Mr. CEO

by Willow Winters

  I laugh softly and sit back, sipping my coffee. Darcy insists on covering the costs for our little trips out into the world, what she calls my “social training,” since it's the only way she can convince me to leave the loft except for my mission or work. “You always did have a good sense of color. So, what's up?”

  Darcy, who is also one of only five people in the world with my permanent phone number, reaches into her purse and pulls out a thumb drive. “Thought you might like this. My friends finished the translations for you.”

  “No shit?” I say with a grin, sitting forward and taking the drive from her outstretched hand. “Took them long enough.”

  “Hey, the Osaka police are behind on digitizing their files, and this literally took some... clandestine activities that you're probably more trained for than I am,” Darcy replies. “Some of the people involved... well, let's just say that finding anti-government anarchists in Japan is a lot harder than finding them here in the States or in Europe.”

  “At least ones who have the skills I need,” I reply with a chuckle, thinking about some of the Japanese hackers I know online. They're definitely a... unique group. “So did you take a look?”

  Darcy nods, watching as our waitress brings her a plate with two beignets dusted with powdered sugar. “You know Kat, you can indulge in these every once in a while. You don't need to live on health food all the time.”

  “Performance food,” I correct her, looking wistfully at the fried and glistening puffs of dough. “Maybe when this is over, I'll take you up on that offer for the second one. Till then, give it to Jeff with my compliments.”

  Darcy rolls her eyes and takes a big bite of the treat. Some of the powdered sugar puffs up as she lifts it to her face and settles on her chocolate-colored skin. But a bit goes up her nose, and it makes Darcy sneeze. She sets the beignet down and wipes at her face with a napkin, getting most of it. “There's a reason us black folk don't usually eat this way,” she grumbles. “You white girls got it lucky.”

  “Right... meanwhile, black don't crack,” I return, falling into some of the old racial jokes that I learned in Virginia's house. She never let the difference in our races be a factor between us, but she also didn't let us ignore them either. “So what's it say?”

  “Aiko Mori was born in 1972 in a small village in Nagano Prefecture, Japan,” Darcy says. Her memory for this kind of thing is nearly flawless, and I'm one hundred percent sure all the details she's reciting are correct, despite the fact she isn't reading them off a file or anything. “In 1992, once she was legally considered an adult in Japan, she moved to the United States to pursue a career as a pastry chef, apparently a very popular career choice for Japanese girls.” She pauses to take a bite from her beignet before continuing.

  “Her parents had a little bit of money since her father was the president of a construction company that had some government contracts in the village, so they granted her wish to study at the New Orleans School of Cooking. Aiko wanted to learn how to make French and Creole desserts in particular. Soon after coming here, she met Peter DeLaCoeur and started having an affair with him since he was already married to Margaret, as you know. No one's sure of the exact length of the affair, but it continued for a while, even after Jackson's birth, since his half-sister Andrea DeLaCoeur was born two years after Jackson.

  “What happened to Aiko?” I ask quietly, but I suspect I already know the answer to the question.

  “After Andrea's birth, she was registered as Peter's biological daughter, which is a rarity given his indiscretions. This fact will be relevant eventually in the story. Aiko returned to Japan and took Andrea with her. Her parents had moved to Osaka while Aiko had been away. Apparently her father's business had improved, and he was now working out of the larger city or something—my friends didn't dig too deep into that. But what they did find was evidence that Aiko was shamed by her parents for having a haafu daughter out of wedlock, and that the gaijin was obviously playing her.” Darcy pauses and finishes her beignet, but this time she manages to avoid getting powdered sugar up her nose.

  “Aiko refuted those claims of course, saying they were in love, but when she called him and asked him to talk with her parents, he laughed at her and told her she was lucky he'd at least acknowledged Andrea as his own daughter. That's Mrs. Mori's words, by the way. So Aiko, distraught over the rejection from her lover...”

