Chapter 6
Remy
My alarm goes off at six-thirty on Monday morning, which is earlier than I’d like but later than I’ve been waking up naturally. It turns out, trying to track down a security breach while avoiding your ex-boyfriend is excellent motivation for insomnia.
I’m halfway through my second cup of coffee when my phone buzzes.
Unknown Number: Good morning, Miss Ray. This is Joshua, your driver. I’m downstairs whenever you’re ready.
I stare at the message for a solid ten seconds before my brain catches up. Driver? I definitely didn’t order a car service.
I pull up my email, scanning for anything I might have missed. Nothing. No calendar invites, no transportation confirmations, and no explanation for why a driver is waiting outside my apartment at seven in the morning.
I save the contact on my phone in case I ever need the driver’s number. My phone buzzes again.
Joshua: The Jacobs brothers arranged this. They wanted to ensure you have reliable transportation to and from the office.
Of course they did. Because arranging a driver for a new employee is a completely normal, not-at-all-excessive, response to seeing my car.
My car has character. It starts most of the time. That’s all I can really ask for.
I type out a response.
Me: That’s very kind, but I have a car. I can drive myself.
Joshua: I understand, Miss Ray. However, Mr. Enzo was quite clear that this arrangement is non-negotiable.
I stare at the phone, torn between annoyance and a sense of being cared for. I’m sure this decision came after Enzo got a good look at my car on Friday.
Me: Fine. I’ll be down in ten minutes.
Joshua: Take your time. I’ll be here.
I grab my laptop bag, double-check that I have my security badge, and head downstairs.
Joshua stands beside a black SUV that’s identical to the one we took to the airport last week. He opens the door with a warm smile.
“Good morning, Miss Ray.”
“Good morning, Joshua.” I slide into the back seat. “And please, call me Remy.”
“Remy it is.” He closes the door and moves around to the driver’s seat. “Coffee is in the cup holder if you’d like. Black, no sugar, right?”
I look down. Sure enough, there’s a travel mug sitting in the center console, steam rising from the lid.
“How did you—”
“Mr. Breck mentioned you prefer it black.” Joshua pulls smoothly into traffic. “He said you drink it like you’re personally offended by the concept of creamer.”
A laugh escapes me. “He’s not wrong.”
The drive to Jacobs Security takes twenty-five minutes, and by the time we pull up to the building, I’ve cleared my inbox and feel slightly more in control of the chaos that is my life.
Joshua opens my door. “I’ll be here at six to take you home, unless you need me earlier.”
“Six is great. Thank you, Joshua.”
“My pleasure, Remy.”
The executive conference room is already occupied when I arrive at nine for a meeting they scheduled. Ansel sits at the head of the table, like always. Enzo slouches in a chair to his left, scrolling through his tablet with a scowl. Breck stands near the windows, coffee cup in hand.
Damon sits across from Enzo, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Great. Nothing like starting Monday morning with my ex-boyfriend glaring at me across a conference table.
“Good morning.” I take a seat near the middle of the table and set my laptop down carefully. “You wanted to see me?”
“Good morning, Remy.” Breck’s smile is genuine and warm. “Coffee?”
“Joshua already supplied me.” I pull up the files I’ll need for this meeting. “But thank you.”
Ansel looks up from his laptop. His eyes meet mine. “The Chicago client signed this morning.”
My heart does a small, triumphant leap. “That’s amazing!”
Dial it back, Remy. Professional. Be professional.
“It is.” Ansel leans back slightly. “They specifically mentioned your presentation as a deciding factor. They loved your approach to phased implementation and your understanding of their compliance requirements. They were impressed.”
Pride surges through me, which is inconvenient because I’ve been trying really hard not to care what they think. Add that to the list of things I’m failing at, right alongside ignoring my ex and not being attracted to my three ridiculously hot bosses.
“I’m glad I could help close the deal.”
“Help?” Breck says. “Their chief technology officer practically begged Ansel to keep you on the account.”
My cheeks heat. “Smart man.”
Ansel doesn’t even crack a smile. I’m losing hope that he will ever find me funny. “Right, well, you really went above and beyond what was expected. I want to recognize that.” His face remains neutral, but his eyes linger on mine a second longer than necessary.
Damon shifts in his seat. “The relationship-building helped, too. I’ve been cultivating that client for months. Remy’s presentation was good, but the foundation was already there.”
