by Amelia Wilde
Get a grip, Vivienne.
I look out at the traffic gliding along the street next to me, the taxis coming and going, pulling smoothly up to the curb, gliding away, and take in another deep breath. The city almost smells fresh, and I step back against the building, glancing down at the awning covering the sidewalk in front of Wilder Enterprises.
In spite of everything, in spite of the raging hangover, the fight that happened because neither of us could cool down for a minute, the fact that Dominic walked out on me and refused to talk to me on the phone and told me in no uncertain terms that it’s over, I can’t help but think of him stepping out of his Town Car and looking down at me in the rain. A man like Dominic has enough money and enough power to ignore a person on the sidewalk, but he didn’t. He offered me his hand. He looked into my eyes, and he saw me, he saw me right then.
My throat tightens, aching in the same cadence as my heart, but I swallow it down. The mortifying fact of all of this is that I still want to finish out this investigation on a high note. I still want to find and help bring to justice the person who is selling energy technology secrets to a foreign entity. I want it for me—I want it for my career—but I still want it for Dominic, even after everything.
Maybe—maybe—if I can do this, then I can finally explain to him what all the secrecy was about, what he saw me hiding last night.
No—I can’t do this.
I laugh out loud, on the verge of tears, and blink them back. What I can’t do is stand out here on the sidewalk debating whether or not I can actually tell him the truth once this investigation is over. I don’t have time for that. It’s all a moot point if I don’t get a move on and blow this thing wide open on the tight schedule I’ve been handed.
I put a professional smile on my face and head toward Wilder Enterprises with my head held high, eyes glued to the traffic with every step in case Dominic crosses my path.
The first item on my agenda is to come up with a lie that will draw the person from tech support up to my desk. I don’t have time to come up with a sophisticated plan, so I start by overloading the computer with every conceivable program I can open and then running the most complex tasks I can think of until the entire thing freezes up. Then I pick up the phone and dial down to the basement.
“Mark Sadler.”
“This is Vivienne Davis,” I start out, letting my voice shake a little. “I’m sorry to bother you guys, but there’s something wrong with my computer and I can’t get it sorted out.” I hate playing the damsel in distress, but sometimes it’s the most effective thing.
“Okay. What floor are you calling from?”
This guy—Mark Sadler—could be the one. Based on what I’ve noticed in his emails, all signs point to him as a primary suspect. To prove my suspicions, I need access to his machine, and I don’t have time to come up with a cute plan to stay after hours and then hope he’s gone home for the day.
“Mr. Overhiser’s office,” I say, banking on the fact that he’ll remember the names of the executives, at least. “I’m up here, and I can’t get this to work, and there’s a lot to do—” I let my voice rise higher and higher in octave.
“Hold tight, Ms. Davis. I’ll be right up.”
He clicks off the call and I do another performance of being frustrated in case anyone is watching from some hidden corner of the office, count to forty, and then I stand up, heading straight to the elevator.
My heart beats wildly. If he’s on this car, right now, then it’s going to look at least a little suspicious that I’m leaving and not staying to anxiously hover over his shoulder until the computer is fixed. I come up with several excuses—a last-minute drink order, being so overwhelmed by my emotions that I need to step outside, an urgent request to retrieve a file—and I’m prepared, but when the doors open, the elevator car is empty.
I take it down to the third floor, then let my eyes go wide for the benefit of anyone who might have noticed that I’ve never been here before, and step back in. There’s a wait because the elevator is on its way to the upper levels, and when it gets back down there are two people inside—neither of whom are the tech support guy. Hopefully he’s making his way to my computer right now.
I clutch the flash drive I’m going to need for his machine in my left hand and get back on the elevator.
When the doors open on the basement level, it’s a different scene from when I was here last. It’s well-lit, and all but three of the offices have someone inside them, hunched over a keyboard. One of them swivels around as I make my way into the space. “Need something?” He’s got red hair and dark eyes, and looks vaguely irritated to be interrupted.
“Dropping something off,” I say, holding up the flash drive and giving him my most charming smile. The corners of his mouth turn up, and then he turns his back.
“Is it for the kid?”
Kid? I give a shrug, then continue on past the office.
Mark Sadler’s office has his name on a bracket outside the door, and his computer is on, humming. I jam the flash drive into the first available port I see.
My heart is beating out of my chest, slamming against my rib cage so hard it’s difficult to hear anything else. The drive needs thirty seconds to work, and that’s probably how long I have before someone realizes I’m standing in here.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Twenty-five.
Thirty.
The indicator on the flash drive blinks, and I grab it up as fast as I can.
But I’m not fast enough. I’m still standing up when Mark Sadler’s voice interrupts me from the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
I slap a sheepish smile onto my face. “I thought—oh, this is stupid.” I tuck the flash drive into my hand, hoping it’s hidden from his view. “I thought I should come down and see you first. I’m so impatient. But when I got down here I realized—”
He’s not buying this.
“—that you’d already gone up.”
