Deliciously Damaged

by KB Winters

  In the middle of my job hunt, I got distracted by a nagging thought in the back of my head. A memory. I kept replaying the image of Rita handing me the print-out in her office last night. Something about it was catching in my mind. My fingernails tapped along the keyboard as I tried to sort it out.

  I couldn’t shake the voodoo, déjà vu feeling. “They were emails! Someone emailed the pictures to her. I need to see those messages,” I said to Sam.

  I figured that my company login would be restricted by now, but I pulled up the website to log in for employees and tried it anyway. The cursor spun for a few seconds and I waited for it to kick back, but to my surprise, it popped open my inbox and everything was there, just as it had been the day before.

  “Bunch of genius’s they have running that show,” I said, laughing to myself. I mean really…isn’t that Firing 101? Change logins, change security codes, take back keys.

  With this new piece of information, my brain began to formulate a plan. My fingers followed along, dancing across the keyboard at a rapid-fire pace, digging deeper and deeper into the company website infrastructure. Eventually I hit a wall, where my login was not high enough clearance to get me in. I felt a little guilty, but I decided the next login I needed would be Bryce’s, and since I knew him the best I figured it wouldn’t be too hard to hack his account.

  Sure enough, his password was easy to unlock—his dog’s name and birthday, which I only knew because he showed me pictures of her now and again back when we knew each other at the coffee shop—and I suddenly had access to everything. As a manager, his login worked to get me into the main database that contained all of the clients’ information and logs and logs of data.

  “Jackpot!” I pumped my fist when the screen loaded and I could see the list of every employee and their personal files. I quickly scanned to Rita’s, working as if someone was going to bust down my door any moment, and I scribbled her login down on a napkin, just in case I got locked out before I finished gathering all the information. “God she makes bank. No wonder she’s such a bitch,” I mumbled to Sam who was now on my lap.

  From there, I went back to the company email portal, plugged in her login details, and BAM. All of Rita’s emails loaded on my screen.

  I chuckled loudly, thoroughly impressed with my efforts. Sam leapt off my lap and hightailed for the bedroom.

  It was hard to hold back my giddy energy, but I slowed down and focused on each subject, scanning for anything fishy-looking.

  A few threads were between Rita and Bryce. My curiosity got the better of me and I pulled open the conversation and began to read. Apparently, Rita had been skeptical of me from the beginning and her messages got downright hostile, dating back to the day I met Cooper.

  “…inexperience, naïve, uneducated girl who is in way over her head,” and “I don’t know what you were thinking with this one,” and “if I didn’t know better, I would have thought she slept with you to even get this job in the first place,” were among the highlights, as I read Rita’s side of the conversation. Bryce tirelessly defended me and constantly reassured Rita that I would find my place and that I would do great things with the company.

  My heart warmed at his championing efforts. I made a mental note to text him later and make sure everything was okay after my departure, praying that he hadn’t been caught in Rita’s warpath.

  Tired of the virtual assault of my character, I clicked off that set of emails and moved on. The next batch of emails was between the design team and Rita. I pulled up the first one in the series and the whole screen filled with the final product ad I had collaborated to design. The image flashed in my mind the way it had looked on the huge screen the night of the product line launch party. The first night Cooper had touched me. Kissed me. Claimed me.

  My eyes closed as I remembered every sensation, movement, flash of heat between us, pressed up against the wall, his kisses on my bare skin, his hands on my waist, his lips on my ear.

  “Ugh!” I forced my eyes open and back on the screen in front of me. My new unemployed status allowed me oodles of spare time. However, if there was one thing I did not have time for, it was sitting around playing the “what if” game over Cooper Brighton.

  I went back through the general inbox but couldn’t find anything else that pertained to me. I sat back in my chair and my fingers went back to tapping the keys as my mind turned over the possibilities. I thought the pictures she’d printed out had to be from an email. They weren’t high quality enough to have been from a photographer or a PI. Ironic they weren’t printed on better paper, considering they were likely printed by an ad agency exec.

  Off topic, I reminded myself.

  As my mind wandered I saw a list of folders on the left side of the screen. It took a little more thought and a lot more creative hacks, but after a few minutes I was into the one labeled Internal Affairs. I had to laugh a little at the title. “She sure takes herself seriously, doesn’t she?” I asked aloud.

  I clicked on the first set of emails in this new folder and sure enough, an email popped up with a bunch of attachments.

  “Finally,” I whispered under my breath, assuming they were the pictures.

  For whatever reason, my finger hesitated over the track pad, waiting just a beat before clicking down.

  The download window popped open and the photos loaded one at a time, cascading down the page. Oddly enough, seeing the photos didn’t fill me with the same heat and longing that I’d had moments before when replaying the night in my mind. I saw the images as an outsider, someone who wasn’t a part of that moment, and it felt extremely creepy.

  I closed the window and went on a new search to track down the identity of the person responsible for sending the images in the first place. Maybe I could sue them for spying. Or at least turn them in to the cops. I’d hate to see me and Cooper all over the internet. Just the fact that someone was stalking me and taking pictures gave me the chills. I glanced at the front door, making sure it was locked. I didn’t want some crazy stalker bitch to come flying through the door.

