Shane

She was smart. And running on empty by the look of her. But pride had been pushing her through the last twenty minutes as she walked me through her cloning process. Part of me felt guilty, but the other part knew that once she left here, I’d never see her again. I reasoned that I pushed her into staying because I needed to figure out how she’d cloned the card.

Truth was, I wouldn’t have fired Lance for more than the five minutes it would’ve taken to make my point. He’d made a mistake, and I was annoyed. More interesting was how she’d reacted to it. Not many people gave a shit about people they didn’t know. But she’d been outraged enough to stay and show me the security breach.

I listened raptly while she explained the flaw in our card chipping. Damn if she wasn’t right. It was a design flaw. Frankly, a more sophisticated hacker, one who hadn’t simply wanted photos of her ex engaging in group sex, could’ve exploited it a lot worse.

“And that’s it. With the updated chip technology, you should be fine.”

“But you’re not a computer programmer?”

She blushed, probably not liking such a personal question. People got weird about protecting their identity in a place like Club Travesty. “No, but working with computers has always been my hobby.”

“Is that what you call hacking these days?”

She smiled. “Gotta learn how to develop before you can hack code. I’m just good at guessing passwords. Most people aren’t very smart with what they use.”

“Meaning Eric?”

She sighed. “Yeah. His password was his favorite sports team. Your chip is simply outdated technology. No hacking involved, actually.”

She stood up, stifling a yawn. It was after midnight, and considering the kind of night she’d had, I imagined she was exhausted.

“I have an extra bed in the back if you want to crash. At this hour, you’re not going to find a hotel room.”

“Really?” She looked relieved.

I wasn’t sure why the hell I was offering her my bed, especially when I’d had every intention of jerking off there to the smell of her on my fingers. Which was stupid considering I had an abundance of pussy to choose from downstairs. Perhaps taking advantage of that was what I needed to do to get this woman out of my head.

She bit her lip, looking uncertain. “I don’t want to impose.”

“I wouldn’t offer if it was an imposition. There’s a private bathroom, and nobody will bother you.”

“I, um—That would be great. I’ll go get my suitcase from my car in the garage.”

I shook my head, the protective vein tapped again. “Not dressed like that by yourself. Give me the keys, and I’ll have one of the tanks do it.”

She smiled, clearly liking my newly adopted nicknames for the two giant bouncers. “I’m not taking your bed, am I?”

“I have plans downstairs, so no.” I didn’t miss the way disappointment flashed in her expression. But the last thing I needed was her thinking the bed meant anything. In an effort to be clear, I said, “And this is simply a favor for showing me the faulty chip design. By morning, I expect you gone.”

Fire shone in her eyes and straightened her spine. “You know, I can resolve that issue right now. Goodbye.”

Shit. I’d gone too far. “Wait. Look, you’re dead on your feet. And I’m an asshole. Okay?”

She quirked a brow. “Yes, but one of those things will be better by tomorrow. Although I appreciate your half-ass attempt at an apology, the answer is no. Good night, Mr. Nelson, and, uh, take care.”

Without a glance back, she walked out.

***

After calling one of my tanks to ensure he followed at a respectable distance to see her safely to her car, I decided to do some research. Then I had to enter the craziness of the party. It was approaching the witching hour for fights, drunks, and anything else that might come up.

I typed her name into a search engine. Holy shit. According to LinkedIn, Daniella Trivioli was a tax attorney. I went to the law firm’s website and searched out her bio. No picture, which was disappointing. But the site did tell me she’d attended NYU and was licensed to practice in both New York and New Jersey. Considering the New York bar was nothing to sneeze at, she had to be as smart as I’d sensed.

This could be the answer to my issues with the IRS. Although I could’ve hired any number of professionals to help me with my accounting problems, I decided to hire myself this particular tax attorney. I told myself it was because fate had brought her here tonight when I had an issue with the IRS. I only hoped she’d believe the lie better than I did.