by Renee Rose
I force my thoughts to business. At least the part of the business that concern her.
“I want the results of her tests sent to me.”
Luis bobs his head. “Of course. Will you be sitting in on all the interviews today?”
“No.” Luis probably wants me to elaborate, or to explain myself, but he won’t push. Everyone knows I’m a minimalist when it comes to conversation.
“May I ask...what did she say in the elevator?”
I shrug. “She insulted me. It’s fine. I’m sure most of my employees have said similar or worse things about me behind my back.”
Luis plays with his paper coffee cup on the table, too diplomatic to agree. “What did you think about her?”
“She’s bright, that’s obvious. Her resume isn’t that impressive. How did Stu say he found her?”
“Headhunter.”
“I wonder why the headhunter thought she’d be a good fit when she has no infosec experience on her resume.”
“She’s totally a hacker.”
“Obviously. But how did the headhunter know that?”
Luis taps his paper cup on the table. “Good question. Want me to find out?”
“Yeah. And get me her test results.”
“So did you like her?”
No one that hot should be so anti-social.
She thinks I’m hot. Yeah, I’ve heard it before, but never cared what humans thought about my looks. All shifters—well, all paranormals, actually—are more beautiful than humans. At least, I thought so, until I met Kylie.
“I found her... “ Fuckable? Intoxicating? Adorable in a tough-girl kind of way? Right...the tough-girl thing is an alpha trait. If Kylie were a shifter, she’d lead the females of the pack. She had all the qualities of a top female.
Luis waits for my comment. What the fuck am I going to say? Her scent is addictive. My wolf wants to claim her.
“Interesting. I found her interesting.”
I stand, wanting to prowl after Kylie into whatever office Stu has set her up in just to watch her work. My wolf doesn’t want her alone with any other male. And I like a good hunt, especially if Kylie’s my prey.
~.~
Ginrummy
He didn’t expect Kylie to be so hot. Or poised. Brilliant, yes. But he pictured her mousy. Awkward. Socially anxious like him, perhaps with glasses and her hair pulled into an absentminded knot. Maybe with a nose-piercing. Not the cute diamond-chip in the nostril, but the bull-ring in the septum tough-rebel-chick kind.
He supposes not all computer geeks are misfits, but well, anyone who spent her entire childhood online and out of the real world shouldn’t also be a certifiable brick house with high heels and juicy tits. Shouldn’t be able to look that intimidating asshole Jackson King in the eye and run her own interview as if she was the one hiring.
She looks bored, now, as her fingers dance over the keys, solving the security problems they laid out for her.
In a way, this makes things easier. She’s more like Jackson King than him. Dammit, Kylie—Catgirl—McDaniel is way out of his league. So framing her for the demise of SeCure won’t hurt as much as he imagined. Because, in his mind, she’s always been his cyber-girlfriend of sorts. Yeah, it’s stupid, but she’s female and he’s male and they’d been accomplices in the hacker world since puberty when his raging hormones needed nothing more than the name “Catgirl” to get off.
They cut their teeth together as young hackers, sharing information and their successes, passing along tips, advising others. It was dumb luck he found her after she disappeared for the past eight years. But she re-surfaced on DefCon, the old secret hacker forum where they’d always interacted, looking for help with cracking into the FBI. Naturally, he’d assisted.
He’d been looking for her for a long time. Not just out of nostalgia, although he wondered about her. She’s perfect for what he needs. There are very few hackers capable of breaking SeCure’s code. And he happens to know Catgirl is one of them. She did it before—as a teenager, no less.
So when she resurfaced, he helped her with the FBI and then followed her through their doors to see what she was up to. She deleted files on three people—a deceased married couple and their daughter, vigilante burglars, known for stealing from the dirty. She also added evidence on another criminal, including tips on his whereabouts. By digging, he gathered enough evidence to surmise she was the daughter of the cat burglar team. It fit with the sorts of questions she’d posed years before—about security systems and safes. Based on the FBI’s limited information, the criminal she’d set up for arrest had probably murdered her father during a job.
