Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2

by Romance, Smartypants

  I was surprised by his candor. He didn’t strike me as the type of person who would lay his most personal dreams out for anyone to hear, and I was warmed by his trust in me.

  “And no relationships since Angie?”

  He shook his head and shrugged. “I’ve dated here and there, but things always fizzled fast. Honestly, up until now, school and work have taken up too much of my time to put in the required effort it takes to foster a relationship, so I’ve been single.”

  We nearly reached the fountain of the monument when he stopped to face me. His expression was one of sheepish hopefulness. He was back to being too adorable.

  “But now,” he announced. His eyes boring into mine. “I’m finally in the perfect place to make it happen.” His voice was low and earnest. “I want it. I’m ready.”

  My stomach flipped. I felt like I was going to puke up a swarm of butterflies. God damn it. I was suddenly intensely jealous of whichever woman got to be the recipient of all his attention and dedication and love.

  I hated her, whoever she was. I hated myself in that moment, too, because I knew I was feeling things for Ken I had no business feeling. Never, ever, ever fall for the straight ones. That’s the best advice, and woe betide anyone who ignores it.

  But, as Ken pointed out, no one ever takes advice contrary to their heart’s desire.

  It seemed I was well and truly fucked.

  Chapter Sixteen

  *Steven*

  “Schultz wants to have that conference call on Tuesday, three PM Hamburg time, so that means eight AM for you,” Carlos said.

  I could see in my periphery that he’d only cracked my office door and poked his head inside. I acknowledged him with an “Uh-huh,” unwilling to break my concentration and halt the report roll I was on. But when his words registered, I snapped out of my trance.

  “Wait, what?” He’d already shut the door behind him, but thankfully heard me and came back in.

  “Tuesday. Eight AM. Schultz. It’s in your inbox.”

  Schultz was the Project Manager with the Schmidt-Fischer Group we’d presented to last week. “Who’s on the call?” I asked.

  “On our end, looks like you, Dan, Betty, and Rian,” he said, and a lightning-quick grin flashed across his face. Interesting…

  Rian was the woman Carlos had recently hired as an accounts manager, and I thought I detected a bit of interest on his part. Honestly, when I saw them together before her interview, I thought I was imagining things. Carlos’ taste in women ran to more of the stone-cold fox variety. I’d never seen him give a second glance to anyone who wasn’t a ten. I thought maybe he had some interest in Dan’s ex-girlfriend, Tonya—I’d seen him check her out more than a few times—and gave thought to setting them up. Rian was gorgeous, to be sure, but she wasn’t exactly built like his usual type. Damn, if he didn’t look alert and happy whenever she was around. Very interesting…

  “I thought it would be a good thing to let her sit on a call with one of our large, corporate accounts—just to get a feel for it,” he continued. “She won’t be saying much, only listening.”

  “Quinn’s not coming in?”

  “No, he’s said Betty could take notes and he’d confer with Dan later,” he replied. “It’s just contract finalization, you know how these things go.”

  I bit back the urge to tell Carlos I didn’t need Rian getting a feel for contract finalization calls. He felt we needed more manpower around here, and he was right. Getting territorial over these tasks wasn’t constructive in the least.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “I’m leaving for lunch, you wanna grab something with me?” he asked.

  “No thanks, I’m going to work through and get this finished so I can call this week O-V-E-R.” I was ready to go home and veg out. Normally, I’d be calling Kat for a movie date, or seeing what Ernesto and Paulie were up to, but the week had felt interminable and I was tired.

  The good news was, there had been no further contact this week from King. No cock and balls, no vaguely sinister texts, and nothing via the postal service either. The bad news was, I’d started obsessively thinking about Ken. If I wasn’t completely absorbed in work, I was either thinking about how sweet he was, all eager and weird, or wondering if his dick would be so big I’d choke on it. Then I’d descend into a pit of regret and engage in what I called self-loathing/self-loving. Everyone was familiar with hate-fucks, but this…hate-yank, was a new level of depravity for me.

