Chapter 3 #2
I gather my portfolio with hands that are steadier than they should be and follow Enzo toward the door.
“This is bullshit,” Damon says, but his voice has lost some of its edge.
Ansel’s shoulders relax fractionally. “We’re running a company. Try to remember that.”
His eyes meet mine for half a second, a clear reminder of where loyalties lie.
I don’t look back as Enzo opens the door and gestures me through.
The hallway feels too bright after the tension in that conference room. Enzo walks beside me, not speaking, and I focus on keeping my breathing even, on not falling apart in front of him.
We pass a cluster of employees near the coffee station. I’m hyperaware of their glances, their not-quite-whispered conversation.
“—heard she’s working directly with the Jacobs brothers—”
“—must be someone important—”
“Did you see her? I’d let her audit my systems any day—”
Ugh. Charming, really.
The last comment comes from a guy in his late twenties, with a smug smile. His buddy laughs, and I feel my face heat.
Enzo stops walking.
He turns, and the casual sprawl from earlier is completely gone. He’s taller than I realized, broader, and when he looks at the guy who made the comment, there’s something predatory in his expression.
“You got something to say about our new senior security consultant?” His voice is quiet, conversational almost, but every word is edged with warning.
The guy’s smile falters. “Um, no, I was just—”
“Just what?” Enzo takes a single step toward him. “Just making sure everyone within earshot knows you’re an unprofessional asshole?”
“Enzo, man, I didn’t mean—”
Okay. Maybe Enzo’s my favorite.
“This company has standards. Stop being a dick. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir. No problem.” The guy backs up, his buddy already halfway down the hall.
Enzo turns back to me, his expression already cooling. He gestures toward the elevators. “Your office is on the sixth floor. Corner space, lots of windows. You’ll hate how much sun you get in the afternoon, but the view’s decent.”
I follow, not sure what to make of that. I want to say something, but his posture makes it clear the moment is already over.
I don’t say anything. His defending me wasn’t personal, and we both know it. He doesn’t tolerate unprofessionalism.
He jabs the elevator button without looking at me.
We ride down three floors in silence. When the doors open, Enzo leads me through another maze of glass and chrome until we stop at an office that’s easily twice the size of any space I’ve ever worked in.
Don’t gape. Don’t gape.
I’m gaping.
The space is exactly how I would design it.
There are floor-to-ceiling windows, a desk large enough to spread out three projects at once, two monitors already set up, an ergonomic chair, and a small couch in the corner.
The only art is a single photograph on the wall—a close-up of circuit boards that look almost organic, like veins or tree branches, a reminder that technology and nature aren’t so different.
“Human resources will come by soon. You should already have access to everything that you need.” Enzo leans against the doorframe. “Any questions?”
“Nope. No questions.” I set my portfolio on the desk.
I have a thousand questions, but none that I am asking out loud.
“Good.” He pushes off the doorframe and turns his back to me to walk away. “Welcome to Jacobs Security.”
I spend the next hour setting up my workspace, reviewing the files Sherina sent over, and trying not to replay the conference room disaster on loop in my head.
There’s a knock on my door, and before I say anything, the door opens, and Ansel steps inside.
“We need to talk.”
I straighten in my chair, bracing myself for whatever comes next. “Is this about Damon?”
“No.” He crosses to my desk, hands in his pockets, studying me with that unnerving intensity.
“We have a client presentation in Chicago. Wednesday. They’re nervous about recent security concerns in the industry, and we need to convince them we’re the right firm to handle their infrastructure. It’s an eight-figure contract.”
I wait, not sure where this is going.
Ansel takes a deep breath. “After seeing your analysis and how you handled yourself under pressure this morning, I think you should come to the meeting.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to go to Chicago? On my third day?”
“I want your expertise there. You’ve already demonstrated you can spot weaknesses faster than our internal security team.” His eye twitches.
Did I make Ansel Jacobs twitch? Small victories.
He continues. “The client needs to see that we bring in the best talent available, not just rely on what we have in-house. Your fresh perspective is exactly what will close this deal.”
I will have to do some research, and this means he just added another full project to my workload. “I’ve barely started the full assessment on your systems. We still don’t know who had access.”
“Right, but with the information you gave us, Enzo has already secured the breach. So, finding out who did it will have to wait until after this project.” He pulls out his phone and checks something. “I need a comprehensive report by Tuesday night. Can you do it?”
It’s borderline impossible.
But my people-pleasing tendencies choose that exact moment to betray me. “I’ll have it ready Tuesday afternoon.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Tuesday night is fine.”
“Tuesday afternoon,” I repeat. “If I’m going to present to a major client, I want time to review it with you first.”
Now there’s definitely approval in his expression, though his face remains mostly impassive. “Smart. We’ll review it together on Tuesday at four.”
Was that respect? From Ansel Jacobs?
“Done.”
He moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle. “Remy?”
“Yes?”
“Damon will be on this trip.”
“Understood. But I’m done reassuring you that I can handle working with him. Either you trust me, or you don’t.”
“Your qualifications aren’t in question.” The words come quickly.
“Then we’re good.” I turn back to my computer and pull up the security files. “I’ll see you Tuesday at four with the report. And Wednesday morning, I’ll be ready to convince your client they made the right choice.”
He studies me for another long moment, and I get the distinct impression he’s recalculating something. “We leave at six a.m. Wednesday. Pack for two days.”
I nod.
The door closes behind him, and I’m alone with an impossible deadline, a cross-country trip with my ex-boyfriend, and three men who are either testing me or setting me up to fail.