After that, it had been difficult, but he eventually found her IP address, and then it was a matter of sending a headhunter after her for a job at SeCure. Imagine his surprise to find out she lived a mere two hours away in Phoenix.
He watches her now, her glossy hair tucked behind her ear, whizzing through the stupid tests they made up for her. Oh, they were real tests—they would’ve been a challenge to anyone else, but he knew she’d pass with flying colors.
If that damned power outage hadn’t thrown her together with Jackson King, hiring her would be a sure thing. But it sounds like she said or did something to piss the CEO off. He sure as hell hopes King won’t block them from hiring her.
~.~
Kylie
I push open the door to the house I share with my grandmother. My legs are stiff after the two hour drive back to Phoenix, and I’m ready to trash these heels. “Mémé, are you home?”
My grandmother appears from the kitchen, her lined face split into a grin. “Minette!” My pet name, Minette, is the French word for kitty. My parents came up with it. My mom was French—Dad met her on a crew working an art heist in Arles. It was love at first sight, the way he told the story.
“Well, how did it go?” Mémé always speaks to me in French, and I always answer in English. I speak five languages fluently, and French is one of them, but at home I’m lazy. Or maybe it’s part of trying to be normal.
I sink into a chair at the kitchen table and kick off the evil black patent leather high heels. What a poor choice they were.
Mémé sits down beside me. “I’m waiting.”
I blow a raspberry. “Not well. I screwed up, actually. Big time, Mémé. The power went out while I was in the elevator.”
“No.” Mémé gives an exaggerated gasp and covers her mouth in the animated way only people of her generation still employ. Mémé knows about my claustrophobia. She can probably guess its origin, although we never discuss my parents’ profession or my former illegal activities.
“And I got stranded in there with Jackson King—the Jackson King.”
Mémé gives me a blank look.
“He’s the founder of SeCure. But I didn’t know it was him—it was dark. And I said some not-so-flattering things about him.”
Mémé looks sympathetic. “Ah. That’s too bad, ma petite fille.” She pats me on the shoulder and stands up. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you some soup.”
Of course. Because food fixes everything, doesn’t it? Mémé’s cooking is as good as therapy. She moved in after my dad died, and, for a few months, her crepes were the only reason I got out of bed.
Mémé moves to the stove and ladles the hot broth liquid into a bowl. Today’s fare is French onion, my favorite. Mémé serves the rich brown broth with a baguette and Swiss cheese.
“Careful, it’s hot.”
I grin up at Mémé. After Maman died, I spent my entire childhood taking care of my dad—trying to keep him out of jail as he played Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to right the wrongs of the world. After all those years, it’s sweet to be coddled by Mémé. Though she’s tough when she has to be. I wouldn’t have finished college if she hadn’t convinced me. I’d always taken online courses—just for fun. But she insisted I take classes above board, from the same college and finish a degree. Get the diploma and put myself in the real world, even if it was under a fals
e identity. So I did.
But I still barely have a social life. I’m too used to being a loner, keeping my secrets hidden. After what happened—after my father’s… Jesus. I still can’t think about it without a searing pain in my chest. His murder. His betrayal and cold-blooded fucking murder. Yeah. After that, I stopped all illegal activity. I erased our identities, not that Dad and I had ever been on the grid anyway. I went legit. With Dad’s double-crossing murderer looking for me, I hid in plain sight, as an ordinary American citizen.
The heists were my parent’s gig, anyway. They’d been a regular Bonnie and Clyde. But mom died in a car accident when I was eight, so I became Dad’s new partner. I’d refused to leave his side, even though he would have preferred I sit safely in a boarding school or with Mémé in Paris. But his vigilante Thieves for Justice thing wasn’t my calling. I just liked to hack.
That’s how Mémé talked me into taking my current job for the gaming company. But I’m barely tied to the real world. I rarely leave home. I don’t date or have any close friends. In some ways, I’m still Catgirl, lurking in the shadows.
