For the Win

by Brenna Aubrey

  The fact that she didn't know the identity of her sex partner got me off the hook, but I had to wonder again if she truly didn't know or there wasn't a way she could find out. And if she found out, what would she do? Why had she uploaded it in the first place? But if I asked her that directly, she'd realize I knew it'd been her that had done it and not the other party. She wasn't stupid--that much I'd pieced together--and could probably figure it out. I couldn't risk that. I'd have to get to the bottom of her reasons for doing it in a more roundabout way.

  After about an hour of poring over legalese, I fixed myself some dinner and hit the 'call back' button from the voicemail app on my phone. There were other women in my life that I couldn't keep putting off.

  "It's about time you return my call," was the first thing Hannah said when she picked up.

  "I do have a life, you know. I'm not your personal homework helpline."

  "I know where the bodies are buried, Jordan. Don't mess with me."

  "More like you know where I used to stash my joints and that's what you used to blackmail me, you pain in the ass."

  "Whatever. I need help with this. I emailed you the problem. Just give me a hint?"

  "How is college going, anyway? You've already been in two weeks and I haven't heard a word from you since you started."

  She paused for a moment before answering in a too-loud, too cheery voice. "It's going great!"

  Hmm. That concerned me, but I knew better than to ask her directly. Hannah always liked to project that everything going on with her was perfect--even when it wasn't. Unfortunately for her, she wasn't the greatest actress.

  "Meeting a lot of new people? Any guys I need to go beat up?"

  "Ha, ha. I'm concentrating on studies, thankyouverymuch. But this economics class is the bane of my existence. Already."

  I flipped open my laptop and pulled up her email again. "So this question is pretty basic, Banna." I used the old nickname, just to mess with her. Big brother's prerogative.

  She blew out a breath on the other end. "The class is for my general education requirement, but we weren't all managing multiple stock portfolios from our earnings at the surf shop at fifteen."

  "Too bad you can't be a genius like me. Sibling rivalry is such an ugly thing. Try not to let it eat you up inside."

  "Whatever. Speaking of the surf shop...Mom told me something she found out from Ms. Nolan. "

  "Ah, how's Ms. Nolan doing?"

  "Mom's been driving her to her treatments. She seems to be doing better. But this last time, she told Mom that Cyndi's getting a divorce."

  I paused. The name stopped me first. The news, second. I had no idea what to do with that information. I actually had no idea how I even felt about that information. Deep down, I should have felt some sort of satisfaction to hear about her unhappiness, but I didn't. Did that mean I'd moved past all that--past her?

  "You still there?"

  "Yeah. Not sure why you chose to tell me that."

  "Dunno. Thought you'd want to know. She was your girlfriend for a zillion years."

  "About a zillion years ago. I've had a lot of girlfriends since then."

  "Oh, so that's what you call them? I'm sorry, but if you sleep with someone for a couple weeks, she's not your girlfriend. You need to maybe think about settling down."

  "Why the hell would I do that? I'm twenty-five and I live like a rock star."

  "Ah yes, pissing away your youth and your filthy, ill-gotten millions."

  "Has Dad been spewing his Das Kapital bullshit again?"

  She sighed. "Okay, I tease but...this is getting ridiculous. When are the two of you going to sit down and talk?"

  I ground my teeth, tensing. She knew better than to get into this subject with me. Then again, I'd screwed up by bringing the old man up in the first place. "We've got nothing to talk about. So, about that homework problem..."

  "Dude, speaking of problems...I almost forgot. I saw a viral video on the Internet. People dressed up as characters from Dragon Epoch--"

  Uh, no. Just no. The thought that my little sister had seen me having sex brought on a sudden rush of nausea. "I'm not talking about that, and neither are you if you want help on your homework, missy."

  "Fine. But do you know who it was?"

  "So your email says that you needed to know about market elasticity, right?"

  "Even from two hundred miles away, you're still a dork."

  "Don't bite the dork that helps you with your homework."

  "Yeah, yeah."

