by Sofia Grey
“I’ll get the drinks ordered.”
A little time away from the office, without interruptions, would be great. A change of scenery might help her focus on the growing list of issues. Finding a replacement for Sylvie was right up there today. As the sole admin person, Lara was swamped, and it wasn’t going to get any better.
Rico argued that Sylvie was innocent, and he might be right, but Marianne couldn’t take that chance. She needed something more concrete than gut instinct.
Her phone vibrated as she claimed what was becoming her regular seat at the back of the café. It was most likely Marcus, warning he’d be late.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Oh my. It was a text from AJ. She read the brief message, and then again, greedy for the contact. AJ. He finally replied.
Thanks to mobile technology, he could be anywhere. Here in London? God knew she had enough delicious daydreams of bumping into him on the high street, as if that would ever happen. She knew where the gossip columns said he lived, and that was hundreds of miles away.
And now she had to make a decision. Reply straight away? Last time, he took hours to come back, and then sent a one-word answer. Perhaps she should do the same? Wait an age, and then say fine? But this could be an olive branch. The moment she dreamed of for years. Or he could be in a drunken stupor and feeling melancholy.
Marcus would be a few minutes. She had time.
She slowly tapped out a reply.
Hi. Busy too. Working in London at the mo. I hear you are living the rural life now. What’s it like in the sticks? Good to hear from you, Maz
She pressed Send, briefly held the phone against her chest like a lovesick teenage girl with her first crush, and then put it down on the table. Screen locked. Face down. She wouldn’t watch it while she waited for a reply. No way. Nah huh.
She wouldn’t hear back from him for hours, and if he was sliding down a bottle of vodka, it might not be today at all. Marianne picked up the file she brought with her and flicked through the documents.
Five minutes passed, and her phone buzzed. She grabbed it immediately. AJ. Already.
Quiet in the sticks, but the natives are friendly.
Was that it? What the hell did that mean? Was it a roundabout way of saying he had a girlfriend? She stared, bemused. It vibrated again, as another text arrived.
Oops. Pressed Send too soon. Soz! Fancy meeting for a coffee next time I’m in town? Might be a flying visit before Xmas.
Never mind hugging the phone to her chest; she wanted to run around the café and squeal at the top of her voice. Okay. Calm down. Maybe she was reading several subtexts here, but he asked if she wanted to meet up for coffee, not a drink. Did this mean he was off the booze? He wanted to meet up. Did she dare?
She hesitated this time, and thought hard about what to say before she tapped out the message.
Yeah, let’s do that. I’ll be here until February, than back to U.S. Do I get to meet your new girlfriend?
That was enough fishing. Would he bite?
He came straight back.
What gf?!? News to me! You married now?
Marianne glanced at her watch. Marcus was due any minute. She didn’t want to break off in the middle of a conversation with AJ, so she needed to warn him. It was only polite.
My mistake. Soz. Too busy at work to have bf or husband. Would be fun to catch up, though. Let me know when you’re in town.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Curious to know what you do at work? Not a journo, are you?!?
She laughed aloud. He always hated journalists.
Not journo! Please! I’m a corporate suit now. Work as exec for U.S. company.
His reply was rapid.
Always remember you barefoot in jeans, with flowers in your hair. Can’t imagine you as the boss! Bet you’re good at it though. You never took any shit.
Marianne smiled at the memory. She had long hair that summer—wild curls she wore hippie style, with silk flowers woven through them. It was a reaction to AJ’s hard-rocker black-leather image. When they split up, she cut her hair in a crop and never let it grow long again.
Uh oh. Marcus was due. Time to call a halt.
Really sorry, but going to mtg with boss. Great to talk. Let me know when you are in town? Maz x
On that note, she switched off her phone. She was probably starry eyed from her chat with AJ. She still couldn’t believe he reached out to her. He sounded sober, as far as she could tell, but that didn’t mean it’d last. And because he wanted to meet for coffee, it didn’t mean a damned thing. It wasn’t romantic. In all probability, he had a new shrink and a list of people he was apologising to, as part of therapy.
When Marcus hurried in five minutes late and apologising profusely, she had her emotions under control. Mostly. Until Marcus covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you. Have dinner with me tonight.”
* * * *
It’s interesting to see what people carry in their wallets and what hidden delights they store in their phones.
In Louisa Reeve’s case, her phone has an extensive list of numbers—each of which will now be checked and cross-referenced—plenty of photos, and some video clips of her little boy. He looks charming.
Her wallet held the usual assortment of plastic cards, which I dumped into a street trashcan, and a small amount of cash I donated to a charity collector. After all, I’m not a petty thief. I found a bundle of shop receipts, her bank account and driving licence numbers, and a credit card slip in her husband’s name from an expensive restaurant in Mayfair.
Of far more value, though, were the identification cards telling me her home address and phone number, and a temporary address in Wales—presumably where she left her son. This will be very useful.
Chapter Eighteen
Marcus had no intention of pursuing Marianne, right up to the point when he met her for coffee. He walked into Starbucks and found her immediately, sitting in a quiet corner. Late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the window and lit the side of her face. She gave the impression of being fragile, with that delicate bone structure and short, fine hair, but she could kick ass like a pro.