“Okay…”
“But I’ll get out of your way. How—how’s the computer?”
“It’s fine,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that sends a chill down my spine. He locks his eyes on mine. “Give me a call if you have any more trouble.”
“Thank you so much,” I gush, and I move quickly toward the door. He moves away from it, but a beat too late, like he might stop me. “I promise I won’t bug you too much.”
I can feel his eyes on me all the way back to the elevator.
42
Dominic
I lose the entire day on Wednesday to feeling like shit, but when I wake up on Thursday, all the remaining alcohol and hangover bullshit has cleared itself from my system.
I’m a new man—all except for the dull ache at the pit of my gut. I try to ease it by ordering my chef to come in early and cook an enormous breakfast—bacon perfectly crisp, scrambled eggs fluffed to perfection, toast with a hint of cinnamon sugar—but it doesn’t have much of an effect. Vivienne would like this breakfast, and every bite I take, I can’t help picturing what she’d look like wearing one of my shirts, sitting across the table from me, enjoying the hell out of it after a night of—
I push those thoughts right out of my head. They’re not going to do me any good now.
A full half-hour early, I call Craig to bring the car around. In comparison to yesterday, I feel unbelievably alive and ready to tackle the day, to make Wilder Enterprises the center of my life again.
Like it should be.
Even if my stomach turns over at the thought that a love affair with a company might be the best I can do, after Vivienne.
On the way into the office, I call an emergency meeting with my executive team. Half of them won’t be in yet, but the ones who aren’t will be rushing to get here as soon as they get my email. I start sorting through the messages from yesterday, firing off terse responses and generally reminding everyone that, yes, I am still in charge, despite yesterday’s sudden d
isappearance. When Craig pulls up to the curb, I sign off on the last one marked “urgent,” and square my shoulders. Not even Vivienne Davis is going to derail me.
Not for more than one day.
It feels like everyone in the lobby is staring at me, which can’t possibly be the case, because large portions of the building are rented out to companies that have nothing to do with Wilder Enterprises and hence nothing to do with me.
It’s not until I get to my office that I realize it’s not some kind of delusion, because even Emily’s expression seems off.
“Good morning, Emily.”
She gets up from her seat behind her desk and picks a tray from her desk, her eyes lingering on me longer than usual. “Good morning, Mr. Wilder.” She presses her lips together, watches me walk past her to my inner office, and then follows me in. “I hope—I hope you’re feeling better this morning.”
I take a seat behind my desk and look at her. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
Emily tries to give me a half innocent shrug, but she’s clearly uncomfortable. “You were out sick yesterday, so I was—”
“You know what? It’s fine.” Something’s up, and it’s above Emily’s pay grade, and grilling her on it like this is a dick move. If Vivienne walked in right now, she’d think—
No. No. I just got here. I can’t let her consume me within the first five minutes.
But I can’t help it. Vivienne trusted me, trusted me to take her places she’d never been before, and she trusted me to know when it was time for the power games she loved, and when it was time for us to be equals in bed. She’d expect the same kind of thoughtfulness everywhere else. She’d expect me to know when I was using my power against someone who didn’t deserve it and refrain, for God’s sake.
“It’s fine,” I repeat, and Emily’s shoulders relax. She steps forward, setting the tray on my desk, and I make a determined effort to appreciate the sparkling water. “I’m sure you saw the email about the executive meeting.”
“Yes.” She nods firmly, obviously relieved to be back on solid ground. “I didn’t put together an agenda—I assumed you’d want to lead the meeting yourself—but there’s still time, if you’d like me to.”
“No, I don’t think this will take long enough for a formal agenda.”
“Anything else, Mr. Wilder?”
“Not right now. Thank you, Emily.”
I hear the little sigh she lets out as she crosses the threshold.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m striding into the meeting room down the hall from my office. Every pair of eyes turns to me, as they always do when I come into the room, but there’s something strained in their expressions.
I close the door behind me with a click, then take my place at the head of the table. “Have a seat.”
There’s a general rustling as chairs are pulled out all around the table and people settle in.
“First item on the agenda,” I begin, sitting casually in my chair like I’m completely at ease. “One of you is going to tell me what the hell has you all acting like I’m a glass figurine.”
It’s Childs, with his lazy drawl, who breaks the ringing silence with a little laugh. “Mr. Wilder, we were all pretty concerned about you when the news broke yesterday.”
“News?” A cold trickle of anxiety moves from my neck down my spine. What news is he talking about?
He must see the tension in my face, because he waves both hands in the air. “Gossip blogs. Some idiot with a camera saw you staggering out of your building yesterday afternoon and thought it was worth putting on the internet. Doesn’t seem to have any major effect yet, but it’s not like we’re filing for an IPO.” He laughs again—a risky move—but everyone else is stone-cold silent. “Did you stay out too late for the first time in a decade? What was that, son?”
It’s so quiet I can hear everyone breathing, and I know a lot of shit hinges on this moment. The next several days hinge on this moment. The next several weeks.
