Hard Code: A Laugh-Out-Loud Workplace Romantic Comedy

by Misha Bell

  Which means there’s a very good chance it was Britney behind all this.

  Not a huge surprise. She’s known as a hacker, she hates my guts, and she’s been sniffing around this project from the start. She’d even stalked our lunches.

  Vlad being rude to her at the monthly meeting probably didn’t help matters.

  Fuming, I go down the rabbit hole of internet searches to find out if what she did is legal.

  Nope. Unauthorized access to computer systems is a crime.

  Speaking of crimes, smothering Britney would also not be legal, no matter how good it would feel.

  I resume my pacing.

  It’s been hours now, and nothing from Vlad.

  I might as well admit it.

  He’s ghosting me—and I can’t blame him.

  His privacy is kaput, all because of my negligence, and his sister didn’t get the write-up she’d hoped for.

  Well, screw him. By not talking to me, he’s missing the Britney info.

  This might actually be for the best. I was beginning to fall for that bastard, and if he’s like this, I’d rather learn early.

  Yeah. I should thank him for not texting.

  This is like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  That’s always a good idea, right?

  Maybe not if the Band-Aid is covering a festering wound.

  I stop pacing and force myself to eat.

  Everything tastes like cardboard. Montages of my lunches with Vlad play out in my treacherous brain, followed by recollections of us cuddling last night.

  And the orgasms he gave me.

  Okay, need major distraction.

  I immerse myself in video games—something I haven’t done in a while. It helps a bit. Beheading zombies isn’t as satisfying as scalping Britney would be, but at least it’s more socially acceptable.

  Maybe this is what I should’ve done with my computer science degree: made games that let people forget the crap in their lives, at least for a while.

  By midnight, any hope I had for a reply from Vlad is gone, so I stumble into bed and cry myself to sleep.

  I wake up to the chime of a doorbell.

  Leaping off the bed, I rush to the bathroom and make myself semi-presentable before sprinting for the door.

  “Who is it?” I ask, then belatedly recall that I can now look at the video app on my phone.

  “Ava.”

  Crap. I’ve never been so disappointed to hear my friend’s voice.

  I open the door.

  She looks furious. “Who texts SOS and then ignores her friend’s calls?”

  I blink at her. “I didn’t ignore you.”

  She pushes her way in. “I texted and called a hundred times. Literally.”

  “Hold up.” I stumble into the living room and pick up Precious. “Nothing from you.”

  She scoffs. “I called and texted. Repeatedly.”

  A sinking feeling builds in my stomach—but also a flutter of hope.

  I check Precious more thoroughly.

  Damn it. It’s not just the screen that’s cracked. When I dropped it, it also lost the ability to receive calls and messages.

  Which means Vlad might not have ghosted me.

  I was too out of it yesterday to realize that Ava had also disappeared on me. If I were in my right mind, that would’ve raised all sorts of red flags.

  Ava puts her hands on her hips. “You need to spill whatever it is. Now.”

  I make us two bowls of chocolatey cereal, and we gobble it down as I give her the whole awful story.

  “I bet he thinks you ghosted him,” Ava says. “You stormed out and all that.”

  I put down my spoon. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  She slurps the last of her milk. “So what now?”

  “Give me your phone.”

  She does. I pull up Vlad’s number on my mostly dead Precious and call Vlad from Ava’s phone.

  He doesn’t answer.

  Maybe he’s screening numbers he doesn’t know?

  I look for my work phone but can’t find it.

  Did I forget it at his place, just like my panties?

  No. It must’ve been that meeting room.

  I remember putting it down on the table, but I have zero recollection of picking it up.

  Fuck it.

  I jump to my feet. “I’m going to go to him.”

  Ava wrinkles her nose. “You might want to make yourself look like a human first.”

  “Right.” I drop our bowls into the sink. “I’m sorry you came all this way just to watch me leave.”

  She grins. “Don’t worry about me. It might be fun to help you get ready.”

  I rush into my closet and look for something to wear that screams “grand romantic gesture.”

  It doesn’t take me long to pick out the perfect thing.

  It’s my Halloween costume of many years in a row.

  Donning the black vinyl, I return to the living room.

  “What do you know?” Ava says, scanning me from head to toe. “Yet another rich guy into BDSM.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m supposed to be Trinity from The Matrix, and you know it.”

  She grins. “Let me help you with makeup.”

  “How about you do it on the way?”

  She agrees, and I get her to order us an Uber.

  While we wait for the car, I check my work email, just in case.

  As I suspected, there are countless messages from Vlad, proving without a shadow of doubt that he didn’t ghost me.

  You’re not answering your phone, one says. Can we talk?

  Next one: I understand why you’re upset. Can you call me?

  I scroll down to the fifteenth email.

  Just found your work phone. Did you lose your personal one as well?

  Before I read any more, Ava’s phone informs us that the driver is outside. We run out and jump into the car, where Ava makes me look borderline goth—a makeup style that works nicely with my dark hair and pale skin tone.

  “Go get him,” she says when the car stops next to my work building. “You look amazeballs.”

  “Thanks.” I jump out and put on my Matrix-inspired sunshades before rushing into the building.

