Chapter 5
Five
Kingston
“Our tech people are fucking miracle workers,” Kristin says as she eyeballs the bread plate in the center of the table.
The table isn’t big at all, and she’s perfectly capable of reaching the bread plate herself, but I nudge it toward her.
She grins at me and takes a roll. “You better have given them bonuses, King.”
“I did,” I say, trying to stifle my annoyance over her telling me what to do. Because, in fact, I gave the tech team huge bonuses—enough for them to take their families on vacation. They deserve it after essentially saving my company.
“Did they ever find out who was behind the attack?” Grant asks from my other side.
“No.” It takes conscious effort to unclench my fists.
If the cyber attack had been successful, countless clients’ personal and financial information would’ve been compromised.
We would have lost our good reputation, and after something like that?
There’s no coming back. Tyler Analytics would’ve been finished.
“The biggest concern right now is how that device got into the server room to begin with. Nobody is allowed in there.”
“Somebody could’ve sneaked in,” Kristin suggests.
“There are always cameras on the door,” Grant says.
Kristin points out, “Which we all reviewed.”
“Could they hack the cameras so we wouldn’t see them go in?”
“That seems extreme.” Kristin’s mouth twists as she considers his idea. “Not unheard of, but this isn’t some kind of heist movie. We’re not a casino or anything. Who stands to gain? Maybe we should start there.”
“Good ideas, both. I’m going to hire a separate security company,” I say. “Possibly switch them out with our existing folks, or have them work in tandem. I know some people who might be able to take this on.”
Ironwood Security, owned by Jaxon Marsel and Ryder Callihan. They seemed like good guys, and Jaxon did me a huge favor when he helped me find Ella. I make a mental note to give Jaxon a call to discuss whether his company might be a match for our needs.
A hand brushes against my knee beneath the table cloth.
It sure as fuck isn’t Grant’s. Kristin bites her lip and looks over at me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I scoot away and shake my head, then hold my hand up to get the server’s attention. “We’re ready for the bill,” I say, as soon as he’s in earshot.
Grant, for his part, is completely oblivious. Lucky tool.
“Hey Grant,” I say after I take care of the bill, “do you mind heading back now? There are a couple of things I want to go over with Kristin.”
“Yeah, sure,” he says. “See you two later.”
He takes off, and I face Kristin. To her credit, she looks ashamed.
“It’s not ever going to happen between us, is it?” she says.
“No, it’s not.”
With a little shrug, she flicks her brown, wavy hair over her shoulder. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.”
Actually, I can, but I’m going to let it go because it’s weird enough already.
Still, I can’t keep completely quiet on this.
“Kristin, you’re extremely talented. That’s why you’re in the office you have, working these long hours, putting in the work.
But if you ever make a physical pass at me or any employee of Tyler Analytics again, you won’t have a job for long. ”
She nods and looks down, all teasing gone from her face. “I’m sorry.”
I’m not going to tell her it’s okay, because it isn’t, but I do say, “I am going to report this to HR. Not to punish you, but to protect myself and let them know what’s going on. Please feel free to submit your own version of events.”
Pursing her lips, she says, “I understand, and it won’t happen again, I promise. I got the wrong impression…I’ve seen you at Vice, and Margot said you’re a good guy.”
She knows the owner of Vice, she’s seen me there, so she probably suspects I’m kinky. If she does—
“Do you think I’m submissive?” I ask her.
“Aren’t you?”
Given the way she’s been acting around me, lightly ordering me around for items on the table, or hinting she needs them done for her, it’s all starting to make sense. I laugh. “No. Not at all.”
“Well, shit,” she says. “A lot of times, a man in your position wants to not be in charge in the bedroom.”
“I could say the same for a woman in your position,” I say.
She leans back in her chair. “Well, report me to HR all you want. It definitely won’t be happening again. Regardless of your needs, it wouldn’t have, anyway, when you said no so bluntly. I apologize for my behavior. We wouldn’t match, anyway.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you.”
She gives me a quick smile and stands to go.
I let out a heavy breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
My shoulders loosen with relief. This has been a low-key stressor for weeks now.
Half the time, I thought I was reading the situation incorrectly.
The other half, I was always another step away from having this awkward conversation with her.
Now that we’re clear, it’s one less thing to worry about.
