Chapter 3
Remy
The Jacobs Security building is glass and steel, minimalist in that way only serious money can pull off.
I show my brand-new security badge to the guard at the front desk and try not to think about whether or not I made a terrible decision. My badge photo isn’t exactly a confidence booster. I look like a deer caught in headlights.
The elevator ride to the executive floor is smooth and silent, which gives me way too much time to second-guess everything. My blazer is pressed, my portfolio is organized, and I’ve rehearsed my opening remarks no fewer than forty-seven times.
I’m ready.
I’m a professional.
I can absolutely handle working in the same building as my cheating ex-boyfriend.
The elevator doors open onto a floor that’s all motion. Some people work at standing desks, others huddle in transparent conference rooms, and there’s a constant hum of activity, with keyboards clicking, quiet conversations, and the energy of a company that never stops.
A woman in her thirties, with a tablet and uptight energy, appears at my elbow. “Miss Ray? I’m Sherina, executive assistant to the Jacobs brothers. I’ll be your point of contact for administrative needs. They’re ready for you in the executive conference room.”
I follow her through the maze of desks and glass-walled offices, hyperaware of the glances I’m getting.
I don’t blame them. I’m a new face, heading straight to the executive offices.
I’m either someone important, someone about to be fired, or someone spectacularly lost. Given my track record, any of those options seems equally likely.
Sherina stops at a door, knocks, and opens it without waiting for a response. “Miss Ray is here.”
The conference room has floor-to-ceiling windows on one side.
The table is large enough to seat twenty, but currently only holds the three Jacobs brothers.
It’s still a little surreal to see them together.
Three sets of the same blue eyes, the same dark hair, the same sharp jawline, but somehow completely different people.
They never paid me much attention when I was with Damon.
I was just his girlfriend—background noise, barely worth a second glance.
But I always noticed them. It was hard not to when the Jacobs triplets walked into a room like they owned it—and usually did.
Three stupidly attractive faces that made every industry event feel like a photo shoot I'd accidentally wandered into.
Ansel, the one in charge, sits at the head of the table, laptop open, charcoal suit perfectly tailored. He doesn’t look up when I enter.
Enzo, who Damon always described as his favorite troublemaker, is sprawled in a chair halfway down the table.
His sleeves are rolled up on his black button-down to reveal a tattoo sleeve.
He’s got a tablet in front of him, screen filled with code.
His eyes flick up to assess me, before he nods once.
Breck, the personable triplet, stands and is already smiling. He looks more relaxed than his brothers in a navy blazer with no tie. He gestures to the chair across from him. “Welcome. Coffee? Water? Something stronger?”
“Coffee would be great, actually.” I set my portfolio down and take the offered seat. “Black.”
“That’s easy enough.” Breck moves to a sideboard where there’s an entire coffee setup. “Fair warning: Enzo’s already had four cups, so if he starts talking about quantum encryption methods, just nod and smile.”
“I heard that, asshole.” Enzo doesn’t look up from his tablet.
“You were meant to.” Breck sets a mug in front of me and reclaims his seat. “And if Ansel broods at you, don’t panic. That’s just his face.”
Ansel finally looks up and rolls his eyes. “I’m reading the preliminary security audit Remy sent.”
I blink. “I sent that well after midnight. I was going to present it to you today. I didn’t expect you to review it beforehand.”
“I need this to get fixed as soon as possible.” He drums his fingers on the table, his gaze fixed on mine. “Your analysis was thorough. You identified two vulnerabilities our team missed entirely and proposed fixes that are both doable and cost-effective.”
I nod, almost accepting his comment as praise, but I know it’s not.
“However,” he continues, and I brace myself, “your timeline is aggressive. You’re proposing a complete system audit in three weeks. Our team estimated six months.”
“Your team is being conservative because they don’t want to admit how bad this could be.” I meet his gaze steadily. “The longer a breach exists, the more damage it does. Three weeks is aggressive but necessary.”
Breck leans forward, smile still in place but eyes all business. “Walk us through your plan. Slowly. Use small words for those of us who didn’t sleep last night.”
Great. He’s hot and funny. That’s annoying.
And here’s where I either prove myself or crash and burn spectacularly.