Maybe that’s why the elevator encounter threw me so much. I’ve never been touched by a man, much less a hottie like Jackson King. Frightening, how easily he breached my walls.
My cell phone buzzes, and I grab my purse to rummage for it. A SeCure number. “Hello?”
“Hi Kylie, it’s Stu, from SeCure.”
“Hi Stu.” Brilliant K-K, really brilliant.
“I’m calling to let you know we were impressed with your skill set, and we’d like to offer you the job.”
“Really?” Part of me wants to fist-pump the air in triumph. I gave the worst impression ever, and I still got the offer. Take that, Interviewing for Dummies.
The rest of me is skeptical.
“There’s no second interview or anything?”
“Nope. You scored 100 percent on the test, and management liked you.”
“Management?” He can’t mean King.
“Yeah, Luis thought you were great. So the HR department will call you with the real offer, but I have permission to discuss salary with you. We’re offering one hundred thirty-five thousand dollars plus moving expenses. Full health and dental insurance, profit sharing, and stock options add another third to the salary package.”
Er...wow. I smile at Mémé, nodding. It’s fifty K more than I make at the moment, and I never expected them to foot the bill for moving. Probably too good to be true. But I can’t turn it down. “Thank you, that sounds great.”
“So you’ll accept the offer?” He sounds enthusiastic.
I should play hard to get, but fuck it. “Yeah. Absolutely. I’m thrilled.”
“Great. HR will send you a written offer tomorrow. How soon can you start?”
“I don’t know...a month?”
“I was hoping two weeks,” Stu says.
“Really? That’s pretty fast.”
“We are paying for relocation, so that will simplify the move for you.”
“Is two weeks a requirement?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll be there,” I say.
“Great. We’ll finalize the paperwork tomorrow. Welcome to the team.”
I hang up and beam at Grandmere. “I got the job!”
Mémé throws her arms around me and kisses my temple. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations.”
I accept the hug, wondering what King thinks of my hire. At least he didn’t veto it. That shouldn’t excite me as much as it does.
2
Jackson
I sense the moment Kylie enters the building. Even if I hadn’t already known it was her first day at SeCure, I wouldn’t have missed her presence. My wolf senses prickle. A growl rises in my throat. Swallowing it back down, I move from my desk and pace to the wall-to-wall windows, gazing out at the Catalina foothills. My collar is suddenly too tight. I want to shed my clothes, take my wolf form. I want to run. To howl. To hunt.
When Tucson courted SeCure to move our headquarters to the city, I played hardball, pressing for tax advantages and new roads to the proposed location. But, in truth, it was a no-brainer. Tucson is perfect for a shifter—nestled between three mountain ranges, with a population of only a million, it gives me quick access to wilderness while retaining all the advantages for business. Attracting high-caliber employees wasn’t hard—most professionals were delighted to relocate to the desert, even with the hot summers.
I built the headquarters at the base of the mountains. My own mansion also nestles into the front range of the Catalinas so I can run and hunt at any time.
I pace in front of the windows, skin tingling. I’m actually considering shifting in broad daylight. My wolf wants out. He wants to hunt, to kill. Or fuck.
Mine.
Yeah, my wolf wants to fuck that hot little human on the sixth floor. If I were smart, I’d stay way the hell away from her. But I wasn’t thinking with my brain when I recommended hiring her in the first place.
I can’t get Kylie out of my head. Over the past two weeks, her scent comes to me at night. I see her in my dreams. The memory of her long legs and bat tits gets me hard every time.
How can a human be so attractive?
A tap on my door. “Mr. King? Your nine a.m. is here.”
With a sigh, I sit at my desk. “Send him in.” More business shit to deal with. Kylie will have to wait.
~.~
Jackson
I force myself to wait until eleven a.m. By then, my entire body twitches from the effort of resisting instinct. Shooting to my feet, I stride out of my office, past my secretary’s desk.