  We spoke for another twenty minutes before I hung up then stared at the phone for a long time trying to process the conversation...the news of Cyndi's failed marriage, the crazy events of the day in general. My head hurt, but I had hours of work of ahead of me yet.

  I called my Internet security guy and made one other phone call to my information guy. I had to find out what April Weiss was up to--what made her tick, and why she would be motivated to record herself having sex and then upload it to the Internet. And if she had dirt on me, was she the type of person who would use it?

  So I asked him to gather information on her. I had to make sure I had dirt in return. Because I was the type of person who would use it to get what I wanted. And what I really wanted was her tempting, mouth-watering body out of my radius. But since I couldn't have that--yet--I needed leverage. Just in case.

  No hookup--not even a damn hot one--was worth this shit. Or that was what I kept telling myself.

  At least my last sexual encounter before this newly established period of abstention had been a damn fucking hot one. After she was gone, I'd take time to savor the memory. Until then, I had to shove it out of my mind and not dwell on it.

  In the meantime, I could enjoy myself by making her life a living hell.

  Chapter 5

  April

  I woke up the next day amid a pile of shopping bags from my late-night shopping spree. Sid, who had gone to sleep before I'd gotten home--as usual--and arisen long before me--also not unusual--had not been apprised of the complications in the viral video situation.

  When I finally woke up, she was eager for me to fill her in.

  "No way... he knew it was you?"

  I sighed. "He saw my tat and recognized it from the video."

  Sid shook her head. "Girl, that is one mistake that has come back to bite you in the hiney--literally--and who knows when it will happen again?"

  "Yeah, yeah, I'll get the laser thingy done when I have time. I have to psyche myself up for it."

  Sid waved a hand toward all the shopping bag debris. "So what's all this? Retail therapy?"

  "Hah, no. These are new clothes--all very long shirts and sweaters that won't ride up in the back and a couple of body suits. I'm not taking any chances. It's bad enough that Jordan knows it's me and is still, for some reason, allowing me to work there. I'm sure if anyone else found out, there would be hell to pay."

  "But the mean girls know it's you, right? Do you think any of them will say anything?"

  I shook my head. "Cari told me she has my back."

  Sid frowned. "Do you think...did anyone else have your phone this weekend besides you?"

  "No way. I may be an idiot, but even I know not to give someone access to my phone. I don't even give you access to my phone."

  "Well, that's good to know. They are not nice. Especially Cari--that chick is like Regina George."

  "Who?"

  Sid rolled her eyes. "You need to see more movies, Apes. You read too much."

  "There's no such thing as reading too much!"

  "Anyway...Regina George was the head of the mean girls in the Mean Girls movie. Cari reminds me of her."

  I got up and started pulling tags off my new clothes, grabbing the trashcan to toss them into.

  Sid rubbed her eyebrow thoughtfully. "After class, I spent a big part of the afternoon rewatching that fracking video."

  I scrunched my brows together. "Why? Do you really need the sex education that badly?"

&nb
sp; She glared at me. "I was looking for clues...like I know how the officers figured out it was an employee in the video."

  "How?"

  She went to her computer and cued up the horrid thing again. But instead of forcing me to watch it, she froze the frame soon after it started. "See here? You set the phone to record after you took off your underwear, it looks like... and the phone is right next to this badge right here."

  I leaned in and my eyes followed where she was pointing.

  Holy. Shit. She was right. Sure as anything, that was a Draco badge. The kind we all used to get into the building and move around anywhere on the campus. It was tied to the company's security system. They required us to wear them in conjunction with our industry passes at the Con. I leaned in more closely to get a better look. If my name was on that thing...

  "The name is blocked out--ironically, by your underwear. But that's how they know. They saw your badge."

  I straightened. "Ah..." I said to express understanding, but I was still confused. Because that was not my badge. My badge looked a lot like that badge, but the company logo and name and everything else was printed in blue on my badge to denote my status as an unpaid intern. Regular employee badges were printed in black lettering with a black logo--like that badge showed.