  Darcy's voice fails, and I'm touched. She might be an anarchist, a hacktivist, and more than willing to try and take down the rich and powerful who she blames for her family's death in Hurricane Katrina, but she's also never lost that sense of optimism about the world that's been ripped out of me. Still, I need to know. “How'd she do it?”

  “Jumped off her parents’ apartment building,” Darcy finally gets out. “She left a note behind saying that she apologized for being such a bad daughter and horrible mother.”

  It's my turn to blink, the grief-stricken look on Darcy's face touching even my heart. “What happened next?”

  “Her parents tried to keep Andrea, but Peter DeLaCoeur had her kidnapped and returned to the United States. Since he was legally on record as her biological father, the American courts sided with him. The Japanese courts sided with the Moris, but it didn't help them since Japan hadn't signed the Hague Abduction Convention yet. Andrea's been raised in her father's house ever since.”

  I shake my head, shocked. “And why aren't we releasing this right away?”

  “You know why,” Darcy says. She pulls a paper bag out from her purse and wraps the beignet inside before placing it all back in her purse for later. She always saves her second beignet for Jeff. “Come on, walk with me.”

  We get up and make our way through the French Quarter. It's only mid-morning, so it's nowhere near as busy as it'll get tonight. The St. Louis Cathedral is relatively quiet at the moment, which feels out of place here in the portion of the city best known for sin. “Remember the first rules I taught you about tunneling into a system?” Darcy asks as we stroll through Jackson Square, keeping toward the trees that line the outer edges of the park. “Come, I know it's been a few years, but I know you haven't forgotten that.”

  “Of course not. Once you have a crack, ease it open slowly.”

  “Exactly. You hit a system with a big hit all at once, that's what gets noticed and tracked. You get caught, and you end up doing time in some women's prison in Kansas. But if you work the crack open slowly, carefully, you end up with a tunnel that can go unnoticed for years until you're ready to bring down the system totally, or you exploit for as long as you want.”

  “I've already been waiting for ten years, Darcy. I don't have time for the whole Shawshank Redemption route.”

  Darcy shakes her head. “You haven't had a crack for ten years, you had a target. It took you pulling one dumbass stunt to even start to get a crack, honeychile. Now is not the time to hit them with everything. You do that, and all the bad guys surrounding the DeLaCoeurs are going to condense around him, protecting them because they're going to be afraid you're coming after them next. You gotta poison the well slowly, isolate him, and then you'll have your chance to actually strike.”

  I sigh and run my right hand through my hair. “This is such bullshit, Darcy. I was right there. Hell, he couldn't even move after I hit his trigger points. If I'd given him one more shot, Jackson would be dead. I didn't, and now you're telling me to wait some more?”

  “Jackson ain't your target. Peter is. Don't become what you hate just to get your... vengeance.”

  I stop since we're nearly at the cathedral, and I close my eyes. I'm not praying though. There's no redemption for me, and I seek no forgiveness for what I want to do. I'm just trying to gather my thoughts. “Okay, okay, we'll do it your way. Andrea first, then the other affairs, then the nastier stuff. I'll talk to Domino soon.”

  “Good. By the way, check that flash drive, I've got something else for you.”

  “Oh?” I ask, patting the little bulge in my pocket. “Wha
t?”

  “Something that'll keep food in your belly, and maybe put some newer pants on your skinny ass,” Darcy says with a chuckle. “Totally legit, too. I built the system myself, and now the clients want to see if Coup De Grace can crack it.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “You built it?”

  “I built it. Hardware too, not that I'm telling you what I used. System's up right now with dummy data files. You get in there and leave behind your signature, you get ten grand.”

  “And if I don't?” I ask. With Darcy's projects and offers, there's always a catch.

  “I get twenty, and you get twenty percent, so I clear sixteen and you clear four. Difference of six grand for you.”

  I chuckle and look up at the sky, then at the cathedral. The clouds are getting heavier, so I suspect by the time I get back to the loft, it'll be raining. Good, I need a reason to stay indoors now. “Fine. You know it's not going be that hard though, Darcy. You taught me everything you know.”

  “Almost, Kat. Remember, you hack great, but I'm a great hacker.”