  To make matters worse, he’d called the night before to chat and hint around about going to the jazz club. I managed to be noncommittal, steering the conversation to how busy work was for me and before I knew it, his deep timbre was guiding me through another slow, heavy breathing session. It was like Pornhub and ASMR decided to come together to create an unholy, erotic blend that both calmed and excited simultaneously. It was absolute torture.

  Once I discovered my hands unconsciously wandering into my promised land, I’d cut him off, shrieked that my toilet was overflowing, and hung up.

  It was not my proudest moment.

  Not long after Carlos left, my office phone rang. It was Keira at the front desk. “You have a delivery, Steven. And it looks like it’s something yummy.”

  “Ooh, I do like things that are yummy,” I replied. “I’ll be right out.”

  The corridors of Cipher Systems were nearly empty, as most everyone had gone to lunch.

  Keira was sitting at her desk and gestured to the box in front of her when she saw me. It was a familiar gray and white polka-dotted box from Plaisance Patisserie, and the smell emanating from it was heavenly. “Somebody must really like you,” she teased.

  “I keep telling people I’m delightful.” I swept my arm down from my head to my knee and said, “It’s nice to know someone out there appreciates all of this.”

  Just as I reached out for the box, a booming voice startled me. “Step AWAY from the box, Steven!”

  I jerked my hand away and saw Dan moving into my space. He put a hand to my chest, his expression dire.

  “You need to move back,” he directed with a gentle shove. Without taking his eyes off me, he ordered, “Keira, take your lunch break now, we have reason to believe this package is suspect. It might be best if you left.”

  Keira scrambled to grab her purse, a flash of fear crossing her pretty features. She speed-walked down the hall toward the elevator.

  I felt the blood drain from my face, “Are you serious?!” We have reason to believe… My heart started galloping in my chest. I hadn’t told anyone about King—at least, I hadn’t told anyone about his threatening behavior. But if there was a possible threat, I had no doubt Dan could have gathered the intel. His extensive experience with physical security meant his instincts could and should be trusted.

  What if this is real? What if this is King?

  “Did you order the delivery?” Dan questioned, pulling his phone from the interior chest pocket of his jacket.

  “No.” I shook my head. “But—” I began, wanting to impart that I did have some idea that this was from Ken. Dan cut me off with a swift raise of his hand to silence me as he put his phone to his ear.

  I’d told Ken the night before that Plaisance Patisserie was my favorite bakery in the Loop, so this had to be from him. I didn’t know why he’d send them to me, though. It was nice. Really thoughtful. But it was too much. Again, I suspected he was trying to buy my friendship. Who would have thought a guy like him would have such terrible self-esteem? I thought. It just goes to show that— My musings were cut off by Dan’s words.

  “Stan, I need you to bring Anzo up to the office. Now.”

  Oh, God, Anzo. Stan Willis was the Assistant Security Personnel Coordinator for this division and our most senior lieutenant. He’d adopted Anzo, a retired TSA bomb-and-drug-sniffing shepherd not long ago. If Dan thought we needed Anzo up here, he must either be paranoid, or have genuine reason for this level of vigilance.

  No, this was crazy. The box was from Ken, i
t was full of tasty bites of heaven and there were no drugs or bombs hidden inside.

  “Dan, smell it,” I said, scoffing. “It smells exactly like the sweet treat it is.”

  He scowled. “Yeah, well, DNT smells like sweet treats too, Steven. Do you think we should risk the whole floor blowing up?”

  Shit. I didn’t know what the hell DNT was or how powerful it could be. I opened my mouth to agree that utilizing Anzo was probably a good idea, but Dan interrupted, obviously assuming I was going to argue with him again.

  “You know what?” he said testily, his Southie accent thickening. “Why don’t you go stand your ass around the partition and let me do my job?” He pointed to the left hallway which was about twenty-five feet away from Keira’s desk.

  “Fine,” I grumbled and walked to the other side of the room.

  We stood in tense silence for a minute or so when I had an idea. “We could call the bakery and verify they delivered it.”

