by Penny Wylder
I can feel myself nodding, my heart rising in my chest once more. But still… “You shouldn’t have to talk to her. Let me.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“But you have all this history, this baggage. It will hurt you to confront her.”
He’s shaking his head hard. “It’s my mess, Clove. I’ll clean it up.” He steps back and presses the ground floor button. The elevator heaves around us, like it’s relieved to finally be in motion. As we whir down toward the first floor, he finally seems to take a look at my outfit, the whole thing, from head to toe. “What about you? You look like you’re off to take care of business, too.”
I nod, steeling myself once more, shoulders squared. “I’m going to get my job back. No matter what it takes.”
He smiles and leans in to kiss my lips, just once, feather-soft and light, a kiss that’s there and gone again before I have time to blink. “You will. You’re incredible, Clove. If anyone can talk your boss into having you back in the office, it’s you. And if you need me to come in and testify about it, explain that it was all this psycho…”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Somehow I don’t think that would help. If you tried to explain that it’s all a big misunderstanding, someone stole my sext to you…” I raise an eyebrow pointedly.
He grins in response, and leans down to kiss me one last time before the doors open. “Well, I offered.”
“You did. I’ll keep that in mind when I’ve finished winning my case.”
“Good luck,” he says, offering me a hand as I step out of the elevator. I take it, and twine my fingers through his, squeezing tightly just once for affirmation.
“You too,” I tell him, pouring every ounce of feeling into my tone that I can. I hope he can do this. I hope he can talk his ex down. I hope it won’t hurt him too much to be around her, to have all those old memories drug up. I hope she stops coming after him, leaves him alone to live a normal life.
I hope a lot of things today.
Time to start acting, at least on the ones I can affect.
I square my shoulders and cast Zayne one last long smile, then stride out through the glass doors of our apartment building to face the coming storm.
“And you want me to tell the board this?” My boss stares at me across the desk, hands folded on top, leaning forward just far enough that I can see the wrinkles at the edges of her eyes, the corners of her mouth. Normally she’s a cheery person, always smiling and laughing. Even when we do our annual performance reviews, she’s happy, complimenting me on my work and cheerfully explaining any areas that she thinks I should work on in the coming year.
It feels strange to see her frown, especially this much.
“If you think it would help,” I say, “sure. But either way, I wanted you to know exactly what’s going on. I want you to know that this isn’t who I am, who I ever would be in my professional life.” I’d just finished explaining the entire saga to her, starting from the point where my doorman saved my ass, all the way up through the awkward part where I shared one risqué but entirely consensual photo with him, and to the part where his psycho ex creepily hacked into all of his accounts and took it upon herself to make an example of me. All for daring to date a guy who dumped this girl years ago.
My boss sighs and rubs a temple with one finger, massaging it in slow circles. “I don’t know that sharing this level of detail with our higher-ups would help, Clove.”
“Then don’t.” I bite my lip. “Can we just explain that we found out who made the website, and we’re working on getting it removed? And that I’ve never done anything like this before and never would in the future.” I don’t need to send Zayne naughty photos anymore—he can see what I’ve got to share in person. I’ve learned my lesson about putting myself at risk, even with someone I trust.
I square my shoulders, rest my new purse on the table between us, and pull out some charts that I made late last night, as I lay in bed with the worst case of insomnia I’ve ever battled.
“In the meantime, I think this might help convince them that I’m worth keeping around.” I spread the charts on the table. One of them is my projects’ performances for this full year. I had the one disappointing campaign, true, and the fact that it happened right before this whole mess kicked off isn’t helping me, I’m sure. But that was one mediocre campaign in a heap of really successful ones. I point out the growth in all the areas I’ve been marketing, along with the results of my last few experimental campaigns, one of which was entirely my idea and generated a ton of revenue from an untapped stream for the whole company.
Next, I draw out another series of charts that I made. Ones to explain how much more useful I’d be if I were able to start working on relaunching the failed campaign from last week. I put together a whole new strategy and an estimated schedule of how quickly I’d be able to make up for the lost time and investments in that campaign.
“Just give me a chance,” I tell her. “And I’ll make it worth your while. The board can keep reviewing the case, decide later what they want to do about me, if they can keep me on or not. But in the meantime, let me help you. Let me keep doing my job. Please.” I lock eyes with Stacy. “I need this. Not the money, just the… The activity, the job itself. I need to have something to do. It’s been just a few days and I’m already going stir-crazy.”
She sighs. “I know this job means a lot to you, Clove. And you’re right, you’ve always been a highly valuable member of our team…”
“So let me come back. Please.”
“It’s not up to me. If it were, you would never have been asked to leave at all.” Stacy purses her mouth, her fingers dancing over the desk phone beside her, as she considers. “But you’re right. This is crazy, to keep you out of the office. Especially if you’re sure there won’t be any more leaks like this. And if you already know who this is, we can file a lawsuit against them—this person hacked into our company servers too, you know. They sent spam messages about that website and your… ah, image. To our clients. We’ll press charges.”
My heart leaps at the same time my stomach twists. Will Zayne want that? He said he’d warn his ex, not straight up sue her. But then again, if she’s done all this to me, how much has she tortured other girls in his life? All for simply existing?
