Chapter 15 #2
She meets my gaze for the first time since we started talking about threats, and I see something that looks like fear.
“There was an incident at Mr. Sterling’s residence last month. Someone threw a brick through his front window. No note, no message, but…” She trails off.
“But you think it’s connected to the investor complaints.”
“We can’t prove it, but the timing…” She shrugs helplessly.
Now we’re getting somewhere. A brick through the window is personal. It’s someone who knows where Sterling lives, someone angry enough to take physical action.
“Any idea which investor might’ve been responsible?”
“Mr. Sterling has asked me not to speculate.”
“I’m not asking you to speculate. I’m asking if you have suspects.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can see her internal debate playing out.
Finally, she speaks. “There’s a group that’s been particularly vocal.
The attorney representing them has been.
..aggressive in his communications. It’s my understanding they do not have a case, but there is a high level of discontent. ”
That matches what Daisy told me about Reed’s situation. A class-action suit means multiple investors, which means multiple potential threats.
“I’ll need names. Contact information. Copies of any threatening communications.”
“I’ll have to check with Mr. Sterling—”
“Ms. Weaver.” I keep my voice level but let authority creep in. “Either you want professional security, or you want someone to sit in your lobby and look intimidating. Professional security requires full cooperation.”
She nods quickly. “Yes, of course. I’ll get you everything we have.”
“Good. Now, what about physical security? The building itself?”
“There are cameras on each corner outside, but they’re not monitored actively. The town has traffic cameras at the intersection.”
“Inside the building?”
“Mr. Sterling doesn’t want surveillance over employees.”
Convenient. “What about access control? Key cards, visitor logs?”
“The building entrance locks automatically after hours. During business hours, anyone can walk in.”
I don’t bother hiding my expression. “That's not security, that’s an open invitation.”
“I know it seems...lax. But Mr. Sterling values an open, trusting environment.”
Or he values being able to conduct business without creating a record of who comes and goes.
“Is there video surveillance in the lobby?”
“Yes. Owned by the building. Not us. I don’t think it’s actively monitored.”
“You mentioned a server facility off-site?”
“Yes, about twenty minutes north of here. I’d like you to assess the security there as well.”
“When’s the last time someone from your company visited the facility?”
“I... Honestly, I don’t know. That’s more Mr. Sterling’s area.”
Either she’s lying, or Sterling’s compartmentalizing information away from his human resources director. Both options raise red flags.
“I’ll need access codes, contact information for the facility manager, blueprints if you have them.”
“I’ll get you what I can.”
“One more thing—during my research, I saw references to international operations. Singapore office?”
Her face goes carefully blank. “That’s a separate entity. Not our concern.”
“But affiliated?”
“Loosely. Very loosely.” She stands abruptly. “I think that covers everything for now. Marta can show you to your office and get you set up with computer access.”
I remain seated.
“Ma’am, I want to be crystal clear about something. If there are threats you’re not telling me about—if someone gets hurt because I wasn’t given complete information—that’s on you, not me.”
Color drains from her face. “You know everything I know, Mr. Ryder.”
The fact that she’s using my last name tells me the conversation’s over, whether I’m satisfied or not.
“Alright then. I’ll get started on that security assessment.”
The “security office” turns out to be a converted storage room in the back of the lobby with a desk, a computer, and no window. Not exactly a command center, but it’ll do.
I spend the next hour walking the building systematically, noting every entrance, every blind spot, every potential vulnerability.
The place is a security nightmare—multiple unlocked doors, an unmonitored stairwell that leads directly to the executive floor, and enough hiding spots to stage a small invasion.
If I had to guess, whoever moved the body used one of the unlocked doors on the far side of the building. Probably pulled a car right up to the building in the section of the street without traffic cam coverage.
By noon, I’ve identified eight ways someone could get into—or exit—the building undetected and at least six ways to get to Sterling’s office without passing through the main lobby.
The computer they’ve given me has internet access, but I’m sure it’s monitored. Every keystroke is probably logged, every website visited recorded. Standard procedure and useful for a company with something to hide.
I alternate between making notes for security recommendations, noting where I’d like to install surveillance for Sterling Financial and unofficially, for KOAN, and doing rounds.
When a steady flow of employees files through the lobby, it’s my time to do rounds.
I circle through the fourth floor, discover Sterling has already headed home for the day, and with him seemingly most of the execs, then head down to the third floor.
A young guy in a slightly wrinkled suit calls ‘Have a good night’ to Daisy and nods at me as I pass. Daisy’s office door is open.
As expected, I find her at her desk, but she’s not typing. Instead, she’s staring off into space, chin propped on her hand, completely lost in thought. Her blazer hangs forgotten on the back of her office chair, and without that professional armor, she looks...different. Younger. More vulnerable.
And fuck me, more tempting than any woman has a right to be.
