One More Night

by Henry, Max

  Good to know. “Get dressed and go,” I hiss. “I’ll clean up in here.”

  “My coffee?” His smirk makes me want to kiss him and start this madness all over again.

  “I’ll bring it in before I leave, Mr. Bowman.”

  His nostrils twitch at the use of his formal title. “Very well, Ms. Seaworth.”

  I can’t help but crack. The way he leers my name as he jerks his shirtsleeves on … it’s comical. I chuckle under my breath as I tug my panties on beneath my skirt, and then smooth it all down.

  “Tell me,” Jordan says. “Do you have air freshener in here?”

  I narrow my gaze on him while my fingers work the buttons of my blouse. “I think so.”

  “Good.” He checks himself in the small mirror attached to the far wall. “You might want to use it.” A wicked smile graces his lips as he opens the door and then whispers, “Because it smells like sex in here. Specifically, sex with you.”

  The asshole winks, and then shuts the door again behind him.

  I’ve lost my mind.

  I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

  EIGHT

  Jordan

  To my relief, I found Ted in the boardroom on a call to his wife. He didn’t show any sign of suspicion throughout the rest of our meeting, his demeanor professional and light on our follow up call this morning.

  His company is in trouble. And there’s only one person to blame.

  Me.

  I said I’d find a reason to visit Corinne at work, and what better way than to put my skills to use?

  Chance, my ass. She might think it was pure coincidence, but I’ve planned her week down to the final detail, even if she does enjoy throwing spanners in the works such as her initial refusal to ‘try again.’

  “This wasn’t on the cards, Jordan.” Perry sighs down the line. “You’ve gone and compromised the whole feckin’ plan.”

  “How?” I snap, twirling a fountain pen on my leather desk pad. “There aren’t any links to Cloudbank.”

  “Except for the glaringly obvious one, you stupid shite.”

  “So what if they use the same third party to facilitate online transactions? Half the fucking world use CardPass.”

  “It’s risky.”

  “Just like you using the goddamn IP I have you for this job to place bets, Perry. Don’t give me a goddamn speech about keeping a clear division if you can’t do that yourself.”

  He hesitates, silence my only answer. He knows I have him. We’re about to pull off one of the most extensive hacks since Gonzalez was jailed, and here he is using custom IP addresses, made for the job, to decide if Running Solo will place in some no-name derby.

  Fucking idiot.

  “Is she worth it?” he asks quietly.

  “Enough that I’d kick myself if I didn’t try.” Only time will tell if this investment of time is my best yet.

  “You know,” he gripes, “there are other ways to win over a girl.”

  I chuckle, trapping the pen beneath my palm. “None that are nearly as much fun.” Not to mention trying.

  If I’m to make a queen out of my foxy Corinne, then I need her to pass a few tests first. Tests she has no idea she even takes. Blind anonymity is the only way I can trial her loyalty, her integrity, and find out where her morals lie.

  “What’s next then?” The click of a lighter follows Perry’s question.

  “For us, or her?”

  “Both.”

  I push from the seat and cross to the windows of my home office. My gaze sweeps the visible perimeter of my property out of habit, and equally as much comfort.

  “We start phase one in six days.”

  “You don’t want to delay things while you play games?”

  “I don’t let pleasure get in the way of business. You know that.”

  He grunts. “She sticks around and it’s inevitable, you know?”

  “I deal with it when it becomes an issue, then. No sense wasting hours on it pre-emptively if the scenario never transpires.”

  He scoffs, the sharp suck of his breath indicating he takes a drag of his cigarette. “You’re talking about making a woman a part of your world, Jordan. The scenario is a given. An unavoidable truth. It’s unlike you to have it mapped out already.”

  “I have it mapped out,” I assure him. “But I’m playing with a real, live human, buddy. Not data and code. The response isn’t as predictable.”

  “In other words, she’s being a right cunt about it.”

  “In other words, I like her fire.”

  “Phase one. What’s the kill-switch.”

  “There isn’t one.” Once we’re in, we’re all in. There’s no glory in deserting.

  He hums his disapproval. “None at all?”

  “Perry,” I level, pinching the bridge of my nose between forefinger and thumb. “Phase one is enough to get us ten to twenty each. The following two will barely add to that. If we’re caught, I want it to be for something noteworthy, not a page three anecdote in the morning paper.”

  “If.” He sighs disapprovingly. “You’re using premeditative doubt.”

  “I’d be a fool not to have it.” It’s human nature to worry, to consider all outcomes, even the unfavorable.

  “Manifest this shit, Jordan. Visualize phase three. Visualize The Epilogue.”

  The Epilogue.

  What we’ve named the rapid fire sequence of events that gets us the fuck out of this god forsaken country and somewhere where nobody gives a fuck who you are, how you acquired your wealth, or what you spend it on.

  “First million?” I ask with a smile.

  He chuckles. “You know that.”

  Idiot thinks with his little head far too much.

  “I don’t know why you think you need to buy yourself a wife. Women harm each other to get to you.”

  “Wives,” he stresses. “If I buy them, they can’t bitch about sharing me, can they?”

  “You’re sick.”