Unfortunately, the issue of the hacking attempt remains. And the bomb threat. What fresh hell will visit my company next?
Ella
Although I’ve hung out with Sebastian a couple of times and we’ve exchanged lots of messages, I’ve barely heard from Kingston all week.
Just a few texts here and there. I tried calling him twice this morning, hoping to catch him during a break, but he didn’t answer either time, and he didn’t call me back, either.
It’s easy enough not to think about it while I’m working, which is why I’m currently glad to be at Bartleby’s.
Even if stupid Nicholas is still managing in Kevin’s absence.
“Ella, the restrooms need attention,” Nicholas says from behind the bar.
I look pointedly at my full tray of sandwiches and fries that I’m about to take out to one of my tables, and then at Nicholas. He’s just standing there, watching the dining room. He’s not even pouring drinks, because we have a new, temporary bartender while Kevin is still out.
“So, go take care of them,” I say, starting forward.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” he says.
“Like what? An equal? You’re not doing anything, and I am.”
He marches forward and takes the tray from my hands. If I were to try to hang onto it, everything would probably spill, and I’m not risking losing all of this food to the floor.
“Here,” he says, giving me a simpering smile. “Now you’re not busy, and I am. Go clean the bathrooms like a good little maid.”
Fuck him. Fuck him in his stupid smiling face.
My cheeks are blazing with anger, but I turn on my heel and march to the bathroom. I look around for a mess, but there really isn’t one. A little bit of piss on the floor, which I can easily wipe up with a few paper towels, and an empty soap dispenser. Big fucking deal. Why couldn’t he handle that?
After dealing with the “mess” and washing my hands thoroughly, I return to the dining room. Unfortunately, what just happened isn’t new. For the past few days, Nicholas has been insufferable as our temporary manager, making me wonder if I shouldn’t quit, after all.
The rest of the evening passes quickly, and Natasha comes in for her shift, toward the end of mine. After one look at my resting pissed-at-Nicholas face, she pulls me aside.
“What’s going on?”
“Ugh. The usual. Nicholas is being a twatnugget.”
She cackles. “I’m saving that for later use.”
“You’re welcome.” I sigh and lean into her.
“Do you think it’s time to blow this popsicle stand?”
“You mean quit Bartleby’s?” I ask.
She nods. “There are other good places to work. Tomorrow, I’m interviewing at Chez Michel.”
“You landed an interview?” I exclaim. “Congrats! Good for you!”
Chez Michel is a nice restaurant in Dorado Heights.
It’s right on Caro. Servers get to keep tips there, and the hourly wage is above minimum.
They’re notoriously picky about even giving out interviews, and the servers there are professional servers—not tired college drop-outs who can’t get anything better.
“You should try for a position there, too,” she says. “We don’t have to stay in Bellefleur our whole lives, you know?”
“But what about Kevin?” I ask. “I don’t want to leave him high and dry.”
“He might not come back,” Natasha whispers.
“What?”
“The owner is thinking of selling. If he does, Kevin’s going to retire.”
I don’t bother asking Natasha how she knows this—she always seems to know what’s going on before I do. I rest a hip on the counter, absorbing this information. I can’t imagine remaining here at Bartleby’s with Nicholas lording his managerial status over the rest of us.
As if thinking of the devil made him appear, Nicholas ambles over. “We don’t have time for gossiping, ladies. Time to get to work.”
I bite back my retort. It’s not worth it. Yeah, I’m thinking of quitting, but not immediately. I need a plan, first.
And my plan can’t be falling back on my rich boyfriends, can it? Despite the fact they’ve offered multiple times to let me live with one of them?
What’s the worst that could happen if I moved? I’d miss Mrs. Dali, but she’s abdicated her status as apartment manager so she can travel. She’s been in Florida for the past two weeks, and after that, she’ll go to Greece.
I’d be dependent on Kingston and Sebastian for my housing. I don’t love that idea, either. I’d pay them rent, but it wouldn’t even be two percent of what their places cost, I’m sure.
Beyond that question, am I ready for such a big step in our relationship? I love them. They love me. Right now. But forever? We first got together in the middle of January. Now it’s mid-March. This seems awfully fast.
It also seems right.
But maybe that’s just my bank account talking, and my annoyance with Nicholas. I don’t want to be a gold digger. I don’t want or need a sugar daddy.