The tight little tee she’s wearing hugs every curve, and without the blazer, it’s obvious she’s not wearing a bra. The soft fabric clings to her breasts, revealing the outline of nipples that have my mouth going dry.
Professional, Ryder. Keep it professional.
I pause in the doorway, giving myself a moment to get my head straight before I announce myself. She’s clearly processing something heavy—the investigation, maybe, or whatever Sterling’s been putting her through. The last thing she needs is me barging in with my dick leading the conversation.
I rap my knuckles against the door frame, keeping it light. She blinks rapidly, coming back to the present, and when her eyes focus on me, something shifts in her expression.
“You ready to call it a day?”
She releases a long sigh. “Sure. My brain’s running like dial-up internet today, anyway. Might as well.” She flicks her mouse and as the screen darkens, she asks, “How’d your day go?”
“Fine.”
“That sounds like the opposite of fine. Not too much fun playing mall cop?”
“It wasn’t bad,” I answer somewhat honestly. “They’re leaving it to me to recommend adjustments to security. I’ll have free rein to install surveillance. We could learn something.”
I don’t mention that it was notably easy for someone to remove the body in the dead of the night. There’s no point, and besides, someone might overhear—unlikely, since the office has mostly emptied out, but not inconceivable.
“Is it just you? Someone mentioned they saw multiple suits.”
“Just me today. Sounds like they interviewed quite a few.”
She pushes up from her desk and as she steps closer, the memory of this morning’s kiss rushes forward.
Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip—nervous habit I’ve noticed—and my focus zeroes in on that small movement. On the way her lips part slightly afterward. On how the fluorescent lighting makes her skin look soft and warm.
She steps closer and I have this feeling she might be thinking about our kiss this morning too.
“Jake.” My name comes out barely above a whisper, but there’s an invitation in the way she says my name that makes my pulse kick up.
I should step back and keep it professional. My employer sent me here to keep her safe with the expectation I’m trustworthy. But those doe eyes call to me.
Heeding the siren, I step closer. I want this, and if I’m reading her right, she does too, and we’re both adults. Both single.
There are loads of reasons this is a bad fucking idea. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.” I close the distance. “Tell me to stop.”
She doesn’t. Instead, her free hand comes up to rest against my chest, right over my heart that the doc would probably say is beating too fast. “I should.” Those brown eyes flash, her pupils expansive.
“But you won’t.”
“No,” she breathes confirmation, and that’s all the permission I need.
My fingers thread through her hair, and my lips crash down on hers.
I probably deserve to be smacked. But she opens to me, pulling me to her, taking my tongue. My back hits the wall and she rocks against me. The pressure against my cock is exactly what I need.
Every rational thought in my head screams that this is wrong—we’re supposed to be professional, focused on figuring this place out and getting out of here. But the way she tastes, the little sound she makes when I deepen the kiss, the way her nails dig into my shoulders like she’s claiming me...
Fuck the job. Fuck professional boundaries. Right now, there’s only this woman that I’ve wanted since the day we moved in across the street.
I skim her smooth skin, pushing up her tee, desperate to get my hands on her, when a glint from the overhead light reminds me where we are. She’s supposed to be my girlfriend, but I’ve got enough presence of mind to know this office isn’t the best place for what I want.
“Let’s get out of here,” I mutter against her lips, forcing myself to lower my hand even though every instinct screams to keep touching her, to let her keep grinding against me.
She stares up at me with lust-drunk eyes, dark and hazy, her chest rising and falling rapidly in perfect rhythm with mine.
Christ, it’s a good look on her. Too good.
For a moment, we just stand there, breathing hard, the weight of what just happened settling between us. Her lips swollen from my kiss, her hair mussed from my hands. She looks thoroughly debauched in the best possible way.
“We should...” I start, then stop, because what should we do? Pretend this didn’t happen? Go back to playing house like we haven’t just obliterated any professional line to hell? Back it up and then tiptoe on eggshells, pretending neither of us wants to fuck each other’s brains out?
“Yeah,” she agrees with my unfinished statement, though neither of us moves.
The spell breaks when the building’s HVAC system kicks on with a loud rumble.
“Let’s go back to our place,” I say, the words carrying what I hope is a silent understanding.
I head for the elevator, half-expecting her to call this off. To come up with reasons this is a bad idea. To remind me we’re supposed to be professionals.
But she’s right behind me, and when I reach for her hand, she not only lets me take it, she squeezes back.
I manage to keep my hands off her until we’re in our building.
The elevator door dings, and it’s no holds barred.
I lift her up and her thighs wrap around my hips.
My crotch is cradled between her legs, her back flattened against the elevator wall, and my hands full of ass as we dry hump like horny teens.
Fuck yes. I’ve been holding back, and damn if I know why. She slaps my back.
“Jake.”
I slowly smile, taking in the breathless way she said my name. Yeah, I’m going to be hearing that a lot more tonight.
“We’re here.”
I spin, keeping her wrapped around me, and haul her to the apartment.