  “And you’re the fucker who mentors that illness.”

  “Touché.”

  He coughs out a laugh. “Feck off and have your fun with the woman, would ya? Time’s running out.”

  “I know.” I check my watch. “I’ll call you again in two days. We’ll meet to run through the processes again.”

  “Of course.”

  Perry disconnects, leaving me in my office with a sinking feeling that Corinne won’t make it all the way through the screening process I have for her.

  First test starts in one hour.

  If she fails this, then the whole point of this exercise with Perry loses all reason.

  Impress me.

  NINE

  Corinne

  When you reach the point in your life where living on the edge is defined by whether you can manage to sneak a bottle of disinfectant into the breakroom unnoticed or not, you know you’re in trouble.

  This is the most daring thing I’ve done in years … well, beside the whole reason for the pine fresh cleaner.

  How far we fall.

  I drag out my cup of coffee, sipping until it goes cold while I wait on Suzy in HR to leave the room. Satisfied I have a few precious minutes to myself, I dash across and rip the cloth from under the sink, gathering the bottle of disinfectant from my purse.

  I cleaned thoroughly after Jordan left last night. Yet the thought that even a speck of my misdemeanor could find it’s way unknowingly into a bought lunch left me awake half the night.

  I scrub the chemical into the table top with raw determination, pausing every so often to check I’m still in the clear. Safe for now. My hand stinks of pine needles by the time I’m done, yet I’m somewhat slightly more at ease with the idea of a colleague eating at the head of the table.

  God help me if anyone brought a blue light in here.

  I shouldn’t have bated Jordan. Shouldn’t have let him manhandle me into what we did.

  Yet, I don’t regret a hot minute of it. Sheesh. I’d be crazy to wish for a life where I d
idn’t know the skill of his tongue, the feel of his fingers.

  With the bottle of cleaner safely stored in my purse once more, I rinse the cloth out and hang it over the tap to dry. Relief washes over me, a weight lifted now that I’ve removed any guilt from my subconscious.

  The feeling of lightness is short-lived however, tension twisting deep in my chest when Ted walks in.

  “Suzy said she’d seen you in here.”

  “Looking for me?” I collect my purse, indicating I’m on my way back to my desk.

  He twists his wedding band, blocking my exit. Damn.

  “Got a minute?”

  “Sure.” My heart thunders in my chest as I follow Ted on the walk of shame through the cubicles to his office.

  It’s akin to following the principal to the admin office in school. Curious eyes steal a look my way as we pass, no doubt reading me for any clues on why I would be trailing Ted with my purse in hand.

  “Have a seat.” He gestures to the retro orange chair before his desk.

  I shut the door behind us, eager to place a physical barrier between the speculation of my colleagues and myself.

  “How have you been, Corinne?” Ted fusses with a stack of files on the side of his desk.

  “Since I left last night?” I give him a wary smile. “Fine, thank you. Why?”

  He clears his throat. Pushes a file to the left. Up an inch. And then back to where it started. “So, you’ll understand that after what happened over the weekend we’ve had to be thorough. We were required to review everything that transpired in the office immediately before, and immediately after the breach occurred.”

  “Of course.” They’ll need to rule out any inside involvement.

  “Reviewing staff movements in the office is part of that. Security card usage, where people have been, and if it relates to their department … all of that.”

  I duck my head in an attempt to meet his eye. “What does this have to do with me?”

  I haven’t snooped around the other departments, nor tried to use my card to gain access to any offices that are out of bounds—not that there are many places locked down on our floor.

  Mostly just the server room.

  “Something came up when we reviewed the, ah …” He clears his throat, shifting his weight between his feet.

  The fact he hasn’t felt comfortable enough to sit yet, disturbs me.

  “Reviewed the what?”

  “Files.”

  “Customer files?” Does he think I was involved?

  “No.” His hand finds the back of his neck, the stress of this on him obvious in the way he constantly clears his throat between sentences. “Security files. The tapes, if you like.”

  No. This is a mere coincidence that he brings this up today. Total fluke. Absolutely nothing to do with the pine cleaner I subtly push further from view.

  “And?” I clasp my hands together, the strap of my purse in a death grip between them. “Cut to the chase, Ted.”

  “The break room.” He turns side on to me, hand rested on the files again as his thumb fidgets with the edge of one. “I would have been satisfied with a warning, happy to give you a bit of an olive branch, Corinne, but I wasn’t the one who was alerted first.”

  Oh, God. Kill me now. “Alerted?” Upper management saw?

  I need to be sick.

  “Between staff, it would have been possibly some unpaid leave, or a shift of job roles to keep a professional distance.” He lifts his gaze, finally. “But it was a consultant, Corinne.” I wish he hadn’t.

  The level of my epic fuck up is outlined in the way he can’t decide between disgust and pity when he looks at me.

  “What’s the damage, then?” A compulsory course. A written warning? No. He said it was worse than that.

  “Termination.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, Corinne, but you really dug this hole yourself.” He drags a hand over his face before asking. “Why?”

  “I … I don’t know.” My chin hits my chest, my shame clear in the blush of my skin.