I open my portfolio and pull out the report I spent most of yesterday refining. “Your security breach isn’t random. Someone knew exactly where to look, which means you have an internal problem. Or it’s someone who used to have access. The attack vectors are too precise.”
Ansel’s full attention is on me now, intense enough that I have to resist the urge to fidget.
“Your firewall has three weak points. Two are common: legacy systems that haven’t been updated, and vendor access that’s too broad.
Those are easy fixes. But the third—” I slide a diagram across the table, “—is in your authentication protocol. Someone modified it approximately two months ago. It’s a small change, almost invisible, but it creates a backdoor. ”
Enzo sits up straight, his casual sprawl gone. “That’s not possible. I personally review every change to authentication.”
“I’m sure you do. But this change was made to look like a routine security patch. See?” I point to the code snippet I’ve highlighted. “It’s disguised as an encryption upgrade. But if you look at what it actually does, then it’s not just an upgrade.”
“It creates a secondary access point.” Enzo grabs the paper, scanning it rapidly. “Fuck me.” His jaw clenches visibly. “Two months. Two goddamn months, and we missed it.” He looks up at me. “You found this in what, an hour?”
“Four, actually. I’m thorough, not magic.”
Breck clears his throat, but he’s leaning in, too, studying my notes. “If this has been here for two months—”
“Then someone’s had access you definitely don’t want them to have,” I finish his thought. “Luckily, it’s still contained, and it will be an easy fix. Now we just need to figure out who has the information and what they’ve done with it.”
Ansel’s fingers stop drumming. “Can you trace it?”
“Maybe. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. But people make mistakes. Leave digital fingerprints. I’ll find them.”
“Three weeks,” Enzo mutters, still staring at my analysis. “You think you can find them in three weeks.”
“If I can’t find them in three weeks, then I will have to admit they are better than me. And I really don’t like admitting people are better than me.”
That gets a ghost of a smile from Ansel.
The conference room door opens without warning, and Damon walks in.
He looks the same. Brown hair styled just so, brown eyes that used to make me feel seen. Objectively attractive, until you put him next to his best friends and realize he's just... mediocre.
For a second, nobody moves. Damon’s holding a coffee cup and a tablet, clearly expecting a regular Monday morning meeting. His eyes slide past me, then snap back. I watch the exact moment recognition hits.
His face cycles through about five emotions in two seconds before settling on pissed off. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
There he is. The Damon I know. So eloquent.
Ansel stands slowly in a way that seems casual, but he puts himself between Damon and me. Enzo’s hand tightens on the edge of the table. Breck’s smile vanishes completely.
Before any of them can answer, I say, “You didn’t tell him that you hired me, did you?”
It’s not really a question.
Ansel’s expression doesn’t change, other than his very blue eyes narrowing slightly. “We don’t clear hiring decisions with employees. Even friends.”
I don't respond. This isn't my battle to fight. But I'd be lying if I said watching Damon squirm wasn't a little satisfying.
Damon’s coffee cup hits the table hard enough that liquid sloshes over the rim. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Watch your tone.” Ansel’s voice drops to something cold and commanding. “This is a business decision.”
“A business decision?” Damon’s laugh is bitter. “You hired her without even telling me?” His voice cracks on the last word. He’s not angry, but hurt. “After everything I told you about what she did.”
I force myself to take a breath, to remember that losing my temper here means losing this job, this salary, my parents’ security. It’s killing me not to be able to defend myself.
Damon’s eyes are wild, darting between the brothers and me. “You’re just going to let her sit here and—”
“She’s here to do a job. One that our entire team failed at.” Enzo’s tone tells me I need to stay on his good side.
“She’s a liar.” Damon’s pointing at me now, his hand shaking slightly. “She’ll say anything to make herself look good, to get what she wants. That’s what she does. That’s what she is.”
The urge to defend myself, to list every shitty thing he did, to tell them about the women (plural), the gaslighting, the way he made me feel crazy for noticing his phone was always face-down—it all rises in my throat like bile. But I swallow it down.
Because he wants me to lose it. He wants me to prove I’m the unstable, emotional mess he told them I was.
So instead, I look directly at Ansel. “Should I step outside while you handle this?”
Ansel studies me for a long moment, and I can practically see him deciding what to do next.
Finally, he nods. “Enzo, take Remy to her office.”
Enzo stands immediately. “Come on.”
Not a man of many words. Noted.