Wicked Torture

by J. Kenner

  Considering that, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Damien had come early. After all, the Austin office was not only a new addition to Stark Applied Technology, having come into existence after Stark bought a dying tech company, but this was also Noah's first time in the hot seat.

  Noah shot a last look toward Carina as he headed for his office door. "If any of the applicants are early, just show them to the conference room. And here's the notebook," he added, passing her the small leather-bound book that he used to sketch out ideas for the various projects he was pondering at any one time. Ironically low tech considering the work he did, but he enjoyed the feel of a pencil against paper.

  Every morning she typed up his notes and scanned his sketches, then returned the notebook after his morning phone calls. Today, he'd get it back after he met with Damien.

  And now it was time to enter the ring.

  He pulled open the door to his office and stepped inside. Damien was standing by the window, gazing out toward the Capital, and looking completely at home in Noah's office. He turned and smiled as Noah entered. But the smile didn't reach those famous dual-colored eyes.

  Until that moment, Noah hadn't realized how on-edge he was. But now he was barraged by all the possible reasons that Damien could have come early--reasons that had been in the back of his mind, and that Damien's stoic expression brought to the surface. A leak of their technology to a competitor. A problem on the assembly line. Litigation about the patents involved.

  Hell, it could be anything.

  The only thing he didn't question was the viability of the tech itself. Noah didn't consider himself arrogant, but he was both honest and self-critical, and he knew damn well that any potential issue didn't come from his desk.

  Still, as the president of Stark Applied Technology Austin, any issue with the project fell on his shoulders. Time to find out just what kind of problem he was facing.

  He swept out an arm to indicate the interior of his office. "Welcome to SATA," Noah said, using the abbreviated name that he and his staff used for the business. "What's wrong?"

  This time Noah saw amusement in Damien's eyes. "Good morning to you, too."

  He took one of the guest chairs, and Noah sat in his usual place behind the desk. Damien Stark might be in the room, but this was Noah's domain, and he felt perfectly at home. "Is there a problem on the line?" he demanded.

  The first five hundred units were currently rolling out for limited beta testing. He knew the quality of the Stark plants in Asia was above reproach, but that didn't mean they couldn't hit a snag, and--"There's no issue with the hardware," Damien said.

  Noah nodded, considering Damien's words. On the one hand, he was glad there wasn't a problem on the line. But that left open the question of why Stark had come early. A question that he immediately posed, then followed with, "Or was it just the lure of my sparkling personality?"

  "Can you think of a better reason?" Stark retorted.

  "Really can't," Noah said, leaning back in his chair. "Although if we have some extra time on our hands, we might consider naming the damn thing." Officially, the tech he'd created was identified as SAT-29X35a. But since that was a mouthful, everyone on the team had begun simply calling it The Project.

  "Which is partly what today's pitches are for."

  True enough. At nine-thirty the first of ten marketing and product rollout consultants would arrive. Each had submitted a company resume and a brief proposal for the project, and each had been selected from a pool of over fifty potentials. Today, they were coming armed with a specific campaign proposal. Their challenge was to convince Noah and Damien that they had the skill, the contacts, and the vision to both name and fully market The Project.

  "To be honest," Damien said, "I came early because we need to talk about a problem with our timeline. And just so you know, I'd hoped to ask you to dinner with Nikki and me tonight just so we could catch up. But unfortunately we have to leave for Milan this evening."

  "That is unfortunate," Noah deadpanned.

  Damien chuckled. "A problem at one of the Stark properties that I have to take care of personally, but I'll admit that I hope to wrap it up quickly and enjoy a long weekend in Italy with my wife. So I'm afraid dinner's not an option. Are you going to be in LA for Lyle's wrap? He said he invited you."

  "Absolutely." Noah had met Lyle Tarpin, one of Hollywood's newest A-listers, not long after he moved to Los Angeles. They'd become good friends. Good enough that Lyle took certain liberties--like setting up Noah on blind dates with pretty lawyers. "It's on a Thursday, so I'll probably fly in that morning."

  "Good. We can catch up more then."

  "Looking forward to it. But what about the timeline?"

  "It's been slashed." Noah heard the edge in Damien's voice.

  "For the rollout?" Noah did some mental math, and the answer he came up with was What the hell?

  They'd already planned on a fast and hard campaign. He wasn't sure they could move any faster or any harder, and he told Damien as much.

  "I didn't get where I am today by being the second man to any party," Damien said. "Trust me when I say that we're going to have competition. And that's fine. Competition doesn't scare me. But I want us to be the first through the door."

  Noah sifted through everything Damien was suggesting. "Someone leaked my design?"

  "Not as far as I can tell. But The Project is a natural progression of your listening device that I licensed, and that's been commercially available for a couple of years now."

  "But only to governments, military, and contractors." Even as he said it, Noah knew his words were nonsense. Damien was right.

  The listening device functioned like any bug that might be planted by the police or a private security team. But unlike those devices--which required breaching the premises--Noah's tech accessed the entirety of a building through the building's electrical system, then filtered all the internal chatter into an infinite number of channels that could either be monitored live or with keywords input into an AI-operated review system. So far, the device was most useful to off-book, covert security teams, but some law enforcement agencies were looking into using it upon receipt of a warrant.

