“I get it.” He slid his hands to the small of her back, holding her captive. “I would go everywhere with you on my arm if it weren’t career suicide.”
Her laugh came out strangled. “I thought I’d never hear that again when I quit dancing.”
“I—” The words stuck in his throat. He wanted to say them. Needed to tell her, for his own sanity. It wasn’t fair to her though. He swallowed back the, I love you. “I know what I said back then, but I was never embarrassed about you dancing.”
“Don’t.” She dropped her hands, stepped out of his grasp, and hugged her robe tight around her. “It’s a nice sentiment. Don’t ruin it.”
He wanted to reach for her again, but the inches between them felt like a chasm. “I’m glad we did this too.”
“If you ever—” She snapped her mouth shut. “Never mind. Have a safe flight.”
He knew what she’d been about to say. It was the same thought running through his head, though he had no interest in vocalizing it. He never for a second considered it an option, because even though he knew it was the only solution, it wasn’t one he’d ask for. If you ever quit your job... You know, stop working for the competition... I’ll be here.
He wasn’t completely aware of telling her goodbye, or walking to the car. He made it back to the hotel without too much trouble. Was it worth it to stay in town the rest of the day? He could fly out tonight. It was tempting, but if Camille told him to fly back tomorrow, he was expected to bill the hours in between.
Fortunately he wasn’t expected to work, on top of that. He didn’t think he had the mental capacity for it.
Chapter Sixteen
VIVIAN DIDN’T KNOW how long she stood near the counter, hands hooked over the edges, gripping until her fingertips were numb. The turmoil that raged in the back of her head over the past week surged to the forefront of her mind. All of it punctuated with a single statement.
I don’t understand.
She shook the thoughts aside and made her way back to the bedroom. She showered. She dressed. She tugged at the sheet on the bed. Maybe she’d do laundry and wash Damon’s scent from the blankets.
Despite the stakes being so much higher now than fourteen years ago, the decision didn’t seem more clear cut. She wasn’t simply proud of what she’d earned in her career, she actually loved her job. How many people could say that? Besides, quitting a job because of a man—no matter what man, or the fact she’d find new work quickly—meant giving up parts of her life for him. That thing she swore she’d never do. Women who ignored their friends for a guy needed to move on. But it wasn’t love if she wasn’t willing to make some sacrifices.
She sank onto the corner of the mattress and dropped her face into her hands. Love. Was it, actually? The hollow pit where her heart should beat said it was, but maybe she was fooling herself.
A voice she hadn’t heard for years echoed in her head. Her mother’s. I love him sweetie... He says he’s sorry... It won’t happen again... He says it’s for the best... I deserved it.
But he’s not like that. He’s different. Vivian screamed in the empty room, as her own justification mingled with that voice from so long ago.
The last place she needed to be right now was in her own head, so time in the dance studio in the other room was out of the question. She might as well do some work. Tomorrow she’d be stuck in a conference room during office hours, and she had to finish making sure things were ready for the audit before then. Focus on work. The mantra repeated in her head. She shot down any follow—up thoughts about work being part of the problem, or suggesting she call Damon instead.
She set her laptop up on the desk at the far end of her bedroom and pulled up the information from Tate again. Where was she? Her mouse cursor hovered over a .pdf. It was the same one that caught her eye the other day, but she couldn’t figure out why. She double clicked the file again and studied the contents. It was the NSS email newsletter, about their new crowdfunding website. The ad had gone out to their subscribers the day after Tate started having trouble with his pilot groups on similar software.
It had been irritating, but the site issues weren’t exactly proprietary knowledge, so it made sense NSS would strike while Skriddie was recovering. Something about this email though...
Fuck me. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed Jared.
“Yeah?” Didn’t matter how many years he worked as a top executive, he never answered the phone differently.
Vivian smiled at the familiarity. “Crowdfunding. Did you ever fix the security issues with the cloud-based apps?”
“You’re working on a Sunday afternoon?”
She laughed. “Because you’re playing video games with your girlfriend?”
“No. I got tired of being sniped and then tea-bagged. I’m catching up on some of Tate’s work.”
“See?” She had a feeling that would be the case. “Yes or no on the security?”
“No. Current technology makes the issue impossible to overcome. That’s why we scrapped the features around it. Unless someone in operations wants to give me the budget and manpower to fix it.”
Even though this was standard everyday business, talking to Jared helped her feel better. As long as she didn’t think about why she needed to feel better. “NSS fixed it.”
“No, they didn’t.” There was no hesitation or uncertainty in his response. “They’re either lying, or they don’t know the flaw is there.”
That was what she thought. This was all circumstantial, but it made sense. “Who set up the crowdfunding servers?”
“Mikki. You know that.”
“No. Not the patch job Tate pulled together. The original, the images—the stuff Marge Foster squeezed the bandwidth on.”
“Dewson. He does all that stuff. You know that too.”
She did, but she liked the confirmation. She also wanted to see if Jared reached the same conclusion she did, to confirm if she was on the right track or grasping at straws. “And who else was with us in Vegas? On the phone.”