  The guy dressed up as Falco the Bounty Hunter. The man with the hot hands and the huge cock. That guy was a Draco employee.

  I took a deep breath, held it and then let it go. Holy crap. I was so fucked. This thing got worse and worse the more time that passed.

  Because that person was probably angry as hell that a video of him having sex was posted on the Internet. Sooner or later this guy would find out who I was and want to know why the hell I'd jeopardized his job for no good reason. I'd have to find him before it came to that. But I had no idea how.

  "Speaking of having access to your phone, it was completely dead so I plugged it in for you this morning when I woke up. The notification screen said you had five missed calls and two voicemails from your mom."

  "Yeah, I know."

  Sid paused. "You aren't even going to listen to the voicemails?"

  "No. I'm deleting them. Whatever she wants, I'm sure her new hubby can take care of for her. Gunnar is a trust-fund brat so he can buy whatever her little heart desires. She only calls me when she wants something. And I'm not in the mood to argue with her."

  "You never argue with her, April. You just put up with it."

  "See? This is a good way to avoid the entire mess. If she never gets a hold of me, then I never have to feel disgusted with myself that I didn't stand up to her--yet again."

  Sid nodded. "Good point. Hey, my mom wants to know when you are coming over for dinner again."

  Sid often took pity on me when speaking to me about my mom. She liked to offer her own mom, who was an amazingly sweet lady, as a surrogate.

  "Oh, that sounds amazing. I could go for some more Persian food, but I don't even know when I'll be able to break away from this hellacious job to do more than eat and run. And that would be so rude to her."

  Sid shrugged. "I'm sure she'll be filling up our freezer soon anyway."

  "Yum. Hope she makes that great stuff with the pomegranates and walnuts again."

  "Fesonjan. I'll put in the request."

  I got up, and with rounded shoulders opened up my laptop to check my email. Speaking of mothers...there was another one from Rebekah in there. I still hadn't answered her last one.

  This one had the subject line: Israel Birthright Info. My stepmom was concerned about my dire lack of education with regard to my heritage and had made it her personal mission, of late, to get me on board with the family plan. My half-sister, Sarah, was going to have her Bat Mitzvah in a few years, and I was sure Rebekah had visions of one big happy family gathered together in the synagogue to celebrate.

  Or maybe she thought I was a crappy role model for her daughter to look up to. And Sarah did idolize me. Despite the fact she was only ten, it felt good. At least someone on this planet thought I was pretty great. Nevertheless, I sighed as I contemplated how to respond to Rebekah's question of whether or not I'd go to temple with them. It seemed that religion was yet another barrier between them and me. It set me apart, made me different from those I should have called my closest family.

  With a sigh I sat back, opened another browser and Googled the program in question. Maybe I could take off on a trip to Israel, and when I got back this damn video would be wiped from the face of the Internet forever.

  When it snows in the summer, as my German grandmother would say. Or when pigs fly, as I would say.

  After a quick breakfast, I dressed for work, making sure to wear clothing that would keep me adequately covered. Given this second chance from a grumpy, yet remarkably understanding boss, I'd make every extra effort to be the best assistant ever.

  But the boss got surlier with each passing day. And he nitpicked every single goddamn thing I did. I fought hard to maintain a smooth exterior--to never show my emotions, my self-doubt. People like Jordan Fawkes could smell fear, and so I knew I had to try my best to hide it.

  Meanwhile, when I wasn't stressing about job stuff, I was agonizing over the Falco question. Vital questions like 'who was he' and 'did he know who I was' and--more importantly--'was he ragingly pissed off at me' plagued my mind.

  And despite all the trouble it had caused, I couldn't seem to shake the thoughts of that night. I wasn't sure whether it had been because of any special skills or, ahem, equipment on his part or the illicitness of the affair, but it had been so damn good. Who knew a Comic-Con cosplay nerd--and Draco employee, apparently--could be so incredible in the sack? Or maybe the handful of guys I'd been with before this had been that bad.