The temperature in the room drops several degrees.
Breck sets his coffee cup down. “Yes, Damon. Good job.”
His tone is patronizing, and I have to cough to suppress a laugh.
“I’m not saying she didn’t contribute.” Damon tries to defend himself.
“You’re diminishing her contribution,” Enzo responds.
The tension between Enzo and Damon is impossible to miss. After what happened Friday night, something fundamental must have broken between them.
Damon’s jaw clenches. He stays silent.
Ansel clears his throat. “Both of you played important roles. Remy’s technical expertise and Damon’s relationship management worked together to close the deal. That’s how it should be.”
It’s diplomatic, fair, even. But I notice how Ansel looks at me when he mentions technical expertise. And I notice how he looks at Damon when he mentions relationship management, as if he’s choosing his words to avoid conflict rather than speaking freely.
His fingers drum once against the table before going still. Enzo slouches in his chair like he couldn’t care less, but his eyes haven’t left Damon’s face. Breck’s easy smile has gone tight at the edges.
Three men who share a face but couldn’t be more different.
“Remy?”
I blink, realizing Ansel has been talking.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you needed anything for the implementation rollout. Resources, additional personnel, authorization to override departmental pushback?”
“I should be fine. Most departments have been cooperative so far. IT is dragging their feet a bit, but I think that’s more about workload than resistance.”
“I’ll talk to them.” Enzo makes a note on his tablet. “They’ll cooperate.”
“Diplomatically, please.” Ansel doesn’t sound hopeful.
Enzo just shrugs. “Diplomatically. Got it.”
But his tone suggests he will be anything but diplomatic.
Damon stands abruptly. “If we’re done here, I have meetings to prep for.”
“We’re done.” Ansel’s dismissal is clear.
Damon leaves without another word. The tension in the room eases immediately.
Breck moves to take the seat Damon vacated. “So, aside from terrorizing IT departments, what’s your priority today?”
“Finishing the trace on the backdoor access.” I pull up my notes. “I’ve narrowed it down to a three-day window when the modification was made. If I can isolate the exact timestamp and cross-reference it with employee access logs—”
“You’ll have a name,” Enzo finishes my sentence.
“Exactly.”
“How confident are you?” Ansel leans forward slightly.
“Seventy percent. Maybe seventy-five.” I meet his gaze. “Whoever did this was careful, but not perfect. They left traces. I need to find them.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then I’ll find another angle. There’s always another angle.”
Ansel nods slowly. “Keep us updated. If you hit any roadblocks, let us know immediately.”
“Will do.”
I head back to my office with renewed determination. The Chicago deal is signed, I have the full support of the executive team, and I’m close—so close—to cracking this breach.
Four hours later, I’m staring at my screen with my heart pounding and a grin I can’t suppress.
I found it.
The access logs, the timestamp, and the exact moment someone used compromised credentials to insert that backdoor. And more importantly, I found the pattern: a series of minor, almost invisible modifications made over the course of weeks, all leading up to the main breach.
It’s elegant, in a terrifying sort of way. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing, how to hide their tracks, how to make each change look innocuous enough that it wouldn’t trigger alerts.
But they made one mistake. They accessed the system twice from the same IP address. That IP address traces back to a specific location, a specific device.
I have them.
My phone buzzes, startling me out of my focus.
Breck: Meet us out front.
Me: Everything okay?
Breck: Yep. Just come down.
I save my work, grab my jacket, and head for the elevators. My mind is still on the breakthrough, running through the implications, the following steps, and how to present this information to the triplets.
The lobby is busy with employees returning from lunch and clients arriving for meetings. I push through the front doors and stop short.
All three Jacobs brothers stand on the sidewalk. Tall, dark-haired, and irritatingly good-looking in that identical way that still catches me off guard. Between them sits a car, a silver luxury sedan with pristine paint, tinted windows, and leather interior visible through the windshield.
Ansel notices me first. His expression is stoic, but there’s anticipation in his eyes.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Come on, Remy.” Breck twirls a set of keys around his finger. “Surely you can figure out what a car with a bow on it means.”
I stare at the sedan, then at them. “You bought me a car.”
This is ridiculous.
“We’re providing you with company transportation.” Ansel clarifies this as if it’s a completely reasonable business decision. “Given the nature of your work and recent security concerns, we want to ensure you have reliable, safe transportation.”