The girls are still asleep when the buzzer sounds alerting me that my packages have arrived. I must remember to write a letter of gratitude to the personal shopper at Bergdorf’s. To pull this together after hours on a Sunday goes above and beyond.
The doorman brings in the last of the packages and I set about following the directions the personal shopper provided.
Dear Mr. Nelson,
Thank you for entrusting Bergdorf’s with your needs. If there is ever a time we can be of service, please do not hesitate to contact us. I have included a business card with exclusive 24-hour access to our team.
Attached is a detailed description of your purchases, organized by gift recipient. I have numbered them for your convenience.
Sincerely,
Jessica Smith
Vice President of Private Services
Dandy. If only everything I did came color-coded and numbered for me.
I grab a pen and check off the inventory as I hang the garment bags on the backs of the barstools around the island. I want them to see these first thing in the morning.
Twice checking the list to make certain I have each item set out accordingly, I stand back and admire my hard work. Tomorrow morning, they will walk into all the goodies I just organized, each pile with its own colored-coded silk ribbon. Ms. Smith included a single white envelope and card as I instructed, and I jot a note to my girls telling them to enjoy their day, whom each ribbon color belongs to, and request they meet me for lunch at Pierre’s.
I’ve never taken pleasure in giving. I give endlessly. Finn and I both do, but it’s always been an expectation. I would expect anyone with my wealth to give back. This is a different kind of giving and there’s something about it. Something I like.
“Care to clue me in?” my brother asks while we wait for our next meeting. It’s only seven in the morning; we’ve been in meetings since five. When more than half your clients are on the other side of the globe, you make adjustments with your time.
“What do you mean?” I ask, turning the page on the financial section of the newspaper, a bagel from this morning’s breakfast cart dangles from my mouth.
“You are almost giddy.”
“You make me sound like a little girl.”
“If the shoe fits…”
I roll my eyes, fold the paper back to its original size, and take a large swig of black coffee.
“Would it have anything to do with checking your phone every five minutes?”
My smart-arse answer is interrupted by a buzz on my phone. Finally.
Sam: The girls are gonna flip! When did you do all this?
Me: Some of us were working while others were slumbering
Sam: Some of us work hard and were tired.
Me: Are you implying I don’t work hard?
Sam: Seriously, the girls are going to love this. This is so special. ❤
My fingers hover over the keypad. Fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound, right.
Me: And you?
The little dots seem to pulse forever.
Sam: I love anything with my name on it tied in a satin bow ;)
Holy Shit. Someone get me some ribbon to tie a bow around my dick, because it has “Sam” written all over it.
Sam: But I haven’t opened the gifts yet… waiting for the girls to wake up.
More dots.
Sam: Thank you.
Me: You don’t even know what it is.
Sam: I know I’ll love it.
Me: Is that so?
Sam: Yes.
Me: What makes you so certain?
My question goes unanswered. No more dots pulsing in and out. I almost growl in frustration.
“I love the idea. I fucking do. But be damn sure you know what you’re doing,” Finn says when I finally look up from my phone.
“What are you talking about?”
“Sam. You need to be sure, because if you hurt her…” He doesn’t need to finish. The threat is implied.
“I don’t know what you’re tal…” Hell, even I know that this is fake indignation. I know it. He knows it. “Fine. But it’s really new—” He clears his throat. “Fuck you! Fine! I’ve been feeling this way for a while.”
“See,” Finn says with a shit-eating grin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Trust me, things are harder than they’ve ever been,” I grumble.
“You need to end it with Camilla before you start something up with Sam.”
“Camilla and I ended it weeks ago,” I tell him, picking up my phone to view a notification I just received. Sam has sent a video. “I’ll be back in a minute. Start without me if necessary.”
In the privacy of my office I tap my screen and watch a video of Zinnie and Poppy coming into the kitchen to find their garment bags and ribboned boxes. There are loud shrieks, followed by laughter and unadulterated joy.