So I laugh along with Childs. “You know what? That’s exactly what I did.” A few others around the table join in when they realize it’s not a trick, I’m not goading them into anything. “I’m not a saint.”
Childs lets his eyes go wide. “You’re not?”
I give him a look paired with a half-smile, and everybody else laughs, too. I let them ride it out, and then, as it’s settling, I put both hands on the table.
“Enough of this. Status updates, everybody. I want to get back on track, and I want to start right now.”
They launch into their updates, and I settle back in my seat, trying to focus.
This might have been a narrowly avoided disaster, but it proves that Vivienne wasn’t the problem. Losing her was far more devastating.
Far more.
43
Vivienne
I stay up all night Wednesday night combing through the contents of the flash drive, and it’s there.
It’s all there.
A secret cache of emails that weren’t being picked up by the original sweeps at Wilder Enterprises. A separate app, buried deep within the operating system, for transmitting the files themselves—encrypted, of course. Bank account information, payment transfers—all of it. It’s the smoking gun. It’s the proof that Mark Sadler is the one who’s been selling the secrets.
I rub my hands over my face in the early hours of the morning, exhausted and energized at the same time. This is the proof Milton has been wanting me to come up with, and I can finally provide it. I can’t actually make the arrests, because he wants a specialized team to do that, but I have all the evidence. Getting his computer will be icing on the cake.
Calling it in is the last step.
But I hesitate reaching for the phone.
Milton won’t give a shit that it’s four in the morning, but there’s a hollow pit in my stomach that doesn’t feel anything like success.
The truth is that I can’t do this without telling Dominic first.
Maybe it’s because the two things—Wilder Enterprises and Dominic—have become so tightly intertwined in my mind that I can’t end one of them without also getting closure with the other. I laugh out loud in my silent apartment. Closure in the sense that at least he’ll know the truth about me. I don’t know if closure about what we shared coming to an end will ever come.
Milton is going to need some time to call in the team, that’s true, but I still have one more day remaining on his timeline.
“You have time,” I tell myself out loud. My voice sounds ragged and tired.
I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth—my mouth is sickly sweet with the frappuccino I got from the all-night cafe down the street—and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The bags under my eyes have reached epic proportions, and my skin is ghostly.
This is not how I want to approach Dominic to tell him. Not at all.
All at once, as I stare into my own eyes, all the fatigue from the last couple of days—the hangover, the sobbing, the all-nighter with the data—hits me, full force.
Four in the morning.
I can maybe get up at seven to make it to work on time, but…no. I find my way back to my cell phone, dial Mr. Overhiser’s office, and say that I need the morning off, I’m sorry for the short notice, something came up. Then I dial Stephanie’s desk phone and ask her to cover for me for the morning. I’ll be in shortly after lunch, I tell her.
It’s a near thing, making it back to bed before I fall asleep, but I manage it, tumbling under the covers with my eyes already closed. As I drift off, an image floats to the front of my mind: Dominic smiling at me, shaking his head, forgiving me for this mess.
It’s after one o’clock when I wake up, rubbing at my eyes, trying to get the world back into focus. When I see the time on my phone screen I bolt straight up in bed, my legs tangled in the sheets. “Shit. Shit.” It’s well after lunch. “Way to screw up in the home stretch, Vivienne,” I shout, while I run to the bathroom and fling myself into the shower.
I’m already late, but I’m not about to show up at the office looking anything less than halfway perfect. Not today.
I rush through the shower but force myself to slow down. I twist my hair up behind my head so that I look like a lady and not a deranged animal who slept in too late and got doused with water. I take special care with my makeup, putting on some mascara and eyeliner, drawing it in with an oddly steady hand.
The first dress I pull out of my closet is perfect for—
What kind of occasion is this? Trying to get a meeting with my ex-boyfriend and former lover who is still technically my boss, although not really, because my real boss is Milton Jeffries of the FBI, so long as I can get this shit taken care of by the end of business tomorrow?
Regardless, it’s a simple black sleeveless sheath with understated embroidery in a slightly lighter shade, summer flowers drawn with an air of professionalism. I slip into my heels, grab my purse and the flash drive, pop the second drive with a copy of everything I’ve found along with my summary and findings, and head out the door.
My skin glistens on the way to the subway. It’s hot, and the sun is relentless. The same as when we went to that amusement park. My heart aches at the thought of Dominic popping cotton candy into his mouth and laughing. Everything before we got into the cab was the stuff that dreams are made of, for God’s sake.
I’m rushing, but even so, Wilder Enterprises looms up before long, before I’m ready for this.
No choice. I need to be ready now.
The air conditioning in the lobby is a welcome relief.
First order of business is to go up to my desk and make sure Mr. Overhiser hasn’t suffered a breakdown without me.
Naturally, he has not. He’s preparing to go home for the day as I put my purse into the bottom drawer of my desk. “Hello, Mr. Overhiser,” I call through his open door. “I’m sorry about this morning—I had—”