by Misha Bell
Damn. Who would’ve thought such domestic minutiae could be this hot? I feel my brain scrambling along with that egg.
How weird would it be if I played with myself here at the breakfast table?
Or if I got a toy?
“Here.” He scrapes the skillet onto another plate and brings the yumminess to the table, along with a bottle of ketchup.
I attack my food. After the exertions of last night, my appetite is through the roof.
“It’s eight forty-five,” I say when the worst of my hunger is satiated. “You’re legendary for being in your office at the crack of dawn. What gives?”
He shrugs. “The beauty of not having a boss is that I get up when I want.”
“I bet that’s nice.” I shovel more egg into my mouth. “How did you end up owning your own company in the first place?”
He smiles. “After college, I worked for Bloomberg for a bit. Since I lived with parents, I was able to save a little money. When I realized that I needed to run things myself if I didn’t want to go mad, I asked my parents for a loan to help me start Binary Birch. The rest is history.”
“Impressive,” I say, attacking the rest of my eggs. And I mean it, too. To own a successful software company at thirty-two years of age is no small feat.
“What are your plans for the day?” he asks.
I swallow the eggs in my mouth. “Write up Belka testing results. Meet with Sandra to give her the good news—and hopefully get new work. After that, I have a meeting with Mike Ventura.”
He frowns. “Ventura? Why?”
Is that jealousy I hear in his voice?
“Code chat,” I say.
“I see,” he says, the frown going away. “You know, if you have any programming questions, you can talk to me. I might know a thing or two Ventura doesn’t.”
“I’ll take you up on that now that I know.” I grin impishly at him. “Would you like me to cancel the meeting with Mike?”
He spears the last of his food. “It’s fine. Ventura is a decent coder. I doubt his advice can do much harm.”
I take our empty plates and carry them to the sink. “What about you? Big plans for the day?”
To my deep disappointment, he begins putting on his shirt. “Meetings. Krav Maga training. Lunch with you, assuming you’re willing.”
Huh. Is Krav Maga how he got so in shape?
“I think I might be available for lunch.” My eager grin makes it difficult to play coy.
“Good. Mind if I leave Oracle here?” He gestures at the aquarium. “After I fed them, she and Monkey had a blast playing.”
“Of course she can stay.”
Especially since that guarantees you have to come get her.
And maybe stay over again.
And—
“Come lock the door behind me,” he says.
I follow him there.
He puts on his shoes.
I suddenly feel shy. “Bye?”
“No.” He leans down and gives me the hottest goodbye kiss of my life. When he straightens, there’s a purely male smirk on his lips. “Now it’s a bye.”
Closing the door, I fan myself.
That man will turn me into a sex addict.
My steps are light as I prance back to the living room. Opening my laptop, I finalize the testing documentation—reddening at my recollection as I type.
When I’m done, I check on the pigs. They’re grooming each other, happy as clams at a vegan restaurant.
Since my meeting with Sandra is getting closer, I set out on my commute to the office.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As we settle in the meeting room, Sandra doesn’t meet my gaze.
Weird.
Does she think I’m about to disappoint her?
“I have good news,” I say, and tell her the testing is completed.
“That’s great,” she says, still not meeting my eyes. “I’m sure Mr. Chortsky will be pleased.”
Did she wince at the last bit?
What the hell is this about?
“I’m ready for other projects now,” I say. “Do you have anything interesting for me to test?”
She finally looks at me. “This is a little sudden. Let me have a think, and I’ll get back to you.”
Okay. I guess I did ambush her with being done with this project so quickly. Still, I can’t help but feel she’s behaving oddly.
“How are things with you in general?” I ask.
Maybe something is up with her health?
She stands up. “Everything’s great. I have another meeting, though, so I better run.”
Okay, whatever.
I wait for her to leave and check the time.
Still a few minutes before my meeting with Mike.
Going to the pantry, I make tea, wondering the entire time if Vlad is going to catch me here again.
Or rather, hoping he does.
Nope. Tea finished, with no Vlad in sight.
I get to the meeting room early and sip another cup of tea as I check for new messages from Phantom. If Mike turns out to be my mystery mentor, it would be polite to be up to speed on his wisdom.
Turns out Phantom was too busy to write.
Oh, well. Maybe like me, he had a busy Monday.
I pull out the work phone to check my email, but before I do, the meeting room door opens, and Butt-Head—I mean, Mike—waltzes in.
With a wide grin, he passes by a dozen chairs before plopping into the one right next to me.
Is everyone acting weird today, or is something up with me?
“Where’s your laptop?” I put my phone down on the table. “I didn’t bring mine.”
“Laptop?” He gapes at me like I’ve sprouted a pink mohawk.
I eye him in confusion. “Don’t we need a screen to look at code?”
He slides the chair closer to me. “Actually, I have a confession to make. It wasn’t code I wanted to talk to you about.”
Why do I have a bad feeling about this?