Right now she looked almost vulnerable. Her eyes were filled with a dreamy, wistful look, and she rubbed her finger absently across her lower lip. Man, he wanted to do that instead. Desire snaked through him, and he groaned inside. One look at her, and he burst into flames. Was she thinking about him? Christ. He couldn’t stay away from her.
Live a half-life with Louisa, or risk everything to be with Marianne?
He’d think about the magnitude of that another time.
Hours later, as he prepared for the evening briefing, he tried to ignore the anticipation coiling in his belly. There was business to get through. And then dinner, with Marianne. He poured fresh coffee, stared out at the dark evening sky, and composed his thoughts. Rico swept in, flanked by Aiden Bradley—The Spook, as Marcus thought of him—and Marianne. She was all professional, crisp and efficient, but with the tiniest smile for him when she sat down.
Marcus gestured to the coffee on the side table. “Help yourselves. It’s a fresh pot.” Aiden got up and poured a cup for Marianne, then fussed over her as he added the milk. She spoke in a low voice to him as he sat down next to her.
Was he flirting with her?
Aiden was speaking. “I’ve got a free evening tonight, Marianne. Do you fancy going somewhere for a drink when we finish here?”
She smiled back, regretful and polite, but with a hint of interest. “Sorry. I’ve got plans. Maybe another night?”
Was she flirting right back? —the fuck?
She was probably trying to throw Rico off the scent. Maybe. Marcus had to concentrate and try not to wonder if she was wearing those tiny, lacy panties again.
Aiden opened the meeting. “There are several subjects to cover. First is the personal-data issue, second is the fake email, third is the up
date on the virus, and last is the update on the server.”
He looked directly at Marcus. “After working through the contents of your personal drive, there’s no doubt the files on Sylvie’s laptop were put there during the past week. The log files and date stamps were altered, to make them seem older.” He passed round a sheet of paper. “Don’t take my word for it. Here’s a list of the files concerned and all relevant information on them.
Marianne asked the question on Marcus’s lips. “So what does this tell us?”
“The files were copied from Marcus’s laptop sometime between Friday and Tuesday. For the volume of data copied, the operation would have taken fifteen minutes, max. It means a small window of opportunity for the thief to have come into your office. Either that, or it was your I.T. department, who undertook the data encryption Monday night.”
He waited a moment before continuing. “I checked the work logs and timesheets for Monday night. It looks as though the encryption was done by Andy Belshaw, one of the techs, who also encrypted six other laptops that night. However, when I examined the access records, there were two other people in the office that evening—Graeme Wilks and Pete Tandy. Graeme was doing some server patching, and Pete reviewed the Help Desk logs. Andy Belshaw set the encryptions running simultaneously, then left for the evening around six thirty. Graeme Wilks left shortly after, and Pete Tandy clocked out at seven thirty. In theory, any of them could have copied the data. They all had access.”
Rico picked up the story next. “Something we shouldn’t overlook is the information that was taken. Someone out there may have the entire contents of your contacts list Marcus. Internal and external email addresses, and phone numbers. And all your personal email contacts—Louisa, Jordan, and so on.”
Aiden flicked through his notes. “Second—the fake email, supposedly from Rico to Sylvie Woodrow. It’s incredibly difficult to locate the source of a Hotmail message, since they’re all routed through the Microsoft servers. The best we can get is the physical location of the computer that created the Hotmail account, which has since been deleted.” He glanced back at his notes. “In this case, the location isn’t much help. The email account was created in a cybercafe in London. Oxford Street is as close as we can get it.
“However, we’ve managed to unpick the encoding in this particular email and can confirm Marcus was the only person to be blind copied. It’s still possible the email was re-sent to other people, but nobody else was BCC’d in this instance.”
Marcus felt a blast of sweet relief. He wasn’t off the hook yet with that damned email, but he’d take any good news, no matter how small.
Aiden continued. “Virus update—I’m still picking through Sylvie’s laptop, and I need another couple of days on this, but Marcus’s laptop looks clean, as far as we can tell. I ran a full antivirus spectrum analysis on the TMI Europe servers over the weekend, and I’m ploughing through the outputs. There are no further generic virus tests that can be run on the servers, but there are plenty of activities we’re undertaking. And this leads us to item four—the server update.
“It’s akin to looking for a needle in a haystack, but I’ve got specialists working on it.” He proceeded in full technical jargon, and Marcus felt his eyes glaze over.
Rico jumped in. “Thanks, Aiden. Let me simplify a little. They haven’t found any traces of a virus or unauthorised access yet, but they need another day or so to work through the data generated.”
Aiden nodded. “There are a few other things you should be aware of. One of the biggest risks is of an instructive Trojan, which is one of the hardest things to protect against.”
Marcus didn’t like the way this was shaping up. “Go on,” he said.
“If you get attacked by a regular virus, it’ll cost you time and money to clear up, and your reputation may be damaged when company computers start sending out spam email or other irritations. If you’re attacked by an instructive Trojan, your confidential information, product designs, plans, R&D data, or other secrets could end up in the hands of competitors. In simple terms, it’s industrial espionage by virus.”