  Noah had invented the device while he was working at Deliverance, the covert organization founded by billionaire Dallas Sykes, which specialized in locating and rescuing kidnap victims. Because the existence of Deliverance was known only to a key few, Dallas didn't use his own corporate connections to manufacture Noah's device. But they'd needed it, and fast, and so Damien Stark had been pulled into the secret. Stark had licensed the tech for Stark Applied Technology--giving Noah a hefty royalty that produced an income in excess of anything he'd ever imagined--and provided Deliverance with the original prototypes and the final tech.

  After a while, Stark recruited Noah as well, which was easy enough to do. Noah believed in the work Deliverance did, but he'd needed to heal, and to do that, he'd needed to escape the daily reminder of his wife and daughter.

  He'd originally come to work for SAT in Los Angeles, and his focus had been on both new tech and the expansion of the listening device to the limits of the design. The Project piggybacked off the original tech, utilizing significant AI technology to construct a full building control and monitoring system. And because of the nature of the technology, it could be adapted for everything from covert military use on the one end to suburban home operation on the other.

  From the get-go, Stark had seen the potential and had provided Noah with whatever development resources he'd needed. Noah had worked round the clock, not because he was in a race with a competitor, but because the work itself pushed him on.

  Noah frowned, thinking about all the hours he'd put in. Hours that someone else with skill and vision might make obsolete.

  "Who?" he demanded.

  "It's still a rumor, but it's a solid one," Damien said. "My intelligence indicates that an Israeli-based company with military connections is close to rolling out their own prototype
of a remarkably similar product. If it's earmarked only for the military, then all that does is remove a significant chunk of our potential customer base."

  Noah nodded. "But the odds are that they'll develop a private, retail version, too."

  "Which means the clock is ticking," Damien said.

  Noah sighed, the possibility of all his work being swept away was almost too horrible to contemplate. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "I guess we better hope at least one of these consultants knows what they're doing."

  That, however, was a hope that died a slow and painful death.

  The morning's first two applicants were probably fine at their jobs, but neither brought anything new or innovative to the table, despite repeatedly saying that they were up to the task and the faster rollout wouldn't be a problem.

  The third assured them that the compressed timeline wouldn't be a problem, then spent the rest of the meeting justifying his increased fee without any explanation of how his plan would change to fit the new parameters.

  By the time the sixth--another dud--left, Noah was starting to think he ought to chuck it all and go back to writing video games. At the very least, he was confident all the applicants would know how to market that.

  "We haven't seen one with an innovative approach," Noah said.

  Damien nodded in agreement. In the meetings, he looked equally fresh for all the applicants. But now, as they waited for contestant number seven, he pinched the bridge of his nose and looked as tired as Noah felt. "It's not just innovation we need. The product itself is innovative. We need a company with ideas that are fresh enough to match our product."

  That morning, Noah would have agreed. Now, he feared that Damien was asking too much.

  To keep Damien from seeing his frustration, Noah focused on the resume submitted by the next applicant, Kimberly Porter, the owner of Crown Consulting. She'd worked on a variety of rollouts, everything from the high-visibility, nationwide retail products all the way through to announcements of new drilling techniques that were advertised only within the trade itself.

  More than that, her resume suggested a certain finesse. Whether or not she had the vision for this project . . . well, Noah could only hope. She was the seventh of ten, and if one of these last four didn't work out, they'd end up even further behind the curve.

  The intercom buzzed. "Ms. Porter is here," Carina said as Damien and Noah both stood in greeting. "I'll show her in."

  A moment passed before Carina tapped lightly on the door. It opened as Noah glanced down at the resume on the table and took a second to say a silent prayer that Kimberly Porter was different from all the rest.

  Then he looked up, saw her, and felt the room tilt absurdly to the left.

  He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, barely even noticing that her astonished expression mirrored exactly how he felt.

  She was different, all right.

  She was Kiki.

  5

  "Noah?"

  His name slips past my lips before I can help myself, and I stumble backward, as if an invisible hand has reached out and shoved hard against my chest. For a second, the thought skitters through my mind that I could spin around and bolt down the hallway to the elevator.

  Of course, we're on the twenty-second floor, so the odds are good that Noah would reach me before the elevator came to deliver me to safety.

  Assuming he came after me at all.

  Ugh.

  I'm trapped in a walking, talking, waking nightmare. The kind where the world doesn't make sense, where the ground shifts beneath you, and where the buildings rearrange themselves every time you turn around.

  "Have you two worked together before?" The voice comes from the man sitting across the table from Noah. He has raven-black hair, a chiseled jaw, and a demeanor that demands both attention and respect.

  I've never met him before, but I know he's Damien Stark. I did my research on the company, after all. But even if I hadn't, I would have recognized the man. How could I not? Stark's a constant fixture in the news for both his work and his personal life.

  Which rather neatly illustrates how much seeing Noah has flustered me. Because until Stark spoke, I hadn't even noticed he was in the room.