I shift my chair away. “What then?”
He leans in, and I can smell stale coffee and even staler garlic on his breath. “Rumor has it, you’re using the guys around the office to test sex toys—and I want to throw my name in the hat.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My eyes all but pop out of their sockets. “What?”
He frowns. “I thought we had a moment there, in the elevator. Or do you only invite people who can help your career?”
I jackknife to my feet, my face burning as if from a slap. “This conversation is over.”
He jumps up and grabs my elbow. “Hey. I’m in dev. You want to move over there. I’m sure I could help.”
I give him a scathing glare. “Let me go.”
“Come on. Don’t be like that.” His grip tightens. “I just—”
“Let. Go. Of. Her.”
The voice is pure Impaler.
Mike loosens his grip instantly.
Vlad is in the doorway, his gaze trained on my assailant.
If looks could kill, Mike’s body would be a bloodless husk.
Paling, Mike looks from me to Vlad. “I was just—”
Before I can even blink, Vlad is between me and Mike. “Get out.”
Mike takes a shuffling step back. “I just wanted to be a tester, like you.”
Vlad takes a menacing step toward his employee. “You’re fired. Effective immediately.”
For a second, Mike looks shell-shocked—as though the concept of getting fired for harassing a female coworker is rocket science to him. In the next moment, anger replaces the shock on his face. “How convenient. A spot opens on the dev team just as your mistress wants it.”
“You’re trespassing.” Vlad’s voice is guttural and frightening. “One more word, and you will be forcefully removed from the premises.” His powerful fists clench and unclench at his sides.
Mike pales further, his bravado deflating. Turning on his heel, he scurries out of the room.
Vla
d strides over to the phone in the middle of the table and orders security to make sure he leaves the building and never comes back.
As he does that, I finally recover from shock enough to start putting the pieces together.
A rumor. About my testing.
Was that why Sandra had acted so weird? Had she also heard about said rumor?
And what a strange one it is. Me testing with a bunch of men? Why would I do that? I only needed the one.
And Vlad coming to my rescue. How did he get here in such a timely fashion?
Then I remember him talking about hypothetically watching my meeting with Sandra through the cameras.
I guess that wasn’t hypothetical. He really does watch what happens here, at least when he’s jealous.
Hanging up, Vlad turns his ferocious stare my way. “I knew something was off about this meeting.”
I take a step back. “I thought he was Phantom. How was I—”
“Phantom?” He pronounces the word with a strong Russian accent. “He isn’t. I am.”
“You?”
I feel like a dope.
Of course it’s him. That long conversation with my mom about opera. Elegant code. Concern about the privacy of my photo database.
Who else could it have been?
“Why didn’t you just say so?” I ask dazedly.
My emotions are all over the place. I have no idea what to think about any of this.
He scrubs a hand over his face. “I wanted the freedom to mentor you without complicating our already-complex relationship. More importantly, it simply didn’t come up.”
Complex relationship.
That’s an understatement of the century.
“How did they find out about the testing?” I sneak a peek at the office floor through the glass walls. “Sandra?”
His jaw muscles tense. “She wouldn’t. I think you revealed it. Inadvertently.”
“Me?” The question is the closest I can get to a growl. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t take privacy seriously.” The words come out clipped—an accusation if there ever was one. “I guessed the password on your source control repository effortlessly. Chocula2019, right?”
I stagger back. “How?”
“The whimsical variable name you overused, plus the current year. Not rocket science. And I bet you use the same exact password to log into the cloud server where you keep the testing documentation. Tell me I’m wrong.”
He’s not wrong, but he also couldn’t make me feel stupider if he tried.
I start to see red. “You hacked me?”
He gives me one of his Impaler glares. “Someone else hacked you. I cleaned up that counter variable, remember? I was looking out for you.”
What bullshit. “If you knew my password wasn’t secure, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t get a chance. Besides, I didn’t want you to think I was invading your privacy.”
“Right, okay. And now my reputation is in shambles.” A situation made infinitely worse by the fact that it’s all my fault.
I couldn’t feel more embarrassed if I tried.
He sighs and adjusts his glasses. He looks infinitely less angry now. “I’ll have to look into that rumor business. For now, you should change your passwords everywhere you can think of. Better late than never. Instead of using the letters in your favorite word, you can swap them for numbers that correspond to the position of those letters in the alphabet. Or just use—”
“Don’t patronize me!” Rationally, I know I’m not being entirely fair, but I can’t take this anymore. The cauldron of anger and embarrassment in my chest has reached its boiling point. “I aced a class in cryptography in the same school as you.”
His eyebrows snap together. “I wasn’t—”
“I’m leaving.” I circle around him and head for the door.
“What about the lunch?” he calls to my back.
“I lost my appetite.” I sprint for the elevators.
I’m not running away from him so much as this office, with its toxic rumors.