  Every day I spent at Draco, I found myself idly wondering about male co-workers I passed in hallways or delivered random items to--had it been him? Or him? The only thing I knew about the guy was that he was tall and filled out a Falco the Bounty Hunter suit very, very well. And he'd sounded so sexy when he whispered low in that flat, toneless voice.

  Oh, and that his manhandle had been huge. I hadn't forgotten that either. How could I?

  The boss from hell, along with the constant worry over Falco, was driving me insane. Therefore, it should have come as no surprise that one particularly awful day, a week later, I almost broke down right at my desk. Susan had to call my name several times to get my attention.

  Finally, I blinked and sat up straight.

  "Hey...what's wrong? Are you okay?" she said.

  I turned to her. Susan was a plain-looking but sweet and funny lady in her mid-thirties. She had short blond hair and green eyes. And she wore quirky earrings for, what seemed, every day of the year. I hadn't seen her repeat a pair yet. She'd explained that she chose them to reflect her mood for the day. Currently, they were two miniature baby pacifiers--one pink and one blue. Yesterday, she and her husband heard the heartbeat for the first time and she was ecstatic, showing everyone unreadable pictures of her ultrasound.

  "I don't know how much more of this I can take..." I said in a shaky voice.

  She sighed. "Well, he's generally not very easy on the interns, if that makes you feel any better."

  It didn't.

  "Last weekend, I don't think an hour went by that he didn't text me for something. Forwarding stuff to him or researching something he could do himself with Google and a few keywords."

  "Hmm. Maybe he just wants to make sure you're learning everything you need?"

  I bit down the frustration. Every hour, practically on the hour? "Does he usually have you take his car to get washed, pick up his dry-cleaning and scream at you if the coffee you bring him isn't hot enough?"

  Susan frowned. "He's never asked me to do any of those things, but he probably feels it's his responsibility to make sure you have lots of things to do."

  I gulped. The other morning, he actually pulled out a kitchen thermometer and took the temperature of the coffee I'd brought him. "One hundred
forty, Weiss? What is this, a cool, refreshing summer drink? I told you extra hot. No stopping to chat with your BFFs on the way in here while you are holding my coffee. Jeez, why don't you just throw ice cubes in it while you're at it?"

  I'd bared my teeth in that now familiar 'I want to kill you dead' long-suffering smile, picked up the coffee and exited the room, tossing it in the nearest trash can. Blinking back tears, I'd rushed out the door to go back to Starbucks. I'd had to run in my heels to get it back to the office fast enough and even that hadn't worked.

  Then on the rush back the second time, I broke my heel mid-run and the coffee--and me--went flying. The third time was the charm, but after that, I had to lock myself in the bathroom to cry for a good half-hour.

  From that day on, I packed a pair of sneakers in my desk especially for coffee runs and developed a special run-jog so the steaming liquid wouldn't slosh over the top and burn my hands. Note to self: bring gloves to pack in desk alongside sneakers.

  "You look exhausted, you poor thing," Susan continued.

  "I've been staying up late preparing the files on each investment banker."

  She frowned, fiddling with her anti-nausea wristband. "What files?"

  "Well, Jordan wanted me to create files with contact information on all the investment bankers, the legal terms of their contract agreements--"

  Susan looked at me like I'd grown another head. "He has all that already." My face clouded and she seemed to be hurrying to cover for him. "But...maybe he's afraid his info is incomplete and you are double-checking everything for him. Rumor has it the IPO thing isn't going well because of this sex-tape scandal."

  My eyes grew wide and my stomach dipped. "Uh. Really?"

  Susan nodded and her baby pacifiers danced at her earlobes. She lowered her voice. "Yes. Word on the street is that Adam had a shit-fit when the scandal broke and wanted to pull the plug on the IPO. Jordan's been working on this for years. Adam gave him two weeks to see if he can make it work, so obviously Jordan's pretty upset. I think you may have just gotten caught up as the target for his frustrations."

  I looked away guiltily. It made sense that I'd be the target--and not for the reason she thought--but there was no way Susan could know that. I swallowed a ball of lead and blinked back some new tears. This was not good. Not good at all.