Poppy puts on her tiara and gloves. Zinnie goes straight for the shoes. Her shriek when she realizes they are Louboutin’s is only audible to canines. The only difference between hers and Sam’s are two inches. Zinnie’s are three inch and Sam’s are five. Poppy and Zinnie both clutch their dresses and wave into the camera with a smile that makes me feel like the Grinch when his heart grows three sizes.
I watch and re-watch the video, each time taking in something new. The curve of a smile, a previously missed dimple. I’m on my third—okay, fine, fifth, I’m on my fifth view when a text pops up from Zinnie. There’s a video attached. I push play and watch as Sam opens her boxes unaware she is being videoed. She takes her time opening each one. She pulls the Valentino from the garment bag and holds it against her. She runs her fingers over the fabric. The next are her shoes. She’s wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt. The hem sits just beneath her rump. She never walks around in this state of undress when I’m home. She smiles and gives a little clap before bending over to slide her foot into the soft leather, a hint of green knickers poking out. Zinnie focuses on Sam’s legs as she balances into one shoe then the next.
She walks across the room and her legs look fucking fantastic. Skipping back to her packages, she lets Poppy open the gloves and the tiara before she opens her box with the sunglasses. She slides them in place on her face. She props her chin on her shoulder as she gives Poppy a coy little smile before opening the last box. There’s an audible gasp as she opens her Tiffany pearls. Her fingers caress the smooth beads. I got the girls a single strand, but for Sam I got a three-strand necklace, all perfectly sized and curated.
Sam sits in stunned silence. Zinnie zooms in onto her face and a tear falls from under her dark glasses. Sam’s fingers quickly slide under the rim to remove the evidence. She clears her throat and tells the girls to get dressed. They have a breakfast to get to.
Thirty minutes later, I check my phone and there is a selfie on Instagram of the three of them in their sunglasses, smiling in the back of a cab. The caption reads, ‘Three Audrey’s on their way’.
Comments from the guys start to appear. One from my mom commenting on how beautiful they look.
Finn kicks me under the table and I quickly fall into step with the meeting.
The morning crawls by until it’s finally time to meet the girls for lunch. I invited them to our usual meeting place with the guys. I might not want to share the video with the guys, but I knew they would love seeing the girls dressed up. I couldn’t leave them out of all the fun.
“Is it just me or does Sam appear to have a proclivity for themes?” Pierce asks. “Movie Mondays, Tuesdays at Six.”
“Not just you,” Colin confirms.
“I, for one, dig it,” Quade says, ordering two fingers of scotch.
We hear a bit of ruckus as Poppy charges through the restaurant and straight into Finn’s arms. Her delight draws a chuckle from the on-lookers before all eyes turn to Sam. Her dress accentuates every curve, and even though the dress in the movie was longer, the personal shopper and I took some liberties. Sam’s dress pinches in right above her knees, and the image of her legs wrapped around my waist as I rut into her over and over is in the forethought of my mind. The men stand as Zinnie and Sam take their seats, Poppy giving everyone a play-by-play of their morning adventures. Sam is seated between Colin and Pierce, who leans toward her and whispers that she looks stunning. When she blushes, I nearly turn the table over and throw Sam over my shoulder in a sign of ownership.
But I don’t own her. So, I stay put. Poppy’s frenetic storytelling is an excellent distraction.
“And then this manger man—”
“Manager,” Sam says.
“Manager man,” Poppy tries adding extra letters, “came and got us after we finished our breakfast and told us we were expected inside, then he let us choose from a whole big glass box.”
“You don’t say?” Finn responds with the look of utter surprise.
“We were given the option to choose something else,” Zinnie explains, “but there was a glass display case that had three items in them waiting for us.” She shows them a picture of the case.
Three felt bust displays surrounded by shards of ribbon matching the girls’ morning presents each displayed necklaces: one, a gold necklace with a tiara charm for Poppy; another, a rose-gold necklace with a camera charm for Zinnie. The third is a white-gold necklace with two modest round cut emeralds, one bezel-set in rose gold, the other in yellow gold.
