Chapter 25 #2
He thinks I’m somehow afraid of him. I’m more afraid of me. Of giving in to what I want, even if it would come back to hurt me in the end.
Max is being practical. He isn’t the flirty guy from a week ago. He’s a very Type A man who gets the job done. He merely wants my help to solve a puzzle. Nothing more.
I look toward the front entrance of the palatial hotel. “The presidential suite,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “Is there actually an office in there?”
“Yes. A full desk, high-speed fiber, and enough monitors to make you feel like you’re back in your digital forensics lab.” He chuckles with a ghost of a smile. “And like I said, they have the good coffee.”
“If the place has such a good set up, and stellar coffee, why come to The Devil’s Playground to work?”
He reaches behind his neck, rubbing what I can only assume are tense muscles.
I can’t help but get sidetracked as his biceps dance in his shirt sleeves.
“Truth? I told you. I don’t perform well when it’s too quiet.
I either get distracted by the slightest noise outside the door, or if the silence lasts too long, my mind wanders.
The club gives me enough background noise to allow me to focus. ”
I chance a look at him and cautiously start walking toward the entrance. Max looks exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept well. He claims he isn’t a good man, but here he is, offering to leave the door open just to make me feel safe.
“Okay,” I say, more to myself than him. I mean, we’re walking to the door. “You don’t need to leave the door open. I’m just not sure I’ll have any better luck here than at the club. And I don’t want to get your hopes up if I have to head back and we’re no closer than before.”
“Fair enough. I appreciate you giving it another shot.” He continues walking beside me, but drops back to place that electric hand on my lower back as we enter the doors to the lobby.
I have to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. A girl who just wiped down tables in an exclusive gentlemen’s club is about to enter the presidential suite to help a billionaire cyber tech CEO with a personal project.
How is this my life?
The Windsor is exactly what I expected. It’s all gold leaf, marble, and hushed voices.
I bet his stay in the presidential suite could cover the cost of my tuition.
Following Max’s sleek ride in my rattling sedan felt like a parade of the haves and the have-nots, but I’m determined to enjoy the evening and give the phone records another go.
Max ushers me toward the shiny gold elevators, and I watch the hotel guests come and go, trying to calm my nerves. I stare up at him. Why does he have to be so damn delicious? Is that what’s making my pulse race?
The elevator doors open, and I briskly step inside, trying to avoid his hand on my back again.
I’m too anxious to allow that jolt of electricity to come into contact with my body.
I spin to face the front as he quickly swipes his card, allowing the elevator access to the top floor.
Oh, how the other half live. My eyes are trained on the glow of the buttons before me, the restaurant menu beside me, and the artistic ceiling.
Anything to avoid making eye contact with the hot man next to me.
Jeez, this is awkward. I hope I can concentrate on work once we’re there, or I’m going to be a hot mess.
We reach the top floor, and as the elevator dings, I push down the lump in my throat. Max again swipes his card, this time swinging open the double doors to the presidential suite.
My jaw drops to the floor. This place is massive.
It honestly doesn’t look like a hotel room at all.
He extends his hand to allow me to enter a sprawling living area.
Off to the side, there’s a dining table that could seat a small board of directors.
And, true to his word, there’s a workspace that looks like a high-tech nerve center tucked into a corner of the suite with a panoramic view of the city.
“The door is open,” he reassures, pointing back toward the hallway. He doesn’t look at me as he drops his bag on a leather chair. It feels as if he’s back to being all business.
“Honestly, you can close it, Max. I’m good.” The proximity here is better than Gianni’s office, but the current silence of the suite makes the noise in my head louder. I guess I understand what he meant earlier.
“Okay, talk to me,” I say as I sit down in front of his laptop.
He chuckles. “I wish I understood how you did it.”
“What?”
“Pull minute details from that monotonous data stream without it putting you in a coma.”
His choice of words causes my skin to prickle. I instinctively rub my hands up and down my arms.
“You cold?”
“No. Just getting warmed up,” I joke, hoping he won’t notice my awkward reaction. “Why are these phone records such a nightmare?”