  Exiting the elevator on the Binary Birch floor, I bump right into a bunch of people with coffees in their hands. They’re exiting the other elevator.

  Ugh. They’re from the dev team, and thanks to Murphy’s law, Britney is among them.

  I suppress the urge to go for her throat. Murder is wrong, and downright dumb when you’re surrounded by so many witnesses.

  Clearly unaware of the danger she’s in, Britney looks me over with an eye roll. “Is it time to test the nipple clamps already?”

  The people around us shift their gazes between us, looking uncomfortable.

  I take off my shades so I can properly glare at her. “Your jokes are as crap as your coding skills.”

  A few bystander eyebrows shoot up.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “What could you possibly know about coding, you hack?”

  Red mist veils my vision. I’ve been waiting for this for so, so long. “More than you, that’s for sure. You don’t use consistent indentation, you leave zero comments, and you misspell the words in variable names half the time. And I don’t think you even know the meaning of ‘modularization.’ Do I need to keep going? Because I can.”

  To my shock, several of her teammates nod approvingly. Someone even mutters something like, “Mad burn.”

  Britney squeezes her coffee so hard it spills over. “At least I didn’t let the Impaler poke me with a dildo.”

  My glare can melt lead at this point. “He wouldn’t poke you with a ten-foot pole, that’s for sure.”

  She bristles, advancing on me. “How dare you?”

  Fine. No more Ms. Nice Fanny. “I know it was you,” I grit through my teeth.

  Blanching, she stops in her tracks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I rattle ou
t her IP address. “Does that sound familiar? Because I called your ISP, and they confirmed that’s yours.”

  I did no such thing, but the bluff clearly works. She whitens to ghost levels and takes a step back.

  Time for the kill—unfortunately metaphorical. “If I see your face or IP address ever again, I’m going to give the info to the Impaler. Given how crazy he is about privacy, and how rich, he’ll probably make sure you rot in jail.”

  She’s so green I’m tempted to give her Dramamine. “It was just a joke.”

  I put my sunglasses back on. “Like I said, your jokes are as crap as your code.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Not waiting to see the dev team’s reaction, I hurry down the hallway and barge into Vlad’s office.

  He’s not here.

  Damn it.

  Where is he?

  I look for a calendar, but of course, this isn’t 1989 or whenever it was when everyone stopped using paper.

  Bolstered by my outfit and the encounter with Britney, I circle around Vlad’s desk and wake up his computer.

  It’s locked.

  Of course. Standard company policy—which sucks, because if I could sneak a peek at his digital calendar, I’d figure out where he is.

  If only I could guess his pin code…

  I bite my lip, considering it.

  Our pin codes are six digits, so there are a million different random combinations.

  So guessing at random is out.

  I have to try to think of what he might actually use.

  I look up, and sure enough, there’s a security camera in the corner of his office.

  Is that in case someone tries what I’m about to do?

  Well, hopefully he won’t be too mad at me.

  I wave at the camera. “This is what you get for stalking me in your meeting rooms.”

  Just in case he watches the tape later.

  For now, I try 123456 for the pin code.

  Nope. That would’ve been too easy.

  I try 654321.

  Still no.

  I try different permutations of his birth date.

  None work.

  The beginning and end digits of his phone number don’t work either.

  If I keep this up, the computer will lock me out for too many failed attempts.

  Then I recall something he’d said right before I stormed out of that meeting room, about how you can use numbers to represent the letters of the alphabet in a favorite word.

  Could it be that simple?

  I convert what I think might be his favorite word—Neo—to 140515.

  Score!

  The computer unlocks, and the first thing that stares me in the face is an email Vlad must’ve been drafting before he locked his screen.

  Its subject line states: “Britney Archibald’s Termination.”

  Unable to help myself, I skim the message.

  Of course.

  Vlad figured out she was the leak and the one spreading the rumors. Attached are transcripts of instant messenger conversations where she told Mike how I was testing sex toys with multiple men at Binary Birch, including the guy in HR whose name happens to be in the “To” of Vlad’s email.

  She is so screwed.

  Somehow, Vlad even managed to dig up proof that Britney had hacked the social media accounts of her ex from the sales department—something that was only rumored until now.

  It’s official.

  Britney bit off more than she could chew when she gave Vlad’s name to Cosmo.

  Minimizing the email, I check Vlad’s calendar to see where he is.

  Huh.

  He’s at 1000 Devils, and where the agenda should be is my name.

  Is he asking his brother for some relationship advice?

  That doesn’t track. Vlad has attached my resume to this meeting, as well as links to my app’s code. I’d hope those aren’t critical for any relationship we might or might not have.

  Then it hits me.

  He’s getting me a job.

  Leaping out of his chair, I sprint out of the building and jump into a cab.

  Time to face 1000 Devils.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I step out of the elevator furtively.

  Nope.

  No one shoots me.

  At least not yet.

  Sprinting for the Nerf gun armory, I get myself a proper arsenal: two handguns that I stuff into my waistband and a two-handed machine-gun contraption.

  If I’m going to work at this place—and I don’t know if I am—I’ll have to fit in with their quirky culture.