  Apparently, I need to get a grip, but it's not every day I see ghosts. And yet this week, I'm haunted by the ghost of relationships past.

  I clear my throat and pump up the volume on my game-ready smile. "We did," I say. "Back in Los Angeles." I step briskly into the room and position myself at the head of the conference table, so I'm looking down it toward the two men. "I have to apologize. I don't usually stand in doorways and gape. I was just surprised."

  "Ms. Porter did the music for a video game I designed." He meets my eyes, and I look away. I'm too overwhelmed by the force of the memories that crash over me. Our time in LA. And, damn me, that kiss last night.

  "But that was a lifetime ago," Noah finishes, his voice steady and cool. And even though he's taking my lead by mentioning only our professional collaboration, I can't help the twinge of pain that comes from his easy dismissal of everything that was between us.

  Good grief, I'm a mess.

  I clutch tight to my leather portfolio, willing it to pull me back into professional mode. "I had no idea I'd see you here today," I say in an even tone without any note of accusation at all. But, seriously. The guy took the time to kiss me last night. Couldn't he have taken an extra two seconds and warned me?

  I shift my attention back to Mr. Stark. "I did my research on the company after receiving the RFP, but I somehow missed Mr. Carter's involvement."

  "That's on me," Stark says. "We issued the original Request for Proposal through the main office in Los Angeles. At the time, the Austin office was still in transition."

  "I'm sorry I didn't let you know," Noah adds, reminding me of the way he always seemed to be able to read my mind. "But I had no idea you were Kimberly Porter."

  "Oh. Of course." I feel like a fool. I've spent years intentionally not searching out information about Noah. At first, it was hard to force myself not to look. He'd hurt me, and like most wounded people, I'd wanted to pick at the scab even while I was trying to heal.

  But I'd gathered my strength and resisted the urge. Fortunately, social media wasn't as vibrant back then. I was on MySpace with Pink Chameleon, but that was about it.

  Later, of course, it would have been easier to track him down. But by then, the scab had turned to a scar, and my resolve was stronger. So I'd walked into this room without any expectation at all that he would be here.

  And yet, despite all that, some part of me had believed that even while I was avoiding him, he was keeping an eye on me. Watching the way my music career spiraled down. Making a note of the fact that I'd finally given up on ever writing a song again and had enrolled at UT to pursue an MBA. Getting married to Owen.

  It's humbling to realize he didn't know any of that. To be faced so blatantly with the simple truth that we were young, that we'd shared an intense passion, and that we've both moved on.

  Or we had until we met in a dark alley, and all that heat and lust and longing came rushing back.

  Once again, I turn my attention to Mr. Stark. "When we knew each other, I was Kimberly King," I explain. "I started using Porter when I got married. But everyone still calls me Kiki."

  I don't look at Noah. And I definitely don't mention that I'm divorced. Under the circumstances, I think I'll hold that little factoid close to the vest.

  Under the circumstances.

  What exactly does that mean?

  The circumstances are that I've prepped the shit out of this assignment. That I want this job, and that I need it desperately.

  But that's not all. Unfortunately, the circumstances also include the memory of last night's kiss, and the way I melted in his arms. I may have been the one to push him away, but that didn't stop the flood of wildly erotic images invading my dreams last night.

  Which means that if I want to toss
up the specter of my former husband as a barrier between me and future temptation, I think I'm entirely justified. Noah may not be loyal to his spouse, but my loyalty to the institution of marriage and the small fraud I'm perpetrating runs deep.

  Too bad I'm not wearing a wedding ring to complete the illusion. Then again, Noah's not wearing one either. But some men don't. Some women, too. Maybe I'm a woman who doesn't want to follow convention either. Maybe I--Stop it.

  I'm not someone who shakes easily, and the fact that I'm mentally all over the place on such an important day is frustrating as hell. Yes, this is a nightmare situation, but I'm still standing, which means I've aced the hardest part. Now I need to kick the past to the curb, and all non-business thoughts of Noah along with it.

  Determined to get back on track, I give myself a firm mental yank, then flash a confident, easy smile at both men. It's time to pull myself together, act like a professional, and win this assignment.

  The good news is that I genuinely love my job. The even better news is that I've been preparing like a maniac for this presentation, because I have too much riding on this opportunity. Land this project, and my life will be very firmly on the right track after having been derailed for so many years.

  Blow it, and I'm going to have to make some really hard decisions.

  A lot of pressure, sure. But I do well under pressure, and by the time I've set up my laptop and am walking both men through the plan overview, the past with Noah has faded away. All that matters now is convincing a potential client that I'm the best for the job. And since this was an open RFP, I know who my competition is. And, dammit, I really am the best.

  As I move through the various elements of my proposal, I can see by Noah and Stark's faces that they know it, too.

  "I'm impressed," Noah says when I finally step back from my computer and ask if they have any questions. His words are simple, but they mean a lot. I know how important quality is to him, and I also know he pushes himself as hard as his team. He's not a man who gives an A for effort. If he says he's impressed, he means it.