“Dewson.”
“And who did all the server and network checks, when NSS started those rumors about holes in our security? And who else was up for the ethical hack job, when Mikki applied? The guy who wasn’t quite qualified. Who threw a fit when he found out. Who just bought a car worth as much as Tate’s Bentley on an IT salary.”
Jared’s exhale echoed over the line. “Fuck me.”
“Exactly.” She was right. Another piece slammed into place in her head and knocked her elation off-center. Asshole. “He knew, and he didn’t tell me.” The words came out more softly than she intended.
“Dewson?”
“Damon.” The first night they came back here. She’d asked him twice what had changed. Why he was willing to cross that line. This was the answer. It might not be true, but something sinking in her gut told her she was right.
“Why would he tell you?” Jared asked.
It was a good question. They’d spent more than a day together, barely pausing to eat, and never really to put on clothes, but that didn’t mean he would disclose that kind of information. It was part of what they’d agreed on. Why did it feel so much like a betrayal, then? Possibly because this was more than keeping a source’s name secret. “I don’t know. Thinking aloud.”
“We’ve always known they had someone on the inside.”
She was grateful to Jared for not pushing the out-of-place comment. “Do we think Dewson really did something like sell them our code?” Which was why it bothered her that Damon would keep this secret. It wasn’t even questionable ethics at that point. It was more than the is this okay? of someone spilling what they’d heard in a business meeting. This was a contract violation. Possibly theft.
He doesn’t owe you anything. He’s still the lawyer for the competition. And it was still just sex. That was why it hurt so much. Because it meant Damon had as clinical an approach to the whole thing as she did, but without all the haunting doubt and second-guessing.
/> “If we prove this, NSS has to settle.” Jared’s comment yanked her back to the conversation.
“I’ll call Legal and have them subpoena Dewson’s bank records. Get Hayden and Dewson in line for questioning.” Get back to business. That was what she needed to do. Ignore the acid devouring her gut.
“Let me know what I can do,” Jared said. “And Viv?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
She didn’t have to ask. He meant the comment she’d made about Damon. “It’s nothing. Talk to you tomorrow.”
She fired off an email to their legal team and tried to dive back into work, but her focus was shot. She didn’t have a right to be upset with Damon. If he knew, it wasn’t something he could share. Before a single bit of skin was exposed, they both understood talking about this case was off limits. Betrayal and doubt taunted her anyway. Besides, he might not have any idea Dewson was selling Skriddie secrets to his clients. She drew a lot of abrupt conclusions, based on a simple conversation in a restaurant, and they could all be wrong.
Conflicting opinions raged in her head, each trying to convince her they were right, until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She grabbed her phone and typed up a quick text to Damon.
You knew. Didn’t you? Wow, way to sound accusatory. That wouldn’t work.
Keeping something from me? This was a little too coy, obscure, and bordered on either flirty or psychotic ex.
She settled on, Did you know about Dewson?
Simple question. No accusation. A yes or no would suffice. He’d say no, and she’d turn this all back on NSS and go back to trying not to lose herself in the memories of the last few days.
The phone beeped with a reply. She reached for it, but hesitated, hand hovering over it. Waiting wouldn’t change the answer. She forced herself to look.
Yes.
The single word knocked the bottom out of her stomach, and she dropped her phone. It clattered to the desk. Of course he knew. As much as she wanted to believe the passion was real, the connection was there, and everything that came with the shared moments meant something, it was simply business and sex. Maybe she was overreacting and being irrational, but experience told her she was finally acting sane. The last week had never been anything more that stolen moments frozen in time.
Chapter Seventeen
DAMON SAT AT HIS GATE, waiting to board the plane. He’d lost count of the number of times he almost said fuck it that morning, turned the car away from airport traffic, and drove back to Vivian’s.
It would only delay the inevitable for a few more hours. Instead, he’d fly back home, stuff this bullshit lawsuit toward the back of his thoughts, and focus on real cases. The attendant announced boarding would begin soon, and Damon shifted his laptop bag onto his shoulder. One perk of traveling so much for job was platinum status with almost every airline, so he’d board first. His phone chimed, and he moved to press ignore and set it to airplane mode. The name on the screen, Kyle Ridge, made him pause. At least they’d picked someone respectable, to take his place on the case. He clicked Answer. “This is Damon Vicker.”
“Hey. You’re probably boarding soon, but I need two minutes.”
Fair enough. Damon expected a call earlier, maybe even last night, to go over any missing details of the case. It might have been a nice distraction from his own thoughts as well. “What’s up?”
“Prosecution is talking about subpoenas on bank records. Camille didn’t mention they knew about Dewson. Do they have enough information that I need to be worried?”
Damon furrowed his brow. First Vivian’s brief, completely unsatisfactory text yesterday, and now this. Over a phone conversation in a Vegas hotel room? “What do bank records have to do with that?”
“Camille told me...” Silence spilled over the line. In the airport background, the attendant began boarding. “Never mind; I’ll get the information from Vanya,” Kyle said a moment later.