She looks, surprised. “Your eleven a.m. is waiting, sir.” She’d already told me once, and I’d asked for a minute.
“Yeah, I know. I’ll be back in five.” Or ten. Or however long it takes me to throw my little Batgirl up against the wall and fuck her senseless.
I shove my wolf back down. This is a bad idea. She’s human. Beautiful. Fragile. Breakable. At best, I’d bruise her. At worst... I’d break her.
But I have to see her.
I take the elevator to the sixth floor—the memory of touching her making my cock even harder. Thank fate we were stuck together. Thank fate I didn’t realize how her scent called to me until after we were out of the enclosed space. Only years of control kept my wolf from taking over and claiming her right there. Control and being so fucking confused.
I’ve never felt this way before. I shouldn’t feel this way. Especially not about a human.
I prowl down the hall, ignoring the way all the employees’ conversations die when they see me. Most days, I welcome their nervousness. It satisfies the predator part of me. Today, I have different prey.
I don’t need to ask where my little hacker is stationed. Her scent leaves a trail. Vanilla and spice, and a flavor I don’t recognize.
My hunt ends at a tiny windowless office. Kylie sits studying her computer screen with a coffee mug at her lips.
Although I don’t make any noise—shifters tread far more quietly than humans—she snaps her head in my direction before I step through the doorway, blinking as if she doesn’t quite believe I’m real.
“Mr. King.” She swivels in her chair but doesn’t stand. My wolf likes that she’s lost her fear of me. She crosses her long bare legs, and I thank the fates she’s wearing another short skirt. “Or should I call you J.T.?”
So she’s still annoyed at my little deception. Her voice holds a note of scorn no other employee would use, and damn, but it makes my cock twitch.
The sight of her thrills me, but I allow myself only a small grin. “You may.”
Her gaze flicks to the doorway behind me, and only because I’m part wolf do I recognize a slight trapped animal vibe under the confidence. Like it makes her itchy to have the only exit blocked. Must be part of her claustrophobia. I step into the office and away from the door to give her an unfettered exit, and she relaxes.
I lean against the wall, cr
ossing my arms over my chest. My wolf wants me to puff out my muscles, and run out to hunt and bring her back a rabbit for lunch. Down, boy.
Her scent hits me hard, bringing on the prickle of the shift. I will it back, hoping my eyes haven’t changed color.
She arches a brow. “Is that what you go by?”
“No.”
She sets her coffee mug down and stands. The skirt hugs her tight body, her heels making the muscles of her calves stand out in stark relief. A faded Spiderman T-shirt stretches across her chest. This girl has a superhero fetish.
Too bad I’m the villain. I want to yank the T-shirt up and drag my tongue up that flat belly to the perky tits.
“Listen, I want to apologize again for what I said. I didn’t mean any of it. I was just...jealous.” She sounds sincere.
I didn’t expect another apology. The set of her shoulders says she’s on the defensive, but the softness in her face and voice tells me she’s actually trying to make nice. Which is...refreshing. My employees, business colleagues, hell, everyone in my life either sucks up to me, or talks shit about me behind my back. Or both. Only other shifters are real, but the Arizona packs don’t love me. Which is my own fault.
“Jealous of what?”
She shrugs. “Your brains, I guess.”
Another surprise. Most people are jealous of my success, my money, my power. They seem to think I haven’t earned them. I got lucky. “If you got inside my head, you wouldn’t find much worth keeping,” I say. Just a lifetime’s worth of guilt. Any therapist would point out my obsessive career drive as compensatory. And if the psychotherapist knew what I’d done to deserve my self-loathing, they’d lock me up. But my mistake can’t be undone. My mom can’t be brought back from the dead, and my stepfather’s death still came too late.
Kylie studies me.
What does she see? A giant, awkward geek? A creepy guy? Or does she see the wolf in my eyes, the predator that wants to put her on her hands and knees and fuck her senseless?