Exactly what Rico warned them about.
“And how likely is this threat?” Marcus asked.
Rico shrugged. “It’s probably how TM-Tech information was leaked to your competitors. We’re working on my theory of the stolen laptops being used to plant backstops—the Trojans—via regular-looking internal emails. As Aiden explained, they’re virtually invisible. We don’t have anything in the way of proof yet.”
“Okay. How can we get proof?”
Aiden said, “The work we’re doing on the firewall configurations and access logs is designed to reduce the risk of a successful backstop. There are several other security protocols we’re exploring, but again, they take time. We’ve a lot more to do yet.”
The ultra-slow progress was frustrating as hell. Marcus listened as Marianne ran through her daily updates, and they talked briefly about plans for the next few days. Uppermost in his mind was finding out who copied his personal data. To that end, he asked for in-depth reviews of the three I.T. personnel who’d had access to his laptop, and Rico said he was on it.
With the briefing over, Rico and Aiden left, talking earnestly as they walked through the now-deserted outer office.
Marianne stayed at the conference table a moment longer, shuffling papers and looking industrious. She looked up with a bright smile. “What do you fancy for dinner?”
“You.” Marcus noted the way her eyes widened. He walked to the office door, closed it, and flicked the lock shut, before turning to face her. “I want you.”
She quirked her eyebrows but said nothing, and he knew he had to grovel. He was good with that.
“The night we spent together was beyond amazing, and I don’t wanna leave it there. So let’s go through the reasons why you said no. If you still say no, if I can’t talk you around, so be it. But let me try.”
“You’re my boss. We have to work together.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and took a step towards her. “That’s two things, but that’s cool. Yes, I’m your boss, but I like to think we’re professional enough to deal with any conflict. How about you?” Fuck. This sexy-overloaded business talk was a complete turn on.
“Your wife.” Marianne’s voice sounded breathless, and he noted the pink flush on her cheeks.
He’d bet she was every bit as turned on as he was. “I’m going to tell Louisa we’re over. She’s my concern, not yours.” He moved closer. “Is there anything else?”
Marianne shook her head. He felt like punching the air.
“About dinner,” he continued. “I want you. On the table.”
Her breathing quickened, and her chest heaved, but she didn’t demur. Instead she stood, shrugged off her suit jacket, and walked to his desk, to perch on the edge. Her short skirt rode up her thighs, exposing more of her legs, and Marcus felt his mouth go dry. She was so fucking perfect for him.
He found his voice. “What colour panties are you wearing today?”
She arched one eyebrow, and then beckoned him closer. “That’s for you to find out.”
Marcus didn’t remember walking to her or dropping to his knees. When he discovered she wore no panties at all, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.
* * * *
Marianne had to admit shagging on the boss’s desk was the ultimate power trip. She’d never been fucked as thoroughly as she had by Marcus. He made every cell in her body come alive and coaxed her into more orgasms than she thought possible.
She was such a pushover. What happened to saying no? He gave her every chance to walk away, but she didn’t. One day she’d learn to listen to her common sense, but not today. A single drunken one-night stand was one thing, but she couldn’t use that excuse any more. Whether she liked it or not, she’d taken the step towards being his mistress. When she wasn’t so blissfully chilled from a fantastic fucking, she’d think about it some more.
T
hey had dinner, eventually. Chinese takeout in her apartment, in between more frantic, urgent sex. She was exhausted by midnight and collapsed into bed, Marcus tangled in her arms. She’d no intention of kicking him out.
Something nagged at her. What had she forgotten? Damn. Her phone had been switched off since the briefing. She snuck out of bed and took her phone into the bathroom when she went to brush her teeth.
Marcus lay in bed, almost asleep.
She fired up the phone. There was another text message from AJ.
I’m busy right now, but could maybe come see you at the end of next week. I can stay a few days, if you have any free time. I’ve missed you. Yours, AJ
Shit. Why didn’t she check her phone earlier? He’d most likely be in bed by now, but she replied anyway.
Hi. Sorry, had meetings all evening. Doh! Would love to see you next week and can probably arrange some time off. Let me know when. Off to bed now. Night night, Maz x
She smiled as she sent it, then flicked back through the string of messages they exchanged today. Suddenly her night of passion with Marcus left a bad taste in her mouth. She was sleeping with one man, while making plans to meet another. It wasn’t very honest of her.
Common sense nudged. Marcus was married, and despite what he said about leaving his wife, Marianne couldn’t dodge the fear he said that in the heat of the moment. There was every chance she was a temporary distraction. A bit of fun. She didn’t mean anything to him, and that was fine. She’d no intention of falling in love with him.
Marianne slipped back into bed, and Marcus grunted, before wrapping his arms around her. She loved that—to be held as she drifted off to sleep—and she dropped a series of butterfly kisses along his arm. She was too tired to do anything else.
Her phone buzzed again. It had to be AJ. She couldn’t ignore it.
Taking care not to disturb Marcus, she snaked out a hand, to retrieve the phone and read the text.
Sleep well Maz. Looking forward to seeing you next week. AJ x
* * * *