  “We'll see. You giving me a deadline?”

  Darcy nods. “One week. Just enough time for you to get the first bit out to Domino, then prep the next little needle for Peter. One last thing though... have you thought about the collateral damage? Andrea's even more innocent of this than Jackson. You could hurt the girl.”

  I nod. “I've thought about it ever since we heard the rumors. But if she doesn't know, then she deserves to know. Besides, judging by everything I've researched on her... she's grown into one tough woman. I remember her as a little girl, she was tough then, too. You know she's the only one of us all that actually went to college? She's working on her MBA right now, and she's still only twenty.”

  “Sounds like you admire her.”

  I shrug. “I'm driven, not blinded. Not all the DeLaCoeurs are scum.”

  “Yeah well, while you're being not blinded, keep your eyes especially open. Jeff heard that the Black Man is looking for you.”

  I can't help it, but I shiver. Nathan Black is not someone I want on my tail, but I knew he and I might have to throw down at some point when I started this. “I figured. I know it must burn your ass that he's known as the Black Man.”

  Darcy chuckles and shrugs. “Can't help it, it is his last name. Seriously, that's one badass son of a bitch, you keep yourself safe. He might even be able to take you in a fight.”

  I nod and adjust my sunglasses. “He might. But bushido is realized in the presence of death.”

  “Goddamn samurai.”

  Chapter 6

  Jackson

  A week. I've been holed up in the mansion for a week, and it's driving me up a fucking wall. There's only so many laps I can swim in the pool, so many workouts I can do in the gym in the garage, so many movies I can watch before I go apeshit.

  Not that Pops cares. He's instructed the staff, and Nathan in particular, not to let me off the property, regardless of how I want to go about it. I'm not even allowed to walk out of here if I were feeling up to it. Mike won't even talk to me any longer. When I went to Pops to ask him about it, he just reiterated that Mike is no longer to answer to me, and works for only Pops now. Fucking ass.

  So I find myself in the one room of the mansion I rarely visit, the library. Image is important to my family, so even though nobody other than Andrea's even ever actually been to college, we still have an impressive-looking library. The library contains mostly books bound in leather, but there are still some regular hardcovers and even some paperbacks. I start looking at the titles, idly wondering if anyone's actually taken them off the shelves and read them, or if the maid just comes by twice a week to dust them.

  “You should try The Count of Monte Cristo. It's about someone seeking revenge for being wronged,” someone says behind me, and I turn to see Andrea sitting in one of the leather lounge chairs. Either she came in nearly silently, or maybe I'm just more distracted than I thought. Probably a bit of both, since she's capable of sneaking around like a ninja when she wants. She's dressed in her normal daytime clothes. For Andrea that means she's wearing her take on a power suit, wearing hip-hugging pants with a matching vest and blouse, plus four-inch heels. When you see the whole thing paired with her long, black hair cascading down her back, it gives her a really severe appearance. Andi's finishing up her MBA and probably can already take down a lot of young executives in the brains department. “It seems appropriate for what's going on in your life,” she remarks casually.

  “Our lives,” I retort, moving over to sit down next to her. I'm wearing a tank top and shorts. When you see our outfits side by side, I look even more casual by comparison, but it's not like I need to get dressed up just to sit around the house. Hell, the staff should just consider themselves lucky I even took a shower before my workout today. “She embarrassed the whole family.”

  Andrea scowls, making her look older than her twenty years. I've pointed that out to her before, but it just makes her scowl more when I do. “No, she embarrassed you. She pissed off Peter and put herself in danger as a result. But she hasn't done anything to me.”

  “Whatever. If she takes down this family, which is what it seems like she wants to do, you can say sayonara to your gravy train, too.”

  Her scowl disappears, replaced by the sarcastic grin that is the second most common expression she normally wears. “I don't need a gravy train, niichan. I'm going to break free on my own someday. I've got things to do as well.”

  I nod, half-frowning to myself. Andrea's always had this strange little driven side to her personality. I've never really been able to see all of it, but she hints at it sometimes. “If you say so, Andrea. But then why haven't you broken free yet?”