  I thought it was a simple solution, but Dan got snippy again. “Steven! I got this, alright? Stay calm!”

  Just then, Stan emerged from the elevator with Anzo on a lead and trotted toward the desk. He issued a few sharp, unintelligible grunting commands to the dog, along with some hand gestures. Within seconds, Anzo rose up on hind legs, sniffed the box, and dropped into a seated position, his eyes never leaving the box. He gave one loud bark and Dan yelled, “We need to evacuate the building!”

  He waved his arm, urging me to move quickly. Stan and Anzo broke out into a sprint toward the elevator. I caught up with them and we all got in. My heart was racing in panic, but I suddenly had the presence of mind to shout, “Wait! We need to make sure everyone is off this floor!”

  I made a move to exit the elevator, intent on pulling the fire alarm, but Keira stepped in front of me, appearing out of nowhere.

  I gaped at her. She lifted her phone and I could hear the clicking of her camera taking frame after frame of my face.

  They all began laughing uproariously. Bewildered, I looked around the elevator at their smiling faces. Even the damn dog looked pleased with himself.

  A joke.

  A fucking joke.

  “You should see your face right now, man,” Dan said, hand on chest, struggling to catch his breath. “I-I told Stan you’d never fall for it. I was sure you’d tell me to go fuck myself. Oh my God. I love bustin’ your balls.”

  Without a word, I gave them each a glare—scathing and promising retribution—and made my way back to the desk to collect my box, all the while feeling their eyes on me and hearing their snickers of waning mirth.

  I lifted the lid and discovered an array of—what I estimated to be—fifty, gorgeous, colorful macarons. They were courtesy of one McPretty MD—the name made me smile despite myself—who said he hoped these would make my Friday sweeter.

  This fucking guy, I thought in exasperation as I scooped up the box. I turned to head back to my office when Dan spoke up from the end of the hall.

  “Hey, I forgot to tell you something.” His smile was as large as I’d ever seen it. He was maniacal with glee.

  This fucking guy…

  “What?” I asked impatiently.

  “Quinn wants to see you in the data center ASAP.” I dropped my head in exaggerated despair, which sent Dan into another fit of laughter. “Good luck, man.”

  “That’s it!” I yelled, half-serious in my anger. “No macarons for you! Any of you!”

  * * *

  “Those better not be for Janie.”

  I’d taken two steps into Alex’s Lair—AKA, the data center—when Quinn started in on me.

  Confused, I looked at the box of macarons in my hands and then back at him. I probably should have taken them to my apartment before I made my way here, but that would have taken me longer, and I was eager to get the meeting finished.

  The fact that he’d gone on the attack because he assumed these were for her, ramped up my already simmering anger. I bit my tongue because, not only was he Boss Man Level: Mute Meets Rude and kind of scary, but he was also going through a very difficult time. I liked and respected Quinn and I adored Janie, so I felt a lot of compassion for what they were going through at the moment.

  However, if I were honest, this version of him was wearing on my last, raw, exposed nerve and didn’t inspire much in the way of openness. I’d come up here toying with the idea of talking to him about King—thinking I needed to rip off the Band-Aid and let him lambast me.

  After Dan’s practical joke, I’d gone back to my office completely rattled. It had been a shitty thing to do to someone, but I knew if Dan had known about King, he wouldn’t have subjected me to that fright. That thought forced me into some introspection I’d been avoiding. For a moment I’d considered that I had received an explosive package, and it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities.

  I wasn’t an alarmist, by any means. A dick pic and a couple of Kinnears did not a terrorist make. But I was more worried about the situation than I allowed myself to admit. If I was worried and I thought in that one moment I was in real danger—danger, that was going to have serious ramifications for others in my sphere—then I needed to admit I had a problem.

  I wasn’t the only one in those pictures. Yes, I was the focal point and no mention had been made by King about Ken, but he was there. He saw him. If there was even the slightest chance Ken was in danger, I needed to tell him.

