Page 12 of Sweet Pucking Revenge (2-Hour Quickies #6)

Grayson

"Sweet fucking revenge!" Dorian announces, bursting through our apartment door with a bottle of champagne and a wicked grin.

"Dorian!" Maggie scolds from where she's curled against me on the couch.

"What? That pendejo deserves it." He drops dramatically onto an armchair.

"This isn't about justice, darling. I'm not interested in being Mother Teresa saving his future victims—especially because I have better taste in clothes than her.

I want that lying snake to feel what it's like when his world crashes down. "

I pull Maggie closer. "We need to be smart about this."

"Oh darlings," Dorian pops the champagne, "with her brains, your insider knowledge, and my flair for drama? We're going to be brilliant."

"Ideas?" Maggie asks, accepting a glass.

"We could slash his tires!" Dorian suggests.

"Amateur," I snort.

"Release locusts in his apartment?"

"Where would you even get locusts?" Maggie laughs.

"I know people." Dorian waves his hand mysteriously. "Or... oh! We could hire that hypnotist from Fremont Street. Make him think he's a chicken every time he hears a whistle. Imagine—middle of a game, referee blows the whistle, and suddenly..." He flaps his arms and makes clucking noises.

"Too public," I say, trying not to laugh. "And definitely too obvious."

"Fine." Dorian pouts. "What about that thing they did in 'Clueless' where they send him love letters from a secret admirer but really it's from—"

"Are you getting all your revenge ideas from 90s teen movies?" Maggie asks.

"Don't judge me. Those movies were iconic."

"What we need," Maggie sits up straighter, "is proof he's cheating. Show Lenora who he really is."

"Wait—who's Lenora?" Dorian pauses mid-sip.

"The team owner," I explain. "Think Cruella de Vil with a hockey franchise and better shoes."

"He's dating her," Maggie adds. "Total cougar situation."

Dorian's eyes go wide. "Oh. My. God. This is perfect!

" He sets down his glass and starts pacing.

"Don't you see? When a woman like that gets played, she doesn't just get mad—she gets even.

One whisper of him cheating and poof!" He snaps his fingers dramatically.

"There goes his career, his reputation, everything. "

"Good thinking," Maggie bites her lip.

"Darling, hell hath no fury like a billionaire scorned. And if she's anything like Cruella, she'll skin him alive and turn him into a tasteful clutch."

"He's definitely still seeing Melody," I add. "The Marilyn impersonator. He was texting her during practice."

"Marilyn impersonator?" Dorian perks up. "Please don’t tell me she’s the cheap knock-off who works at the Flamingo. Okay, tell me. Oh baby, this is too perfect."

"We need access to his apartment," Maggie muses. "His emails..."

"Which would be illegal," I remind them.

Dorian rolls his eyes. "Captain Goody Two-Skates over here..."

"No, he's right." Maggie's eyes sparkle. "We need to be careful. Anonymous."

"Like ninjas!" Dorian claps. "I have the perfect outfits."

I watch them brainstorm, getting more animated with each suggestion. Maggie's brilliant mind working, Dorian's creativity flowing, and me... well, I’m just falling harder for this woman who plots sabotage like it’s foreplay.

"What if," Maggie says slowly, "we could access everything without breaking in?"

Dorian leans forward. "Do tell."

"He keeps a spare key..." She grins. "And I happen to know exactly where."

I should probably feel guilty about what we're planning. But watching Maggie come alive with possibility, seeing her take back her power... how can anything that makes her smile like that be wrong?

"To sweet fucking revenge," Dorian raises his glass.

We clink glasses, and I know there's no turning back.

Not that I’d want to.

Two hours later, we're outside Kyle's building. Dorian's idea of "ninja outfits" turned out to be all black everything—including a beret he insisted was "essential for covert operations."

"The key’s in the fake rock inside the potted plant," Maggie whispers, pointing to a massive concrete pot by the door. "He thinks he’s so clever."

I lift the fake rock. Sure enough, there’s a key inside. She takes it, her hands trembling slightly. I catch them in mine.

"We don't have to do this."

She squeezes my fingers. "Yes, we do."

Inside, the apartment is exactly what you'd expect—expensive but soulless. Maggie heads straight for the laptop on the kitchen counter.

"Password?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes. "Hockey69. He uses it for everything. Told me once when I needed to buy tickets."

The emails load, and damn. Kyle's been busy. Messages to Melody, full of promises and innuendo. Others to Lenora, dripping with calculated charm, trying to convince her marrying a younger man is chic.

"Look at this," I point to the screen. "'My sister's health is improving'... he doesn't even have a sister!"

"But Melody exists," Dorian calls from the living room. "And she thinks she’s getting a ring. Poor thing’s probably practicing her signature already—complete with a heart over the ‘i’ and enough exclamation points to crash the server."

I smirk. “Man, you should see the email where she asks if Canada has ‘regular electricity’ or if she should bring a charger that works off crystals?”

Maggie's fingers fly over the keyboard, her face lit with purpose. When she looks up, her eyes are bright with that brilliant spark I love.

"I know exactly what to do." Her fingers move quickly across the keyboard. "First, let me grab these email addresses and their encryption keys—Kyle's old account and his cloud backup. Basic cybersecurity, really. He should have known better than to let an AI expert access his laptop."

“Care to share your villain origin monologue with the class?” Dorian asks.

"Not here." She closes the laptop, pocketing a small USB drive. "Let's go home. I'll explain everything."

I can't help laughing. "That's what the asshole gets for thinking you were just a hot girl with a laptop hobby."

We head to the door, ready to slip out like shadows, leaving everything exactly as we found it.

Maggie pauses by the desk, eyes catching a few handwritten notes.

"These are his," she says, picking one up. "Might need handwriting samples later. Not sure what for, but better to have them."

She snaps a few photos with her phone, then smooths the notes back exactly where they were. "Just in case."

We're all grinning, knowing Kyle Finley's perfect world is about to implode.

And we'll be watching from the front row.

"Wait..." Dorian grins wickedly, pulling a Columbo. "Alexa, play Barry White every day at 3 AM. Doctor's orders. And don't let anyone cancel."

"Command confirmed," Alexa chirps.