To my relief, no one crosses my path on the way. As soon as an elevator door opens, I jump inside and jab the lobby button.
As the doors are closing, I spot Vlad stalking toward me, his expression night dark.
He’s chasing me?
Doesn’t matter.
The elevator doors slide shut before he can jam his hand in.
In the cab on the way home, I replay what just happened in my head.
Over and over.
No matter which angle I look from, what used to be my great reputation at Binary Birch is now history.
Though people don’t know that I went full cliché and actually slept with the company owner, they do think I used toys on him and on other dudes—the latter being a hurtful lie. No matter what happens now, the specter of preferential treatment will taint my career, which sucks because I work hard at my job. In fact, I got into this mess because I was such a good tester. Not that anyone will care anymore. Now they’ll assume I’m using sex to get what I want, be it a transfer into the development department or a promotion.
The worst part is, if I do get that transfer now, I myself won’t be sure it happened for the right reasons.
As the cab enters Brooklyn, my thoughts turn to Vlad, and my embarrassment and anger give way to a mix of guilt and regret.
I shouldn’t have stormed out on him the way I did. What happened wasn’t his fault.
I mean, could he—Mr. Privacy—have handled the password situation better?
Probably.
Did he owe me the Phantom info?
Not exactly.
In fact, Phantom’s praise had actually felt nicer, more deserved before I knew Vlad was behind it.
We stop next to my place.
I pay and rush to my door.
A package is waiting for me there.
Inside the box is a fanny pack—though it calls itself “a waist bag.” It’s Chanel, stylish as hell, and contains a note signed by Vlad:
Own it.
I don’t know how I should feel about this. The bag must cost thousands of dollars.
The shipping date is from the day before yesterday, so he didn’t know about today’s mess when he sent it. Or that we’d sleep together.
Is it a sign that he likes me or a thank-you for a testing job well done?
I know I’m not thinking clearly right now, so I take out Precious and call Ava.
She doesn’t pick up.
I leave her a voicemail to call me back ASAP, and even send her an SOS text.
No reply.
Maybe I should email her for good measure? Sometimes she checks her inbox from her work computer when her phone is dead.
I launch my email, and something in my inbox catches my eye.
It’s that Google alert I’d created to monitor for news mentioning Vlad’s name.
Curious, I click on the alert and open the article in question.
It’s on Cosmopolitan’s website. The tagline states:
Belka sex toys so addictive, reclusive CEO Vlad Chortsky couldn’t help but test on himself.
Chapter Thirty
Precious slips out of my fingers, hitting the floor with a thud.
Hands shaking, I pick up my poor phone.
The screen is cracked, but the article is still visible and I’m able to read the rest of it.
According to a source, Vlad and a female QA tester couldn’t help themselves and used the toys to reach multiple orgasms. The article even goes as far as to list the number of orgasms he and I had, and every type of toy used.
What’s worse, they have a picture of Vlad, and I recognize it. It’s the very same one I snapped at Starbucks when I first saw him, the one used by my app.
This proves it.
Vlad was right when he said that it was me and not Sandra who’s responsible for this info getting out. Someone snooped around that public photo database my app uses—the very s
ame one that Phantom/Vlad had suggested I make more private. The leaker dug out that photo and guessed my password to get my testing results from my documentation. They then handed all this to Cosmo, along with the gossip about Vlad, whose name wasn’t in my write-up.
Since the Cosmo folks were going to write a story about Belka toys anyway, they jumped at the chance to make it juicier.
This would be bad even if Vlad weren’t obsessed with privacy. As is, I can’t even fathom how pissed he’ll be when he learns about this.
Fuck.
Between my storming out earlier and this, I doubt I’ll ever hear from him again.
Feeling masochistic, I text him the link to the article, asking, Have you seen this?
No reply.
I begin to pace my apartment.
With every second he doesn’t text me back, I get more anxious.
He could at the very least say something, even if it’s “You’re fired” or “I never want to see you again.”
To calm myself down, I grab some treats and go to feed Monkey.
She’s not alone.
Of course.
Vlad left Oracle here.
That’s just great. Every time a guy dumps my ass, I get another guinea pig.
Soon, I’ll have a whole pigsty.
Since this isn’t Oracle’s fault, I feed both of them as they squeak and run around, popcorning in joy.
Their cute antics actually make me feel a little better. That is, until I get angry—but this time, not at Vlad.
It’s the hacker.
The person who actually contacted Cosmo, and no doubt spread those rumors around the office as well.
Whoever it is, I hate them, and it’s always good to know who you hate.
Jumping on my laptop, I navigate my way to my cloud storage account and check access history for the testing document.
It doesn’t take long to locate what I’m looking for.
Someone who lives in Queens—as in, not me—has regularly accessed the file in the last couple of days.
I grit my teeth. The IP of the scum looks familiar.
I bring up the IP of that CrazyOops user who’d said catty things about my app.
Yep.
It’s a match.