  Not only did I owe it to him out of simple decency, but I also needed to stop this thing that was happening between us. I was being wooed and pursued for friendship and it was strange. It was also confusing because my heart and my dick wanted it to be something else entirely.

  The madness had to end. I needed to tell him about King and get him out of my life, no matter how much I wanted him in it. It was for the best and any other course would be selfish and destructive.

  With that decision made and this terrible task on the horizon, I was in no mood for Quinn’s neurosis and acrimony. His immediate criticism and censure slammed the door shut on any confession. I wasn’t going to give him more reason to dislike me.

  Plastering on a smile, I held the box higher. “Don’t worry, these were not en route to the penthouse. They’re mine,” I explained, lifting the lid. “Would you care for one?”

  Without answering or sparing a glance at the cookies, he said, “My goal is to upgrade data retention from the cameras to 120 days. I want you to figure out what that’s going to cost.”

  Out of some perverse sense of defiance, I turned to Alex. “Would you like a cookie?” Alexander Greene was Cipher’s cyber genius, and in my opinion, the biggest asset the company could have. Cryptography and cost-analysis didn’t co-mingle very often, so I wasn’t privy to his day-to-day activities, but I did know that our ability to provide superior cybersecurity to our clients was because Alex was one of the most talented and intelligent hackers in the world.

  “Yes,” he responded plainly, and pulled a green one from the box. He examined it.

  “Pistachio,” I said. “Classic.”

  He took a bite and appeared to be thoughtfully assessing the flavor. Aware of Quinn’s silent seething beside me, I prolonged the cookie-tasting by asking Alex what he thought of it.

  “It’s unusual. I’ve never had a cookie like this.”

  There were a lot of things Alex never had growing up. From what I knew of his childhood—foster homes and detention centers—I figured macarons weren’t ever on his menu. He always struck me as being a delightful dichotomy. He was, if it was even possible, both guileless and cagey. Eager and reluctant. Young and old. It was hard to come up with a label for Alex as he was layered and fascinating. But as his attractive level, he was a Hipster Meets Rebel.

  Setting the box on the desk next to him, I said, “Have as many as you want.”

  To Quinn I asked, “Do you want this for future clients, or are you doing this for every camera we run?” I furrowed my brow, thinking of the exorbitant cost of upgrading every licensin
g agreement. We oversaw thousands and thousands of cameras, some of which monitored low-traffic areas. Those cameras already archived ninety days.

  “Every camera,” he replied.

  I turned to Alex and asked, “Is this difficult to do?”

  He swallowed what was in his mouth and shook his head. “No. It’s a simple call to the company and changing the agreements. We use the option for full-footage redundancy with storage both on the device and in the cloud. Each camera can be set to archive for different durations.”

  “Which means all of our cameras that aren’t currently retaining 120 days will get a cost hike?”

  “Yes.”

  I scrubbed my hand through my hair and thought about the added expense. It wasn’t an insignificant hike. This company that Alex had us using was innovative, integrative, and expensive. He could view live feeds of any one of our thousands of cameras at any time, from any of his devices. He’d been impressed with their cyber protection and knew they offered state of the art technology for facial recognition. Another bonus was that the per-camera licensing meant we could save money on some cameras and use others to their full potential.

  I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that it was an unnecessary expense. I wasn’t hip to the day-to-day surveillance needs, but I couldn’t imagine that four months of archival footage was ever going to be necessary. I didn’t say it because surveillance wasn’t my area of expertise.

  What was my area of expertise was money, so I asked, “So are we going to eat it in the short term?” I shook my head. “This has to get passed on to the clients as soon as possible. I can’t let this screw with my bottom line,” I quipped.

  Quinn didn’t appreciate my input. “It’s not your bottom line, it’s Cipher’s,” he snapped. “If I say I want full-footage redundancy on every last camera, then that’s what I’m going to get.”

  I flinched. I hadn’t said we shouldn’t do it. Yes, I thought it. But I hadn’t said anything about not doing it.