Page 19

Leonard

“ W hen you told me we were going for a change of scenario, I thought you meant a café or a restaurant,” Roxanne says, peeking out of the window at my mansion.

I help her out of the crappy yellow thing she calls a car and guide her to the front door.

She curiously looks around, taking in the raised flowerbed my landscaper insisted on installing and the expensive olive trees.

If she thinks I’m the typical spoiled billionaire who throws money into frivolous things, she doesn’t let it show.

“Do you want to discuss something confidential and delicate in a crowded café?” I challenge her.

She shakes her head, her eyes still wide with awe, and follows me into the house, her gaze drawn to the corridor adorned with a breathtaking art gallery.

“I guess you’re right,” she murmurs. “Is that a real Picasso?”

When I turn toward her, I almost laugh at the shocked expression. “If it’s not, I definitely overpaid for a copy.”

She is cute when she opens her mouth once, twice, but nothing comes out. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “How? Aren’t you worried it will be ruined or stolen?”

“An auction. And no, that room has controlled humidity, temperature, and light. And there is an alarm system that will notify me if a fly goes inside, let alone a human being,” I explain, and she frowns.

“You talk like it’s normal for someone to have a gallery in their own house.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

We resume our walk toward my office. “To be fair, many people I know have at least one in their main residence.”

She scoffs. “Let me guess, some of them have one in their vacation house too?”

“ Houses , but yes. That’s the idea.”

“Unbelievable,” she murmurs under her breath.

We have just entered my office and turned on the computer on my desk.

As she sits on the leather couch, one leg bent under her butt, with an arm sprawled over the back cushion, I can’t help but feel a bit strange having her here in my home.

She appears so comfortable, as if she lives here.

A strange feeling is expanding in my chest—a pleasant one as if I’m getting used to having her around.

However, this could become very dangerous territory to navigate.

“So, how are we proceeding?” she asks.

“First of all, I need to eat,” I say, going around my desk to reach the door we just came in.

She scrambles to stand up and follow my long strides. “Are you serious? It’s ten in the morning.”

I turn to look at her without stopping. “Do you need a schedule to eat?”

She frowns. “No, but…”

“I reason better on a full stomach,” I explain. The truth is, this problem is obsessing us both and we need a distraction. We are way too deep trying to track down that missing money to be effective in doing it. We need a fresh start.

“So what? Are you calling your personal chef for a snack?” she taunts.

She always does that. Asks me the most absurd thing, like billionaires have the strangest habits in the world. It has become our inside joke.

“It’s Saturday. She’s with her family.”

“You’re not keeping her chained to the pantry. Impressive.”

“Very funny.”

She grins and I can’t stop thinking about how much fun she had in the boat.

And then my mind strays toward the red bikini she was wearing, and my blood flows under my belt.

Damn! I had to take care of my erection like a fifteen-year-old when I got back that day.

I can’t stop thinking about how perfect that body is and how much I wanted to kiss her when her legs wrapped around my middle in the water. I almost gave in to temptation.

I open the fridge to scan what is inside and to hide the lust I can’t contain in her presence.

It was the right move to invite her along.

We are both obsessed with my problem, and I know she would have stayed inside her bedroom, working her ass off to find a solution.

We both needed a break to recharge and sharpen our focus.

But since we came back, my energy has been depleted trying not to think about that tiny piece of red fabric that nothing does to cover her curves.

Not to mention that I overheard their conversation about her bent over my desk and that was a vivid image I didn’t need.

“Steak and salad?” I ask.

“Okay. A full meal. But yes, why not?” She sounds puzzled.

I grab the beef from the fridge and walk to the kitchen counter where she is propped on a stool.

“What’s wrong with you and eating at scheduled times?” I’m curious.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I suppose it’s something I carry from when I was a kid. Our mom scolded us if we ate outside of meals. We always ate at the same time. I think my parents still do.”

“Do you miss them?”

“It’s not like they’re dead. We talk a lot on the phone, and we see each other a lot. I miss them, but I’m not homesick.”

She watches me prepare the meat for the grill. She is fascinated, like I’m some rare experiment, trying to gauge whether it will explode or not.

“What about you? Do you miss your family?” She gives in to her curiosity.

“They’d like to see me more.” I chuckle. “But they know that after I founded fifteen companies besides this one, I don’t have as much time to get together as often as they want.”

She stops with her fingers in mid-air as she was trying to steal some of the seasoning I have in front of me to read the label. The frown that obscures her smile makes me alert.

“What?” There is a hint of concern in my voice.

“Nothing, or maybe everything. You said you have fifteen companies besides this one. There are fifteen transactions,” she says, and I can feel my gut twist in a vice of unease, my heart pounding in my chest.

“And the sum of all those transactions is exactly the one we used to start this company, the first one.” Her words hit me like a thunderbolt, and I quickly grasp the implications.

She raises an eyebrow. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

I shake my head, dropping everything I’m doing and wondering if there is a connection. “No, it’s not a coincidence. But right now, this is just information that doesn’t take us any further.”