I can feel myself nodding. “I agree,” I say. “We’re going to confront her, but either way… She can’t feel free to do this again. She can’t keep ruining people’s lives like this.”
My boss extends a hand. I lift mine, clasp her fingers in a single tight handshake. “Deal,” she says, and I’m surprised to find that after all this, we’re both smiling.
So there’s one problem down. Here’s hoping the rest fall into place just as easily.
12
Success, I text Zayne on the train home. Just to his real phone number now, having learned my lesson about trusting app accounts. How about you?
I don’t want to admit how nervous I am to hear back. How much my heart sticks in my throat until my phone finally dings, and I can flip it open to see the reply.
Went as well as it could have. Which is to say, not great. But I think she took me seriously. I think she’ll really stop this time.
Good, I reply. Then I bite the inside of my lip. I have to tell him. Because we need to talk about something that came up in my meeting…
I text Zayne from the train to meet me outside our building. It’s his day off, which is good, since he looks like he slept on a floor all night and then spent the last hour arguing with a psychotic ex.
“Coffee shop?” he asks before I can even open my mouth to suggest it. I shoot him a grateful sideways smile and we head off toward what’s quickly becoming our spot. Somewhere along the way, he loops his hand through mine, and I squeeze his fingers tightly, enjoying the warmth of his grip, the steadiness of his support.
“So,” he starts as we step into the warm, reassuringly coffee-scented air of the corner coffee shop where we had our first da
te. “Tell me what happened.”
“I need caffeine first,” I protest. Like a mind-reader, he’s already in line. He orders for us both, and I notice with a little secret thrill that he remembered my order from last time. He already knows how I like my coffee. How many guys would notice that, let alone remember it?
We take a seat at the back, the same one where we sat last time, and I blow on my latte while he takes small sips of his tall black coffee.
“You made it sound like bad news,” he finally says, when the silence has stretched on too long.
“It’s not. It’s just… Complicated news,” I reply.
He lifts his eyebrows, expectant. Waiting for me to explain.
It doesn’t take more than that to get me to spill. I launch into the full story, from the moment I first told my boss everything, up to her proposal. “I don’t know how you’d feel about it; I know you wanted to warn her, give her a chance to back off, but she hacked corporate servers, Zayne…”
“I know.” He grimaces and blows on his coffee absently, before taking another long gulp. “But you’re right. She’s broken laws at this point. I can’t protect her from herself. It was her choice to hack your company, use that against you. She’d already gone way too far with taking that photo and putting it out in the world, she didn’t have to try and ruin your career along with it.” He scowls and shakes his head so hard that a lock of his blond hair falls across his forehead. I fight the urge to reach out and brush it back. That’s fast becoming a habit already.
“I’m sorry, Zayne.”
“Don’t be,” he answers fiercely, almost as soon as the words are out of my mouth. “I keep telling you this, Clove, but I mean it—you did not do anything. You don’t deserve any of this. Whatever we can do to fix this for you, we will.”
“So if I asked you for your ex’s details to send to my boss…”
He nods. “I’ll send you everything I have as soon as we get back home. Name, address, the way I think she hacked my account, in case it’s how she hacked your company’s too. All of it.”
“Thank you.” I bite my lip. “So…” His turn now. “How did your side of it go?”
He groans and drains the rest of his coffee in one swig. “She’s still living in the same apartment she had when we were dating. I’m not sure she has much of a social life, friends. It was weird.” He winces, closes his eyes. “She seems obsessed, really.”
I frown, my brows drawing together. “That bad?”
“Her whole apartment is just plastered with photos of us. Old ones, ones from years ago. And then newer photos, photos of me. Some of them she’s…” He clears his throat. I can tell that he’s badly shaken—and no wonder, given what he had to face today. “Some she’s Photoshopped me into. Others are me out on dates with other girls, people from the app who I met months ago. She’s crossed out all their faces, drawn curses on the pages. There’s one of you…” His voice breaks and he clenches his coffee cup so hard that the now-empty paper crumples in his fist. “She just sounds so normal when you speak to her. Like this is all so practical and mundane. Like she doesn’t even realize anything is weird about it.”
I reach across the table to rest my hand on top of his. “She needs help, Zayne.”
“I know. I tried to talk her into coming with me to a hospital, talking to a doctor, anything. She refused. Said it was none of my business. And I told her I’m deleting my account on that app, so she can stop bothering to hack it. She just told me that I got what I deserved.”
“But she hasn’t hacked any of your other devices or accounts, you don’t think?”
“Not that I could tell. Everything she had, all those pictures and information, it was all from the dating app. And she’s not exactly subtle. If she’d hacked other pieces of my life, I think there’d be evidence sitting around her house. Or she’d talk about it, mention it somehow. She isn’t sly, that’s one thing I have to say for her.” He laughs, a low, bitter laugh. “She always tells you the truth about exactly how fucking batshit she is.” His voice breaks on that, the bitterness too sharp for him to maintain. “I just want to see her somewhere safe. A hospital maybe, or with her family. She needs somebody to stop her from doing this.”
