robert’s modified code. Which he took with him when I fired him on account of his breach of contract and threat to Veil.
At the time, I did not care. I was committed to Veil. Robert was not responsible for my vision or my product. I was.
But the truth remained, haunting me every day since he left with that damn algorithm of mine he’d tweaked.
And every day Phantom is delayed, I chastise myself for not seizing that algorithm as property of Veil.
There is no taking it back now, even if I wanted to.
At this point, it’s his word against mine, and even if I could somehow get my hands on that code, there’s no telling if it would be the same one responsible for creating the glitch.
Knowing Robert, he’d slip me a trojan horse and back slash his way into my entire operation. He’s conniving like that.
Topping from the bottom is Robert Stratdord’s signature.
“That’s not happening, Ericson. You know that.” I focus my attention on Maria. “Can’t you back-engineer the source code?”
Maria’s eyes widen. “Mr. Pierce, that could take months.”
“What have you been doing all this time? Sucking your damn thumbs?” I mutter.
“Sloane!” Chickadee stands, her voice echoing like a bell. “That is enough! You know these three have been working their asses off in here every day for the last six months. For you.”
“And yet, we still have no sign of progress,” I growl. “We are no closer to stabilizing Phantom. I need answers, not hypotheses and half-baked guesses.”
I look up, noting Oliver has his hand raised.
“What?” I snipe.
“These prototypes…” Oliver gets up, sauntering to the end of the table where I am losing my mind, my hands sweaty against the wood of the table. Several prototypes litter the table, all in various states of decay. Burned wires. Fried motherboards.
“You designed them to host Phantom, right?”
I look up at Oliver’s gaze. He stands beside me, picking up one of the smaller devices.
“Yes," I say carefully. “These were designed to host the program and act as standalone surveillance.”
“What if…” Oliver’s green eyes sparkle with curiosity. “Instead of trying to host the code like a visitor…” He twists his lips. “What if you programmed the, uh… host… to read the program. Like a plug-in.”
“Read the program?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Like a patch. An update to the system, not a modification to the system.”
The room falls silent.
“That…” Bill strokes his chin as Ericson blinks.
“That could work,” Maria says, nodding. “I mean in theory it makes sense.”
“A patch,” Bill says in awe.
I look at Oliver, my gaze finding his scrupulous one.
“That’s a great idea, Oliver,” Chickadee says, her voice full of praise. “Don’t you agree, Sloane?”
Oliver’s gaze softens if only for a moment as he holds mine hostage.
“Yes,” I say, my voice even. “I think at this point, we are open to trying anything if it means there is a chance we could solve this riddle.”
“Alright, then,” Maria says. “Bill and I will start drafting up notes and Ericson can start with the code adjustments.”
“Good. I want daily progress check-ins. You can message Oliver.”
Oliver nods beside me. “Yes, Sir.”
His voice remains steady, untouched by that viciousness I’d heard earlier.
His gaze roves over me, dropping to my hands, and then he looks away. I swear as he turns, I see the faintest kiss of crimson in his cheeks.
“I want a full projection by next Monday," I say and my team nods in agreement, leaving Chickadee, Oliver, and I alone.
“You need to breathe, Sloane,” Chickadee says as she reaches for my arm.
“You aren’t going to get anywhere spewing vinegar at them.”
“She’s right, you know,” Oliver touts. “Honey is much more efficient.”
I glare at him.
“I do not think either of you are aware of the pressure I am under,” I bite.
Oliver twists his lips.
“Oh, but pressure makes diamonds, right, Mr. Pierce?” He smirks at me.
How dare he throw my words back at me like this. How dare he look so positively pretty while doing so with his big green eyes and a perfect smile.
The fucking nerve of this man. How dare he make my heart race and my blood rush and my palm twitch.
How dare he make feel so fucking powerless.
“Oliver’s right. This is just a temporary setback.”
I nod. “If you are so confident, then perhaps you should tell Global Skies their money is going to waste.”