  “Just wait. I'm biding my time, that's all. Patience can be a virtue.”

  I shake my head and get up to walk toward the door, having had more than enough of this conversation. “Yeah, well, my patience is at an end. I need to do something to take my mind off this bullshit, have a little fun.”

  Andrea shakes her head, snorting. “What's her name going to be?”

  “Their names, Andrea. Their names.”

  Tiffany is an old hook-up of mine. We've played all sorts of games together, but what she loves to do best with me is costume play. I swear this bitch has a closet reserved solely for the outfits she wears when she's fucking me. So far I've seen various costumes, company uniforms, and other clothes specifically for fucking, but she's almost never repeated any of the pieces with me. Most of them allow for easy access between the legs.

  Today she's Doctor Tiffany, although I doubt a real doctor would wear a skirt this short and still expect to be taken seriously. Or not get slapped with a malpractice suit with this much cleavage showing. “Hello, Jackson. What seems to be the trouble today?” she asks in a breathy voice.

  I smirk. She's a terrible actress, but I didn't invite her over to read Shakespeare. I lean back on my bed and give a fake cough. “Oh Doctor, you know how it is. My throat's sore and my body aches all over. And I think my balls are turning blue.”

  “Aww, you poor, poor man,” Tiffany says, giving me a naughty smile. I know a lot of men who'd already be creaming their jeans at that smile alone. She knows how to work what she's got, and she's got a body like Carmen Electra in her prime. “It sounds like I might need some help for this exam. Nurse?”

  The door to my walk-in closet swings open, and Allison comes out. She's my other little playmate. She and Tiffany are pretty much night and day in appearance, but they're good friends, and sometimes more than just good friends. Allie is short where Tiffany is tall, and skinny where Tiffany is stacked, but she still has a sex drive that borders on the nymphomaniac level. And despite only having little A cup tits, she's got an ass that you just want to pour some maple syrup over and lick out for hours. Just like Tiffany, she's wearing a costume, but no nurse I've ever seen has ever worn thigh high stockings that stop an inch below the hem of her uniform.

  “Yes, Doctor?” sh
e asks, prancing her way across the floor. Allie loves playing up her youthfulness, and always tries to come across as an innocent young thing, even when she's riding my cock like a pro rodeo cowgirl. “How can I help you?”

  “This patient, Mr. Jackson... he's not feeling good at all. He says his throat hurts, and his body aches.”

  “Oh no, Doctor, what should I do?” Allie asks in her little girl voice, taking a seat on the bed. Tiffany climbs onto the bed next to Allie as she speaks.

  “I thought you might want to start by checking his tonsils while I measure his temperature,” she says. Allie's lips find mine and we kiss, her long tongue already sweeping my mouth.

  “Mmm, I think I need more exploration,” Allie whispers when she breaks our kiss, biting her lip. “What do you think, Jackson?”

  I should be into this. I should be hard as a fucking rock. I've got two hot and horny nymphos in my bed, ready to do just about anything I want. Hell, I should be tearing off Allie's nurse uniform right now and feasting on those tiny but yummy tits of hers. She's able to come just from nipple play. I should be looking forward to Tiffany riding my mouth while Allie turns my cock into a pogo stick.

  I should be... but I'm not. Tiffany runs her hand over my cock, and while there's a little twitch, that's it. “What's wrong, baby?” she asks, sliding up higher on the bed. Allie notices the look in my eye and sits up as well. “Talk to us, Jackson. Sure, we have a lot of fun fucking, but you've been an okay guy to talk with, too.”

  I sigh and sit up, scooting back. “I don't know... maybe it's just stress. I thought that a little playtime between the three of us might help ease my mind.”

  Tiffany nods. She's a nympho, but she's also an accountant, and I hear she's a talented one at that. She just likes playing the dumb slut for fun when we get together. Allie's actually a bimbo, but she's got a decent heart, too. “I gotcha, baby. Wanna talk about it instead?”