Chapter 11
MAX
The problem with running a cybersecurity firm full of savants is that they’re all smart enough to be shrewd and sarcastic without the social skills to realize it.
And annoying. Did I include annoying?
“Bauer, I swear to God, if you go on and on about one more hacker you were able to take down using a backdoor you placed on a video game instead of finishing that ransomware report, I will remove you from anything mission-critical and let you rot in compliance work,” Loretta snaps.
Bauer swivels in his chair. “But this one’s genius. You clip through a wall and—”
“Noooo!” Loretta is banging her head dramatically against her desktop.
Yamila is in her office, muttering to herself while wiping her desk with disinfectant like it might harbor anthrax.
Suddenly, Frank barrels in without a care in the world.
He’s whistling some tune so off-key there’s no way I’d ever figure out what it was without him telling me.
I begin to join Loretta in banging my head against my desk, knowing I’ll never get any work done here when I catch Frank’s latest company shirt out of the corner of my eye.
The front of the bright blue tee has a picture of a fist bump with the words TRUST ME brO DELIVERY. His company logo. It doesn’t take long for him to turn around, where I catch the back: NO, I DIDN’T LOOK IN THERE.
Loretta simply stares at him. I’m sure she’s wondering if the doctor who delivered Frank may have dropped him after cutting the cord.
Frank grins. “What?”
“You look like a chapter seven bankruptcy waiting to happen,” she says weakly.
He blows her a kiss and spins toward the exit. “Love you, Mom.” Then he does a quick 180 and circles back toward her.
Loretta shrieks as he plants a loud kiss on her cheek and flees, narrowly missing the stapler she throws at him. “You better quit before I knock you into next Sunday and save you a seat at church.”
I rub my temples. I’m supposed to be reviewing phone records. Hundreds of them. Metadata, timestamps, and cell tower pings. They’re my least favorite part of a case. Mind numbing busy work.
I should ask Yamila to do it. She’s so OCD she’d knock this out in no time.
But she’d ask too many questions. This case isn’t one for the Secure Sphere files.
It’s something I’ve taken on myself. It would be bad enough if I was ever found out.
I don’t need anyone within the company going down with me.
It seems the woman’s story is checking out.
Her ex-husband’s emails are shady as hell, and there’s dark web chatter that suggests he’s into underage content.
However, I’ve found nothing concrete enough to put him in cuffs.
By my estimation, everything hinges on his phone.
That has to be the way he’s communicating with these girls.
Through all of the account scraping I’ve done, there’s no interaction via social media or email.
It has to be through his phone. Or a burner phone.
This means continuing to stare at my data until my brain leaks out my ears. And with this circus around me, that’s not happening. I’ll never focus beyond reading the same line over and over.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Gianni: Matteo’s in town. A few of the guys are coming by. Any chance you’re available to give us updates on Vincenzo?
I don’t even hesitate.
Me: On my way.
Hell, if nothing else, at least the chaos at The Devil’s Playground is mouthwatering. Good Lord, man. Stop thinking about that girl.
I arrive to find Matteo in our usual location, drinking water. This tells me everything I need to know about how seriously he’s taking this situation. The last time Gianni found him, he nearly drank himself to death.
Gianni walks over and gives my shoulder a playful shake. “What, did you teleport here?”
“Hmmm. Not a bad idea. Will have to try that next time.”
Gianni chuckles, taking a seat beside Matteo as Lala approaches with his scotch.
His cousin eyes the drink, pushing his hand through his dark hair.
I don’t know how he does it. I think if I was trying to stay on the wagon, I’d avoid anywhere that served alcohol so freely.
But it says a lot that he’d brave his temptation to ensure his crime boss father hasn’t made any traceable threats against him or his ex-wife.
I’m mid-sentence, about to explain encrypted comms when I see her.
Cassidy.
Wrapped in the arms of a dark-haired, broad-shouldered guy who looks like he could bench-press a small car.
I’m on my feet before I realize I moved.
Gianni grabs my arm. “Relax, Max.”
“Who is he?”
“That’s Fire,” Gianni answers in a tone so low and smooth, it’s like he’s talking to a tiger about to pounce.
I blink. “Fire?”
“Holt Firestone. Cassidy’s brother.”
My lungs start working again.
Gianni belts out a laugh. “Damn, Max. I thought you had a thing for the girl. But you’re more invested than I anticipated.”
I mutter something that might be a denial. But it’s a waste of breath given I’ve blown my cover after this declaration.
What the hell? I don’t even know this girl.
Is this merely an obsession with the one woman I’ve been attracted to in years, knowing she’s off-limits? That’s got to be it. I’m not the usual rich rogue that frequents this place. I don’t throw my money around to get whatever I want. But I can’t deny this beauty has taken up space in my mind.
Especially when I’m alone in my bed. Or the shower…
He laughs. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s go upstairs and review what you’ve been able to find with Matteo before you start glaring holes into her family tree.”
The next afternoon, I’m back at the club. Which, given my behavior yesterday, I absolutely should not be. I worked late into the night in Gianni’s office before crashing at a hotel nearby. And now that I’ve returned to tackle the phone logs for this suspected pedophile, I’m questioning my sanity.
Why is this the place I focus best?
You’d think a luxury hotel suite would work just as well. But there’s no middle ground there. It’s either too quiet or too distracting, nothing in between. Here, it’s just enough background noise to keep my mind anchored.
I sense a flurry of activity and look up.
Which is odd, given this area of the club is usually fairly calm during this part of the day.
Cassidy is moving between tables, wiping down surfaces that appear to already be shiny.
Is this really part of her work duties? Maybe she’s more like Yamila than I’ve noticed in the past.
She bends over a four-top, her hips rocking back and forth as she reaches across the table to scrub diligently. My brain shuts off. My body, unfortunately, does not.
Jesus Christ.
My dick grows hard in my pants at the sight of her perfect ass as it moves back and forth, back and forth. And now all I can think about is throwing her over my desk and pounding into her.
Fuck. Is she doing this on purpose?
She’s wearing a more conservative outfit today than the skimpy dresses the servers have had on lately.
But that navy blue mini has ridden up high enough I can practically taste her.
And those silver ankle boots she’s wearing only accentuate her long, lithe legs.
Hell, I want to drop to my knees and run my tongue up the inside of her legs until—
Shit. My dick is thumping like it has a heartbeat, it’s so hard. I drop my head into my hands. Get a grip. You’re a grown man. Not a teenager with a crush and no impulse control.
What on earth is happening to me?
I swear I need to get laid. That’s all this is. I’m so overdue for a night of reckless abandon, I’ve allowed myself to become fixated on this pink-haired nymph.
I’m deep into self-loathing when something appears in my peripheral vision. My eyes narrow in on it. A highball glass containing two fingers of scotch and a steaming cup of coffee.
“I wasn’t sure what kind of day you were having,” Cassidy says lightly.
I glance up.
She’s smiling down at me. Her blonde hair is down around her shoulders, the pink tips circling her breasts. That little navy mini dress is even hotter up close. Her legs seem to go on for days. I forget how to form sentences. My mouth is suddenly parched, so I reach for the scotch.
I hear a little gasp exit her lips and worry my rude behavior has earned her wrath. Because it should. Yet as my eyes connect with hers, she gestures to my laptop screen with a tiny nod. “Are those phone records?”
I nod dumbly, hoping the burn of the scotch will somehow cause my dick to deflate.
Cassidy’s eyes light up. “I love phone forensics. I’ve discovered it’s kinda my thing.”
I stare at her, blinking wordlessly. Am I hearing things? Waking from a dream? Because I’m almost certain I’m either being punked or the universe has got to be messing with me.