She stares at me, hope in her eyes. Her brain is running a thousand miles per hour—I can see it from here.

“We focused on this company because we thought they wanted to prove they could beat your cybersecurity system, but maybe it’s something more personal. They want to beat you ,” she suggests, and the dread sneaking into my chest is unbearable.

I can’t even imagine someone going to that length to hurt me. I’ve made many enemies along the way, but never someone so resentful as to hack into my systems and hurt me where I’m most vulnerable. My work is my life; if you take that from me, I’m lost.

“It’s worth a try.” My voice is firmer than I thought.

Roxanne is off the stool before I even finish my sentence.

We almost sprint toward my office. When I close the door behind us, she is already picking up her laptop from the backpack she put on the floor near my desk.

I drag the chair from the front around my desk next to mine.

We both sit behind the monitor of my computer and dig into the network we know like our pockets.

“Do you use your system to protect the other companies?” she asks when I’m already checking the first one.

“Yes, but we didn’t receive any notification about that. If someone tries to access one of them, the ticket escalates to me. They page me day or night, no exceptions,” I inform her, and a grin appears on her face.

“You are a pain-in-the-ass boss, you know that?”

“I’m proud to be one,” I reply with a smug smile.

She shakes her head without any further comment. We work side by side like the trained team we have become since she started to work with me. We dig into every single system for hours until the steaks are forgotten in the kitchen and the sun is deep over the horizon.

“Okay. On one hand, I’m happy we proved your system is solid fifteen different times. On the other, I thought it was a good hunch to follow,” she says when the last check confirms what we already know: they didn’t hack the other companies.

I stare at the computer. Something is missing, but I can’t grasp what.

“I think we should keep going in that direction. I don’t believe in coincidence,” I state, and the idea that someone is trying to hurt me is even more disconcerting.

“Me too, but where’s the common pattern between the fifteen companies? Besides your system, I mean,” she asks.

I ponder it, my mind racing. “I’m not sure,” I mumble, my uncertainty palpable.

“Come on. Not even software?” she insists, and it’s like being hit by a stone.

“Wait, there is something. The software we use to handle the employee paychecks. Different accounts, obviously, but the company we use is the same.” The hope that explodes in my chest shines through my words, a possible solution dawning on me.

“See? Ultimately, you do have to show me your employee files.” She chuckles, and I can’t stifle a laugh.

“Fair enough.”

“Should I hack into their software, or are you?” She grins.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need to hack into anything. I have access to them.”

“Party pooper,” she singsongs under her breath.

We go straight for the logs, searching for those around the dates we have for the mysterious transactions, and there it is. One of the small sums appears on the screen at the exact date and time it goes out.

“It’s strange. This isn’t a transaction,” Roxanne points out what I already saw.

I log into another company account and we find the second sum. I proceed to check all fifteen companies and we find every single sum missing. My heart hammers in my chest, ready to leap on the keyboard on my desk.

“I only have one doubt: it’s not money going out. They aren’t transactions. It looks like the bank generates them, or something, through the payroll software. Where is the money?” She is puzzled, and I feel my heart plummet into my stomach.

“It’s still there,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“They never stole from me. Not money, at least.”

“It’s still in there? What exactly are we looking at?” Her voice carries a concern I wasn’t expecting from her. These aren’t her companies. It’s not even her job, but her desire to uncover the truth is enough to make this research personal.

“We still have to check how they got in, but my guess is that they hacked the bank system to access the employee software on our servers and open the door to every single company,” I explain with a numbness that overwhelms me. I don’t even feel the fear creeping up my spine at this discovery.

She slumps back in her chair. I swear she is a shade paler than she was five minutes ago.

“And from there, they can steal something way more valuable than money: information,” she concludes in a murmur.

I stand up and walk to the wet bar in the corner of my office. I grab the whiskey bottle and pour two generous glasses.

“Here, to celebrate.” I hand her one of the tumblers.

She frowns but accepts the alcohol. “You want to celebrate them potentially stealing industrial secrets from you?”

I grin and lean back. “We’re celebrating that we have found where to start digging. We’re far from finished, but at least we have a clear path in front of us,” I say, my voice laced with a hint of intrigue.

Roxanne takes a sip, and her face contorts from the taste of the alcohol. The second one goes down smoother. “You’re weird, you know that?” she says, her voice a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Probably, every genius is.” I tease.

“And humble too!” she fires back.

We stare at each other for a long moment, and a silent conversation goes between us.

Like the one we had in the water: what is happening between us?

The comfortable routine-non-routine we have is something I never thought I would experience with a woman.

She doesn’t mind my dedication to my job because she has the same attachment to hers.

“So, those steaks,” she says, standing up and stretching her back. “I hope you have a good bottle of red wine because I don’t want to go home until I’m so drunk I forget the shitstorm we are about to raise.”

She walks out of the office, and I can’t help to stare at her ass. I will have to be very drunk too, if I don’t want to do something stupid like, for example, kiss the hell out of her.