  If that means shooting my way to Vlad, so be it.

  Clutching my Nerf machine gun, I exit the room and creep onto the main floor.

  An orange projectile is hurtling at my face, but I sidestep and it whooshes by my ear.

  “Nice one,” someone says.

  I spin around and put a bullet in the chest of a redhead with a beer belly. I vaguely remember him from my last visit.

  Someone jumps out of the cube on the right.

  I dodge her shot, then shoot her in the boob.

  Another person leaps out of a cube.

  I lunge behind a column, avoiding the projectile.

  Peeking out to take aim, I kneecap the last assailant.

  A bunch of darts hits the column.

  I stick my head out, spot an older lady unloading her gun in my direction, and shoot her in the arm.

  Another round of darts misses me.

  I peek once more.

  A guy with a buzzcut is reloading.

  I shoot his neck, then sprint for the column near the large meeting room.

  Through the glass, I see Vlad and Alex speaking animatedly, but they don’t notice me.

  Which is fine.

  I don’t need backup anyway.

  Taking in a deep breath, I sprint out of my hiding spot.

  The next few moments happen like a slow-motion effect in The Matrix.

  I dodge a dart, then hit its source in the shoulder.

  Leaping over a low-flying projectile, I drop my empty machine gun to the floor and pull out two handguns while still in the air.

  Bang. Bang.

  Two handed, I hit two people in my path to the meeting room and grab the door handle.

  A whole cloud of Nerf darts is now flying my way, but I’m already behind the glass door.

  The darts hit the glass and drop futilely to the floor.

  Victory!

  “Fanny?” Vlad is staring at me with a mixture of confusion and approval. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

  I take off my sunglasses. “Guessed your pin code and took a peek at your calendar. Sorry about before. My phone was broken. I wasn’t ignoring you. Because of the article, I thought—” I stop, catching the fascinated expression on Alex’s face. “Never mind.”

  A slow smile spreads over Vlad’s face. “It’s good that you came. We were just talking about you.”

  Alex stands up. “Hey there, Fanny. Good to see you again.” He shakes my hand. “I was going to get my HR folks to reach out to you first, but since you’re here, I want to formally extend you an offer for a developer position here at 1000 Devils.”

  So, my guess was correct.

  Vlad is getting me another job.

  And not just any job.

  Software development, exactly what I want to do.

  My excitement battles with embarrassment. Before this goes any further, I have to ask Alex something important. “Is this because I slept with your brother?”

  Eyes widening, Alex darts Vlad a questioning glance. “You did? I guess… good for you guys?”

  If I hoped that recent events had desensitized my cheeks from burning, no such luck. They heat up with an almost sadistic enthusiasm as I sneak a peek at Vlad.

  Did I just blurt something I shouldn’t have?

  Will he be even madder at me now?

  His face is unreadable, though one corner of his mouth appears t
o be twitching in either amusement or anger.

  Alex scratches the back of his head. “Actually, Fanny, I wanted to hire you after you found that glitch in our game, but Vlad and I have a no-poaching policy, so I figured it wasn’t meant to be. When he told me you’re looking for something more fun and challenging, but in the coding area instead of testing, I got intrigued. And since he just showed me your recent work, I have no doubt you’d be an asset here. We’re currently working on an RPG where we want to match user’s images to a database of pre-prepared character faces that look like them. Does that sound familiar?”

  My excitement grows with each word he speaks, and by the time he’s done, I can’t help but bob my head repeatedly. “That’s basically what my app does.” My voice all but bursts with eagerness. “Just replace cartoon characters with game ones.”

  Alex smiles. “Exactly. You’ll be able to hit the ground running. Assuming you’re interested?” His expression turns more serious. “Before you decide, I can tell you here and now: Whatever happens between you and my brother will never have any bearing on your job. I can put that in legalese if you want me to.”

  I grin so widely I can feel it in my ears. “In that case, yes.”

  I extend my hand, and we shake on it.

  Vlad rises to his feet. “She actually means ‘maybe.’ To get a yes, you need to wow her with things like salary and benefits.”

  I almost smack myself on the forehead. “Vlad’s right. My talents don’t come cheap.”

  Alex grins. “I’m sure we can work something out. It’s Binary Birch we’re competing with, after all.” He gives Vlad a good-natured wink. “For example, our dress code is less restrictive—Matrix attire being purely optional.”

  I beam at him. “Thank you. This is very exciting. I’ll be on the lookout for a formal offer. Now if you don’t mind, I need to talk to Vlad.” I give my-soon-to-be former employer a hesitant smile. “Assuming you want to talk to me?”

  Vlad cocks his head. “We can talk… provided you let me cook you a lunch of my choice.”

  I resist the urge to jump up and down like a kid. “It’s a deal.”

  As Alex walks us out of the 1000 Devils building, I make the easiest decision of my life.

  Unless it’s a huge pay cut—and I doubt that very much—I’ll take the 1000 Devils’ job. Making video games is something every gamer thinks about as soon as they start their introductory programming classes, and a company like this seems particularly cool. The culture at 1000 Devils is quirky, with the guns and all—but that just seems like a fun adventure, not a drawback.