  The email address was very non-descript and didn’t give any clues to who it belonged to, or where it originated. I copied it down and then went on the hunt, putting my hacker brain to the test as I flew through different search engines, gleaning and gathering information bit by bit, putting together the pieces of this puzzle.

  Whoever had set up this email account had known what they were doing as far as covering their tracks. I hopped into a popular underground forum and posted the information, sending out a plea for help from my fellow hackers.

  By the time I refilled my coffee cup, I had a reply:

  Here’s the info you wanted…

  A link followed, lit up in blue. I clicked on it without hesitation this time, desperate to put this mystery together.

  The page opened and revealed a database of email addresses and their account details.

  I scanned through the list at a rapid pace, desperate to know who would have hired a photographer to stalk me at the party, who would send those pictures to Rita, knowing it would cost me my job. Who would care enough to try and wreck my life?

  I slowed when I started seeing similar addresses. My eyes zeroed in, reading each thing, not wanting to miss it.

  There it was…

  My breath caught in my chest and a sick clenching gripped my stomach, making it hard to exhale when I read the name attached to the account I had been searching for:

  Cooper H. Brighton – Brighton Enterprises

  The story continues in Plush Book 2!

  Plush

  A Billionaire Romance

  Book 2

  By KB Winters

  Copyright © 2015 KB Winters

  Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Chapter One

  “Two more down here!” I yelled across the bar. The bartender smiled, letting me know he’d heard my boisterous request.

  “Shit, girl, you gotta slow down!” Hannah insisted. />
  “Party pooper! Tonight is not the night to slow down!” A shot was placed in front of me and I threw it back with a wicked grin, laughing at the look on Hannah’s face. “Come on! Have fun!”

  Hannah rolled her eyes at me but then threw back her shot like a pro. “Happy?”

  “Yeah, actually, I am. For the first time in a long time!” I spun around on the heels of my riding boots and soaked up the room. I’d called Hannah and begged her to come out for happy hour at my favorite dive bar. I could tell she wanted to go somewhere else, somewhere a little more uppity, but I had guilted her into slumming it for the night. Hannah used to date a biker, and she’d come down here with him and had the time of her life—or at least she pretended she did. But now, she liked to stay on the west side of town and stick to the posh, bougie bars.

  Steelrods wasn’t necessarily a biker bar, but a lot of the bikers I knew hung out here. It was a little dark, a little grimy, and a lot sketchy but a whole lot of fun. It was always bursting with colorful characters and a bartender named Tank who’d give me anything I asked for—without question—and usually on the house.

  “Tell me what’s going on?” she asked, raising her voice over the music and the sound of pool balls knocking around.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, taking a sip off the top of the beer Tank set down in front of me, throwing him a wink before turning my attention back to Hannah. “It’s Saturday night. We used to do this all the time. Why does something have to be ‘going on’?”

  She pursed her lips at me. “I know you better than that. Something’s up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “All right, all right. I got fired.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What? From the ad place?”

  I nodded.

  “What happened? Last thing I knew, you were getting all sexified for the party with the hot, rich guy.”

  I chugged back a few gulps of beer. “Yeah, well that whole thing turned into a major clusterfuck. I don’t really wanna talk about it. Not tonight. Tonight is just for having fun for once! I’ve been trapped in corporate bullshit for the past month, and tonight I’m free! So, let’s dance!”

  Hannah looked less than convinced but went along with it.

  My favorite song was blasting, the drinks were working their magic, and I was grinding up on some hottie named Jett, who had introduced himself at some point earlier in the night. The details were getting fuzzy. He put his hands on my hips and brought me in close and I put my hands in the air, dancing closer and pushing my ass up against him. He spun me around and pulled me to himself and I went along with it, sizing him up as we danced.

  He was handsome—a little rough around the edges, but that’s usually how I prefer my men. My men? I scoffed at myself. I had no men, and the ones I’d gone out with were losers. Well, except Cooper. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I don’t want to think about him tonight!

  As we danced, I started to become disenchanted; the alcohol-induced spell was broken. My dance partner didn’t smell right, he wasn’t tall enough, broad enough, and his eyes weren’t brown.

  Fuck. I shook my head, silently ripping myself a new one for bringing Cooper into my night. This was supposed to be my night, not his.

  I broke away from the dance floor, ignored Jett’s protests, and made my way back towards the bar, desperately in need of a fresh drink. I was halfway across the floor when I felt a hand grab my arm, a little too rough, and I spun around, ready to tell him to back the hell off. When my eyes followed the length of the arm up, I found myself staring at Marx, my sleaze ball ex-boyfriend.

  “Well, well, look what we have here,” he drawled at me, a menacing smile spreading across his face. “I thought I made it clear that this was my spot and that if you didn’t want to see me, you would stay away.”

  I tried to pull my arm back but he held firm. Where the hell is Hannah? I wanted to look around for help, but couldn’t tear my eyes away from his face, a shiver of fear creeping up my spine.

  “Let go of me,” I snarled. “You don’t own this town, the bar, and you sure as fuck don’t own me, so let me go.”

