42. Francesca
42
FRANCESCA
I wake up in a bed that isn’t mine.
For a few seconds, I hover in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, my body heavy, my mind sluggish. The sheets are softer than mine, the mattress firmer, the scent completely unfamiliar—cedar, clean soap, something distinctly Graham.
I reach out instinctively, searching for the warmth of him, but the space beside me is empty. Awareness creeps in, slow and steady, and then the memories rush back in a flood.
Graham. His hands, his mouth, his cock. The way he touched me like he was committing every inch of me to memory. The way he cleaned me up after, his touch so tender it made my throat tighten. The gentle press of his lips against my temple before tucking me beneath the covers, his voice a low murmur as he told me to sleep.
I don’t even remember him getting in bed beside me, but I must have fallen asleep the second my head hit the pillow.
I blink against the low glow of the bedside lamp, the house silent save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Where did he go?
Pushing up on one elbow, I rub my eyes before scanning the dark room. His bedroom is neat, purposeful, everything in its place. The only hint of our earlier chaos is the trail of my clothes across the floor, tangled with his discarded henley.
I hesitate for half a second before reaching for it.
The fabric is soft and way too big, hanging off one shoulder when I pull it over my head. But it smells like him, and that makes something warm bloom low in my belly. I tug on my sleep shorts next, running a hand through my hair before padding barefoot out of the bedroom.
I pause in the hallway, straining my hearing for any signs of distress from Romeo, but all I can hear is the low hum of the white noise machine. A soft yellow glow spills from the cracked door of Graham’s office.
I follow the light.
I push open the door, pausing at the threshold. He’s exactly where I expected him to be. At his desk, completely locked in, the cold glow from his monitors casting sharp shadows over his face. His fingers fly over the keyboard, his jaw tense, brows furrowed in concentration.
I rap my knuckles on the doorframe, and his fingers freeze for a second. “Can I come in?”
He turns around, gazing at me through black square-framed glasses. “Always.”
I run my tongue along the back of my teeth and mosey toward him, considering if I should ask him to wear his glasses next time he takes me to his bed, because they’re really working for me.
I stop next to his chair and take everything in. It’s the most disorganized I’ve ever seen him or his desk. Several piles of papers fanned out, a half-eaten bag of pretzels and an open hummus container, a can of an energy drink I’ve never heard of. And a blueberry muffin on a napkin.
“You okay?” he murmurs, wrapping his arm around my thighs.
“Are you?” I arch a brow and eye his desk.
He follows my gaze, a rueful smile tugging at his lips while his fingertips draw patterns on my thigh. “I needed a little pick-me-up.”
“I can see that.” I reach out and snag a pretzel and pop it into my mouth. “What’re you working on so late?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, leaving it adorably mussed. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”
I arch a brow and snag another pretzel.
He leans into me, placing a chaste kiss against my ribs. “I’m sorry I left you in my bed.” He gazes up at me, his lips twitching. “But I love seeing you in my clothes.”
I drag my fingers through his hair with a soft chuckle, enjoying the physical affection. “I’m not mad, but I am kind of hungry it seems.” I snag another pretzel and reach over to dip it into the hummus.
“Here.” A soft chuckle rumbles from his chest as he tugs me down into his lap, his arms winding around my waist. I go willingly, draping my legs over the arm of his chair. “Keep me company while I finish this.” He pulls the snacks closer, right in front of me. The pretzels, the hummus, the muffin. It’s like a makeshift charcuterie board, and something about the image makes me feel stupidly giddy. Domestic and thoughtful and weirdly perfect.
I pluck another pretzel from the bag and dip it in the hummus before pointing at the screen. “What am I looking at?”
Graham adjusts the keyboard on his lap, his fingers idly tapping a few keys as he exhales through his nose. “I found a way in on the school district ransomware ring.”
I pause mid-bite of my pretzel. “Really?”
He nods, gaze flicking between me and the screen. “I have this theory that it’s a group, not a bunch of copycats. And tonight, I found my way in.” His voice is even, but there’s something sharper underneath—satisfaction, maybe even excitement.
I glance back at the cascading lines of code, most of it incomprehensible to me. “What happened?”
Graham leans forward, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he pulls up another screen. “Someone got sloppy.”
My brows lift. “Sloppy how?”
“They forgot to close the door on the way out.” His lips twitch, like he’s amused by something only he understands.
I blink at him. “Like a loophole?”
His chuckle is low, warm. “Something like that.” He tilts the screen toward me slightly, pointing to a cluster of highlighted text in a sea of code. “When they laundered money through a shell company, they left behind a backdoor. A remote access point they forgot to scrub. That gave me a way inside.”
I squint at the screen like it might start making sense if I stare at it long enough. “So what does that mean?”
“It means I was able to trace their transactions. And because I got in before they realized their mistake, I was able to plant something of my own.” He taps a few more keys, and a small blinking icon appears in the corner of his screen. “I left a hook. Just a tiny, innocuous thing buried in the system.”
I narrow my eyes. “A hook?”
His smirk deepens. “When they log in again, they’ll click on something routine—a file, an admin login, even a goddamn calendar notification. And when they do, I’ll gain access to their computer.”
Understanding clicks into place. “Like a shadow.”
“Exactly.” His gaze lingers on mine, something dark and sharp glittering in his eyes. “They won’t know I’m there. But I’ll be scraping everything. Emails, IP logs, transaction records, private messages. Anything that ties them to this.”
I swallow, suddenly aware of how precise he is. How dangerous he could be if he weren’t using his skills for the right reasons. “And then what?” My voice is quiet.
Graham’s fingers flex on my thigh, grounding himself. “Then I build a case. And I burn them to the ground.”