I can feel myself nodding in agreement. “We’ll find that for her. My company will look into it and they’ll realize that she’s not just a crazy random, that she’s… that she needs help from someone.”
“At any rate.” Zayne shrugs it off, with an almost physical effort, and smiles at me once more. “No matter what, she’s off your back. There’s no way she can access anything else we say to one another; she can’t get any more photos of you to harass you or threaten your career.”
“Thank you for talking to her. I know that must have been hard.”
He catches my hand and squeezes tightly. “Not as hard as the thought of losing you. Now that we’ve finally found each other, we finally have this chance…”
I nod, eyes locked on his. “We’re not going to miss each other again. Not this time.”
His smile widens. He turns my hand over in his and lowers his head. Plants a slow, searing kiss on my palm. It feels intimate and sexy as hell all at once, like we shouldn’t be allowed to do it in public, here in this coffee shop where anyone could look at us. I tug his hand toward me and kiss his fingers too, one at a time. By the time I reach his pinkie, he’s already standing.
“Want to go home?” I ask, one eyebrow raised. “It’s a bit early for bedtime.”
He smirks in response. “Actually, Ms. Walker, I was thinking that it’s about time I took you out on a proper date.” He glances past me at the clock above the coffee shop door. No, not at that, I realize. At the marquis across the street. The little cinema that only plays 2 or 3 movies a week, depending on the week. Right now, it’s playing some film I don’t recognize, though to judge by the name, it’s some kind of mystery or action flick.
The next showing starts in 5 minutes.
“How would you feel about a movie?” he asks as he rises to his feet.
I stand beside him, and lean in to nudge my shoulder against his. “I could be lured into a dark theater with you,” I murmur, eyes bright with mischief.
He grins and taps under my chin lightly with one finger. “Don’t go getting too many ideas yet, dirty girl. The night is young.”
With that, we sweep out the coffee shop and beeline for the movie theater, our hands still wound tightly together. My night is looking up.
We take seats far at the back, expecting the rest of the theater to fill up. But by the time the previews end and the opening credits begin to roll, we’re only two of five people in the theater. The other three are dotted around the rows, the nearest person at least 4 rows in front of us and on the far side of the theater, sitting next to the aisle as though they’re worried they’ll need to do a few bathroom runs during this movie.
“What are we seeing?” I whisper, because the previews were a mix of comedy, horror, action and animated films, so I can’t even guess what genre this one will be.
To my amusement, Zayne shrugs. “No idea,” he whispers back. “I just liked the title.”
We settle in, the popcorn he insisted we buy balanced between us. Every now and again, our hands brush as we both reach into the popcorn at the same time. Every time they do, he insists on nudging my fingers. I lose count of how many times he makes me drop the handful of popcorn I’ve gripped, simply because I can’t help the small startled reaction that still races through me whenever our bare skin brushes. A spark of ignition that’s impossible to ignore.
The movie starts out with an explosion, and only gets louder from there. Turns out it’s one of those comedy-action movies, but not a funny one. After the fourth joke falls flat, Zayne takes to whispering better versions of the lines in my ear. I have to fight cracking up and turning heads across the theater—although, admittedly, there aren’t even too many heads to turn.
“Not your thing, huh?” I ask him with a smirk
as he makes fun of the sixth line in a row.
“Are you kidding? I love shitty movies. The worse the better.”
We trade favorite un-recommendations for the next few scenes, but by then, it’s become clear that this movie is just ridiculous.
“Not even MST3k could save this,” I mutter, and Zayne lights up, squeezing my leg.
“You watch that too? I loved that show.”
“Wow, nerd.” I smirk at him.
“You’re one to talk,” he counters.
“Me? I am innately cool.”
“Don’t you work in a publishing house? Pretty sure all publishers have to be nerds. It’s in the job requirement right?”
“Only book nerds though. Not TV show nerds.” I roll my eyes.
“Is that worse?”
“You tell me,” I counter. “You’re the nerd expert here.”
“Tell me, Clove.” His fingers track up my thigh, moving slowly, like he’s turned his hand into a spider and he’s crawling it up the rain spout. His fingers dance closer and closer to my hips. “Would a nerd be able to make you come as many times as I made you scream my name last weekend?”
I can feel my cheeks flush in the dark of the theater. “Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t really tested nerd versus non-nerd’s abilities in the bedroom.”
“I see. So I haven’t fucked you enough times yet, is what I’m hearing.”
I swallow hard. “Well. That’s one way of interpreting that.”
His hand slides along the crease of my thigh, right where it meets my hip. His fingers delve between my legs, pressing hard against the tight fabric of my pencil skirt. I wore this skirt specifically to avoid any sexual attention, but right now, it’s taking all of my self restraint not to tear it off. “I like my interpretation.” He leans in to brush his lips against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “It gives me a good excuse to fuck you again.”
With that, he pushes up the arm of the seat between us. I barely have time to react before he’s grabbing me with both hands, his fingers clamped around my hipbones. He pulls me across the seats and settles me in his lap. I can already feel the hard press of his cock against my ass, through the fabric of his jeans and my tight skirt.