  His smile only grew, his teeth bared. His grip tightened and he pulled me so hard that I was forced to step forward, closer to him. He leaned over and pressed his lips to my ear. “I could own you for tonight. What do you think? Old time’s sake.”

  I reared back and pulled my arm again. This time, his grip was looser and I was able to get free. “Fuck off.”

  Marx took another step towards me but Tank stepped in from the side and blocked his path. Tank was somewhat of a big brother to me. We had actually known each other since high school. He had moved to the city before me and showed me around town when I got here. He knew all about Marx and his shit. In the aftermath of the breakup, I had spent a lot of time bitching to him while trying to drink away the memories from the past.

  “Listen, fucker, you got two choices—leave on your own or I will make you leave. You know you’re not welcome here. We’ve already had this conversation,” Tank said. “You remember what happened last time?”

  Marx’s smile dropped off but he gave me one last glare before signaling to his crew and leaving. I didn’t know what Tank was referring to, but I was too relieved to care.

  “You okay?” he asked, watching as I rubbed my thumb over the red spot on my arm where Marx had been pinching into my skin.

  I nodded. “Thanks for that.”

  “Anytime,” he said. He draped an arm across my shoulders and steered me back to the bar.

  I had a fresh beer and was sitting on a bar stool, keeping to myself, looking around the room for Hannah. Eventually, she resurfaced and ran over to tell me about the hottie she had been making out with in the bathroom. I laughed and rolled my eyes at her and decided to wait to tell her about my altercation with Marx, not wanting to ruin her night now that she finally seemed in the right mood for a party.

  Hannah had one more drink with me and then her new guy came over to see about leaving with her. Sure enough, it was Jett, the guy I had been dirty dancing with not twenty minutes ago.

  Of course.

  “Do you mind if I dip out early?” Hannah asked, her fingers looped in Jett’s waistband.

  I looked to Tank and he gave me a nod, silently confirming that Jett was okay. I gave my blessing to the happy couple and they left.

  It was almost midnight and it seemed that everyone had pretty much moved on with only a few stragglers left behind playing pool. Steelrods wasn’t an all-night kind of thing. It was usually a meet-up spot to hit up before going to the real party. I stayed behind, partly because I didn’t want to go home and be alone with my thoughts, and partly because after my run in with Marx, I was a little shaky.

  “What was all that, earlier? With you know…” my voice trailed off.

  Tank looked down and wiped up an invisible puddle on the counter. “I didn’t want to tell you, but he came by here a few weeks ago, asking for you. I told him he wasn’t welcome here. He didn’t want to listen, so I had to make him see things my way.”

  The implication was clear so I didn’t ask more questions, I took another sip. “Thanks, Tank.”

  He grunted and went back to his cleaning.

  One more turned into three more, and by the time Tank walked me outside, I was more than a little smashed. Tank called me a cab and promised to take care of my bike, Cherry Bomb, until I could come get it the next day. I hated to leave her behind, but I knew Tank lived close by so it should be fine.

  Sam ran up to greet me as soon as I wobbled into the apartment. I leaned over to pet him, lost my balance, and crashed into a pile on the floor.

  I lay on the floor for a while, my hand resting on Sam’s head as he snuggled up next to me.

  “Why can’t cats be more like men,” I asked Sam, my words slurring slightly together. An idea bubble popped into my head and I reached over and felt along the cool laminate flooring until my fingertips grazed the edge of my purse. It had dumped out when I fell, so I kept searching
for my phone.

  My fingers flew over the screen, while my eyes watched as if in slow motion. Not fully comprehending what I was doing. I put it on speaker phone and lay the phone next to my head and waited, closing my eyes and listening to it ring on the other line.

  “Hello?”

  His voice. I smiled and Cooper’s face filled my mind.

  “Allison? Are you there?”

  “Uh-huh. I wanted to ask you a question,” I started.

  “This early in the morning? Are you okay?”

  Silence.

  “Allison?”

  “Mmmm-hmmmm,” I answered.

  “What do you want to ask me?”

  “Oh, right. I want to know if they say men are like dogs, because they are nothing like cats. Or if that’s something else.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  I wrinkled my nose, not understanding his confusion. In my mind, it seemed like a very simple question. And very important. “Cooper, I need to know!”

  “Are you drunk?”

  I started to giggle. Something I very rarely do but once I started, I couldn’t stop.

  “Allison, where are you?”

  “I’m on the floor.”

  “Where? Where are you on the floor?”

  I lifted my head and looked around. “The kitchen.”

  Satisfied with my answer, I nodded, and then lay my head back down again.

  “Cooper, you know what? You know what your problem is?”

  “I would love for you to tell me, but hang with me here for a second. Whose kitchen floor are you on? Are you alone?”

  “No, silly,” I answered, patting Sam on the head. “Sam’s with me.””

  “Sam?”

  “Uh-huh,” I yawned.

  “Who the hell is Sam?”

  “Sam, say hello,” I said, turning my head on the floor to look at the little ball of fur next to me. On cue, he meowed at me.

  “Sam’s the cat.” He laughed and my body relaxed even further at the deep richness of the sound as it ricocheted through my kitchen.

  “Is the door locked?” he asked.