Concern built in Damon’s thoughts, and he grasped for missing threads, struggling to stitch something together. “No, tell me. What does Dewson know that has to do with bank records?”
Kyle paused again, and the second dragged on. People lined up at the gate, to board the plane. “He’s their guy on the inside.”
“Obviousl—” Damon snapped off the sarcastic retort as everything tumbled together. Bank records meant money changing hands—either bribery or pay for work. Which meant Dewson was giving NSS more than just snippets of phone conversations here and there. How much, though? “Why did you know about this and I didn’t?”
“Not a clue.” Kyle’s shrug was almost audible. “It’s in the case notes I got.”
“We’ll now begin boarding our remaining passengers.” A pleasant voice came over the loudspeaker.
“I’ve got to go.” Damon let every foul word he knew scroll through his thoughts, but he kept them from his voice. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, man.”
As Kyle hung up, Damon glanced between his phone and the boarding line. This entire case had been an ethical gray area, but if money had changed hands, especially if it was enough for Skriddie to ask about bank records...
He should forget this. Not his case, not his problem. A year ago—hell, six months ago—he would have tucked away the misgivings and moved on. Except his mind wouldn’t let him drop this, even if it didn’t involve Vivian.
He was jumping to conclusions. Camille would clear things up. Five minutes tops, and he’d make his flight.
If I really want to.
Fucking voice. He brought up Camille’s number, waited for her to answer, and exchanged strained pleasantries with her.
“I’m glad you called. I was going to wait until you landed, but now works.” The false cheer vanished from her voice.
He tucked his own questions aside. They’d have more impact if she wasn’t waiting her turn to talk. “Do tell,” he said.
“Promise me again you didn’t sleep with someone from the prosecution’s witness list.”
“We already had this conversation.” A trepidation grew inside him. Did she know? Did he care?
“Damn it, Vicker. What are the odds anyone else knows about this?”
The right answer was, There’s nothing to know. Something snapped inside, and apathy surged in. “Depends on how many people Hayden told.”
“That’s so much the very wrong answer.” There was no snideness or fake cheer in her tone, or anything but irritation. “Bury this. You never even give a hint to anyone else that this happened. Get your ass back here and pretend last week was a dream.”
“Final boarding call, Flight 728 to Salt Lake, continuing to Seattle.”
He could hang up now, catch his flight, and do exactly what Camille said. Or he could push his luck, take a stab in the dark at how serious this was, and potentially ruin his career. Fuck it. “How about, instead, I tell Skriddie the details of this bullshit with their IT guy? That he’s sold their software to the competition, he’s planted viruses on their network, and he’s drawn a healthy paycheck in the process? Even working for both companies at the same time is a contract violation.” He might be way off the mark, and if so, this was about to blow up in his face.
“Is this extortion?” Camille asked.
Nope. He had it, all right. This was disappointing. How did he not see it sooner? “It’s not. That would imply I have a price.”
“So... what? You’re going to violate client-attorney privilege, after already committing a very serious ethics violation, and you think you’ll come out of this on top? You’ll be disbarred. I’ll file the complaint myself.”
“That’s fine.” He turned and strode from the gate, toward baggage claim and the rental-car shuttles. This was insane. He was throwing away a career he’d worked over a decade to build. Flushing it all, when his only backup plan was to draw a small salary from a charity foundation as a consultant, handling arbitrations. It was possible he’d never be able to practice law again if he did this.
&
nbsp; “I don’t know what your bluff is, but you’re not thinking this through.” Panic crept into Camille’s tone. “You tell them this, the case crumbles. NSS will have to reach a settlement now, the publicity on this could cause huge damage to our image. People here will lose their jobs.”
He wasn’t completely callous about the situation. He knew the last bit was thrown in as an exaggeration. “Do what you have to do. I quit. Not only the case, but all of it. I’m done.”
“This comes down on Vivian Graff, too.”
The threat made him pause, but he recovered quickly. “She wasn’t involved.”
“Really. It took two, to do what you did.”
“I’m intimately aware of that. She wasn’t involved.”
“This conversation is over.” The line went dead.
Damon shoved his phone back in his jacket pocket, already taking a mental inventory of next steps. Fax a formal resignation, shred his company credit cards, be prepared to pick up the bill himself for the last week—though if the firm could get away with charging NSS, they would.
Most important on the list was find Vivian, explain, and tell her he loved her.
And pray his impulsiveness didn’t cost her.
VIVIAN ALMOST MANAGED to hide her smugness when their lawyers mentioned requesting Hayden’s bank records and getting an early testimony from him and Dewson. Her smile grew a little more as the NSS legal team called for an immediate break and walked away in a small, chattering flock around Hayden.
Her victory vanished when they returned and said Hayden would hand over the documentation willingly, and that he wanted to answer questions now.
The entire time, she squashed any thoughts of Damon. That he’d seen this coming. That the preceding days had meant nothing to him. Okay, so she did a shitty job of ignoring any of the thoughts. It would happen with time, though.
Her Counselor (Love Hack, #3) Page 12