  “Do you know Jordan?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” My palms sweat.

  “He never mentioned he knew you.”

  “He’s not the kind of man who would, is he?”

  Ted takes a deep breath, finger tapping the desk before him.

  I’ve lost my goddamn job over a fleeting moment of madness. Was the fantasy worth it? Was Jordan worth my career? It’s hard to find a reason to say yes.

  A lifetime of wondering ‘what if’ would have been better than this high-level panic, that’s for sure. How will I meet my rent? My credit card? Let alone feed myself.

  My job, as commonplace as it is in this day and age, isn’t exactly sought after. It could take months to find a new position. Especially without references. I’m hardly about to list Ted as a phone referee, am I?

  Guess there’s always life as a personal trainer again. Some income is better than none, right?

  “I really don’t know what else to say,” Ted offers. “You’re a smart woman; you knew the implications of this. Which is why I keep coming back to why?”

  I rise from the seat, purse clutched before me. “When I figure it out for myself, I’ll let you know.” I swallow back the lump in my throat, unable to look Ted in the eye. “May I have the rest of the day off?”

  “You can either clear your things today, or come in and do it tomorrow. I’ll give you that. But you’ll be paid to the end of the week with no expectation that you’ll be here in between.”

  A gentle way of saying fuck off and don’t come back. Nice.

  “I’m sorry, Ted.”

  “As am I, Corinne.”

  He doesn’t move while I leave his office. Whether because he’s said all he feels he needs to, or because, like me, he needs a moment to comprehend what the fuck just happened.

  I lost my job for fucking a consultant to our company in the break room. Class act, that I am. There were cameras. The urge strikes to head back in there and try and find the damn things, yet what good would that bring?

  Nope. I know without a shadow of a doubt what I’m going to do next.

  Head down, mind on task, I walk the gauntlet back to my desk and pick up the receiver on my phone.

  “Hey, sis.” Chase sounds as surprised to get a call from me as I am to be making it. “Everything all right?”

  “I need to ask you a question, and I need to you hold yours until later today when I’ve dealt with this. Okay?”

  “Sure,” he says skeptically. “What do you need to ask?”

  “Where does Jordan work? Where can I find him?”

  “Why?”

  God sakes. Don’t make me ask Ted. “I said to hold questions until later.”

  “Fine. He works from home.” A loaded pause precedes his next question. “Has this got anything to do with Sarah’s message?”

  “Maybe. Thanks, Chase.”

  I cut him off mid sentence as he urges me to call him later.

  Home. I can do that. It can’t be too hard to remember the way after only being there once.

  My gut swirls with nerves as I set my email to redirect to Ted, and then pack up the few personal belongings at my desk. I make my way past reception with my head held high, determined not to let these gossiping assholes behind me feel vindicated with my apparent shame.

  Yeah. I screwed a guy in the office, and I don’t regret it one little bit.

  I only regret getting caught.

  TEN

  Jordan

  The call from Chase leaves me somewhat hopeful. So she wants to see me? This could be interesting.

  I have to assume that she had her ass handed to her at work. Now to find out how committed she is.

  My fingers work the knot in my tie, tugging it side-to-side to lessen the restriction at my throat while I watch the security feed on my monitor. She leaves her car at the roadway, her shoulders visibly rising as she takes a deep breath and heads for the house.

  A smile twitches at
the corner of my lips as I push the chair away from my desk and rise to meet her. I shouldn’t take pleasure in her pain, but who the fuck am I kidding?

  I live for other people’s pain.

  The feed shows her mere steps from the front door, her hands wringing before her as she appears to think over her approach. My feet make quick work of the yards between my office and the foyer, slowing as I near the massive timber door.

  Any second now …

  The tie still feels too tight; I work it free and toss it aside. Not as though I need it on anymore.

  What is she doing?

  My leg twitches, the indecision in my stance as I weigh up the choices: stay here and wait her out, or duck back in to my office and see why the fuck she hasn’t pressed the doorbell or knocked yet.

  The simple monotone of the bell seems deafening by the time she finally fucking presses it. I lunge for the door, and then hesitate. No need to seem so eager. I mentally work through how long it would take me to walk from the office, making the motions in my mind as I wait the appropriate length of time before opening the door.

  “Corinne? What are you doing here?” As if I had no idea who it was … pfft.

  She runs her bottom lip between her teeth before answering. “I have questions.”

  I open my mouth to reply, yet she takes me by surprise, pushing past to bowl on in to my house. “Make yourself at home,” I quip as I shut the door and turn to follow her.

  She makes tracks through the place, her head twisting left and right as she appears to catalog every detail. Her purse hits the sofa in the living area with a bounce, her heels clicking over the tiles as she heads toward the hallway.

  “Anything you need help with?” I wisecrack as she tries a door.

  “What do you really do for a job?”

  “Cyber security.”

  She spins, eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”

  Like that, is it? “You saw me at your workplace. What makes you think I don’t tell you the truth?”

  “Last I checked,” she states, sticking her head in an open doorway to survey the spare room beyond, “people didn’t make this much from installing firewalls.”

  “Maybe it’s old money.”