“It’s not waste if it produces a perfect Phantom. You know it’s always darkest before the dawn. And darkness is where Phantom thrives,” Chickadee says poignantly.
Oliver shifts his stance, clutching his Chromebook to his chest.
His shoulder brushes mine and I pretend not to notice, but… I do.
Just like I notice his thick vanilla musk scent, or the way his watch slinks down his wrist because it’s too big for him.
Just like I notice his nonchalant stares when he thinks I’m not looking.
“You’re right," I say with a nod as I slip my hands into my pockets. “Perhaps I am just… stressed," I say carefully.
Chickadee chuckles. “Yes, and water is wet, Sloane.”
Oliver laughs. I scowl.
“I’m serious!” I cross my arms.
Chickadee laughs again.
“Of course you are. That’s part of the damn problem," she says. “You need to give the team room to breathe.”
I shake my head, and then I feel Oliver’s arm brush mine. I fight to look. To turn around and see his perfect skin against my natural golden-kissed tan.
“I—”
“You need to breathe," she says sternly. “Go out and touch some grass, Sloane. Have a drink. Go for a walk in the park. Pet some kittens. I don’t care. Just…” She approaches me with that warning look in her eye like she’s about to scold me or ground me even though I’m well over the age of needing to be grounded.
“Do something away from your computer. Away from this office.”
“Like a party… or something?” Oliver asks, reaching a hand behind his head.
My eyebrows furrow. What on—
“A party would actually be a wonderful idea,” she says. “There are at least three you have been invited to that are currently awaiting RSVPs.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
I know that tone. I know there is no way to refute her, lest I want to incur her wrath and her reminders of how obsessed with work I am. This is not the first conversation we’ve had like this and it won’t be the last.
But what Chickadee fails to understand is that this—my work, Veil, Phantom—this is more than my job.
It’s my life. I’m forty-five. I’m not going to die tomorrow, but I’m not going to live forever, either. And at the rate technology itself is advancing, I can’t afford to lose momentum. I need to be on top of things. I need—
“I can not go to a party right now," I say. “There is too much work to do.”
“How many RSVPs did you say, Mrs. Deangelo?” Oliver asks.
“Three," she says. “Why?”
“I shall put a list together of said parties and perhaps Mr. Pierce could select one from the list.”
Oliver smiles at me, and I find myself unable to look away. I’m pissed. I’m annoyed.
And my dick is jumping with excitement because of the way he’s looking at me right now.
I thought I knew Oliver Green. But it turns out, I had him all wrong.
He’s not as submissive as I thought.
“Would that be suitable for you, Mr. Pierce?” he asks, his voice smooth and silky. “Or would you rather I just pick one for you?”
I let out a dark sigh.
“A list will be fine, Oliver. Thank you.”
His smug smile both grates on me and makes me smirk.
Chickadee nods, giving me a wave. “Take Oliver with you.”
That widens his eyes.
“What?” I don’t miss the shock in his voice.
“Well, the invites are from our colleagues and tech allies, so, it wouldn’t hurt to do some networking. Maybe even some schmoozing…”
“Of course.” I realize what she’s getting at. “It could be a prime opportunity to entice investors and donors.”
“And perhaps even tell them about your own party," she says with a grin.
“I don’t know, I—”
I smile at Oliver. “Consider it working late.”
“It’ll be good for you, too, Oliver,” Chickadee says as he purses his lips.
“I don’t see how.”
“Get to know our allies and our competition.” She shrugs. “And the food is usually good," she says with a wink.
“Right," he says, swallowing hard as she exits the conference room, leaving Oliver and I alone.
I swear it is like fate is testing more than just my patience as of late.
I rise, meeting his knowing gaze.
“I expect that list on my desk in twenty minutes," I say as Oliver’s gaze drifts to my mouth, then to my eyes.
“Twenty minutes?” he says with a gasp. “It’ll take me ten to get back upstairs!”
I reach out and smooth his collar, my fingers twitching to touch his neck. To feel his pulse I know is racing from the panic, the shock.
The audacity.
“Then you better start sprinting, Rabbit. The clock is ticking.”