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Calm down. He didn't fire you. You’re good.

Clearing my throat of the unshed tears, I shuffle down the empty rows of basic wooden desks toward my station.

**

IT'S LATE EVENING WHENI'm finally done with normal work and finishing dinner. Careful to get all the pizza grease off, I scrub each finger clean and toss the used wet wipe toward the overflowing trash can in the corner of my bedroom. As I stare at the two screens, the gentle hum of the tower and the heat pouring against my chilled bare legs have all the stress from the day, every drop of anxiety, dissolving. In here, online, is where I’m comfortable, where I belong and I'm in control.

I'm queen.

The confidence I lack socially is made up tenfold in here. If only things were as straightforward and simple as computers, maybe the world would be a better place.

A quick crack of my neck, a long sip of milk through my strawberry Twizzler, and I text Mac to let him know I’m ready to begin.

Me:Ready when you are.

Mac:How was your day?

Me:Meh. Filled with interactions I wish I didn't have to endure. I wish I could wear a shirt that says ‘Careful: Introvert Enclosed.’ Maybe then people would understand I don’t hate them.

Mac:I'm so glad you got a dog.

Mac:Instead of a cat.

Mac:Or I'd worry you were turning into an old cat lady at twenty-seven.

Me:Hit me. Come on, I need a challenge after this basic day.

Mac:Okay. Added a new layer of security with a few trapdoors. Get through them and find the file with your name on it. Open it and see if you can break the encryption. You have ten minutes.

A thrill shoots through my veins as my fingers fly across the keyboard. Every night, when I'm not working for him, we go through these various training exercises to hone my hacking skills. It's been going on for years now. He says it’s for him, since I consult on his team when needed, but I know he's doing it for me. That's the kind of guy he is. From that first day he barged into my life, I knew my well-being, my growth, were the only things he wanted from me.

Done.

I smirk at the clock. Seven minutes.

Me:Make it challenging next time.

Mac:Well done, grasshopper.

Me:Learned from the best.

Mac:Learning. Lots more to learn.

Me:What's next?

Mac:Your toughest challenge yet.

Me:Just tell me! Dying over here. Plenty of caffeine handy to get me through the night. But I can't be up too late, need to be at work by eight. The creepy boss said so.

Mac:What do you mean creepy?

Me:Ogling creepy, not touchy creepy. Well, he did mention we could come up with a way for me to make up lost hours for coming in late.

Mac:Fate, please tell me this is something you read recently and not real life.

Me:It does sound like a book, right? The start of some kind of romantic suspense where the boyfriend—which would be you, I guess, in this case—would swoop in and protect the pretty damsel in distress.

Mac:Who do I need to do the swooping on?