“Who knows. It could be I’m off base about all of this. There might not be anything to find. Merely someone being set up by a disgruntled… well, someone being set up,” he explains. “But my gut tells me there’s something to this. Yet I can’t connect the dots.”
“The last time I reviewed the logs, the metadata didn’t seem to suggest there were any red flags.
No repetitive numbers or gaps in time where there shouldn’t be.
But I’ll try again.” I lean in, staring at the familiar stream of data.
I can feel the heat radiating off his arm as he bends down next to me.
“Want some coffee?” He grins.
Him and his expensive coffee. “Sure.” If nothing else, putting some distance between us might calm my anxiety a bit. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He moves toward the kitchen big enough for an actual house, and starts fiddling with the fancy coffee maker.
Trying to ignore the hot barista, I dive into the long, long line of code.
There is easily a month’s worth of data here.
If not more. Hoping I didn’t miss anything the last few times I attempted this, I decide to start from the very beginning and work my way through all of it.
Max sets a cup of coffee beside me along with an assortment of creamers and sugar. It feels odd to have him bringing me coffee.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as he takes another laptop into the living area and begins working.
But the numbers on the screen in front of me are putting on their usual show.
The duplicates light up. They’re calling to me.
So I write down the timestamp associated with them and continue to scroll.
We fall into a rhythm. Max investigating in his corner of the suite, and my detective work in mine.
From time to time, I catch him glancing in my direction.
He’s likely assessing whether I’ve been able to make any headway.
Yet there are moments where it almost feels flirty.
A shared look, a half-smile, a brief touch as he deposits a glass of water beside me. But then I remember his warning.
I’m not a good man.
After a few hours, my eyes feel like they’re crossing. I drop my head into my hands.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah. I think the long day is getting to me.” I reach for my coffee, but it’s empty. Just as well. If I drink another, I might develop palpitations.
“I’m so sorry, Cass. I should’ve asked if you wanted anything to eat. I get going on projects and lose all track of time.”
“No, no. I’m okay. I’m not really all that hungry.”
He gives me a scowl. “When was the last time you ate anything?”
Keeping my eyes glued to the monitor, the numbers are merely blurred neon lines now. I actually have to stop and consider this. “I don’t know. This morning, maybe. I’m not starving or anything. I just need to clear my head for a second.”
The sentence has barely left my mouth before I overhear him behind me ordering room service. He orders enough food to feed a small army.
“You really didn’t have to do that,” I blurt as he returns to the room.
“Of course I did. I can’t believe I haven’t taken better care of you.” His statement strikes me as odd, but before I can consider this fully, he blurts, “Wait! I might have just the thing.”
Sitting up straight, I watch with curiosity as he darts out of the room once more. Does he have some crackers or a Pop Tart in there or something?
Out of the blue, Max returns holding an ornate rectangular box. “Your eyes are doing that thing that happens to me when I can’t let it go. Where I’m continuing to calculate the data trails to the point I forget life is happening around me.” He chuckles.
“I can’t help it. It’s right there. I can feel it, Max.”
“Oh, I believe you. Trust me. There’s nothing worse than knowing you’re so close,” he says, his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. He snickers.
Knock, knock, knock.
Max practically darts to the door, opening it wide.
A tall gentleman pushes a room service cart toward the dining table.
The smell of steak fries causes my mouth to water.
I must’ve been hungrier than I thought. The steak, shrimp, massive salad, and giant chocolate torte looks like a feast for royalty.
“This looks incredible.”
“It does.” He rubs his hands together like a small child about to dive in to an ice cream sundae. “Thanks for sharing it with me.” He winks.
My stomach flips. Jeez. Calm down and eat your food, you harlot.
Max holds out a chair for me, and I graciously take a seat. He makes quick work of plating food before depositing my dinner before me with a flourish. This feels odd, him waiting on me this way.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He flashes another sexy grin at me before setting about making a plate of food for himself.
Yet once he has placed it in front of his chair, he heads in the direction of the wet bar.
He pours a couple of drinks and returns.
“Hope cranberry and vodka is okay. Or would you rather have water?”
“No, this is perfect.”