Zinnie and Poppy show off their pearl necklaces after the guys respond to the pictures of the other presents with the appropriate amount of oohs and aahs. Sam doesn’t. This doesn’t surprise me. I had already received a call from the manager telling me Sam was reluctant to accept the gift and only did so when he explained he would be fired if she didn’t. Of course, that was not true, but you don’t get to his position without understanding whose side to play in a business transaction.
Pierce toasts our lunch guests before the waiter takes our orders. “Only a real lady can pull off a tiara in the middle of the day.”
Lunch is a weaving of conversations, a minimum of four at any given time. There are several business acquaintances who stop by to say hello, but they only have eyes for Samantha. A few glance toward Zinnie, but Quade shuts it down before I even have an opportunity to respond. Good thing, too. The looks to Sam had me boiling, but the glances to Zinnie made me fucking murderous.
“You learn quickly they don’t have to be your blood for the parental protectiveness to take over,” Graham Taylor says as we leave. He and his brother, Adam, are having lunch at a table near ours, so I stop to say hello as we leave. If anyone has experience in this area, it would be Graham. He has one adopted child and they are in the process of adopting a second. Graham and Emme also have a biological child.
“It’s hard to explain. Your biological children are a gift, but your adopted children are a choice. You find your heart has the ability to love all your children with everything you have for what is uniquely theirs. To tell a child they were chosen is an amazing gift to give them.”
“I swear you sound more and more like dad every day,” Adam ribs.
Graham shrugs unapologetically. “You’re a good man for taking in Everett’s girls. I can see the difference in you. Just wanted to let you know it’s clear you’re finding your footing.”
“With the girls, yes, with the woman he was eye-fucking over lunch…” Adam smirks.
“Yes, well, let’s let the man figure some things out for himself.”
I think about Graham’s comments on my way back to the office. My steps lighter than they have been for months. But the feeling is short lived when I find Brad waiting for me in my office.
“It’s not good,” he twitches nervously. It’s like he needs a fix because there is a puzzle he can’t solve, and it’s making him crazy.
“It never is when you leave the thirteenth floor to pay me a visit,” I mumble and hit the intercom for Maria to locate Finn.
“He’s back,” Brad says.
“Who’s back?” Finn asks, entering my office.
“The hacker. And this time he did some damage.”
“What kind of damage?”
“He’s frozen five of our largest accounts and I can’t figure out how.”
“Fucking figure it out or I’ll get someone in here who can. Christ. Maybe that’s what I should have done already,” I threaten, aggravated by the knowledge that our systems are still vulnerable.
“We’re doing our best,” Brad bites back before slamming the door behind him.
“You know he’s on our side,” Finn reminds me.
“I know. But Jesus, we’ve been three steps behind this fucker for too fucking long.”
“Yes, well, dropping the f-bomb over and over will certainly make everything better,” Finn quips, leaving me to stew. I know zero about coding, even less about IT systems, and I absolutely loathe being at the mercy of anyone else when there is a problem to be handled.
My sour mood continues through the evening. My plans to get home at a decent time were waylaid by this predicament we are in. We have a tight window to report to the SEC if we feel we have been breached to the point that investors should be worried. It’s now nine the next morning, I’m on my third meeting, and we’re on the clock. We have four hours to report.
The doors open to the conference room we have been using for ground zero. Finn and I haven’t left since we both arrived in at five. There’s a low murmur of voices and I look up to see Samantha. I know Finn kept her on for some IT projects, but she wasn’t scheduled to be in the office until the girls are back in school next week.
She’s wearing high-waisted dress pants with a silk white shirt that shows lace underneath. Her hair is lifted high into a bun on the top of her head. She’s wearing glasses and a simple gold band on her middle ring finger. Brad rolls out some blueprints on the table, and when Sam leans over to jot some notes on the paper, the dangle at her throat glitters. The necklace with the bezel-set emeralds sways softly as she moves. It highlights her neck, which is beautiful, and even in the chaos and frustration of this day I can’t help but imagine how it would look with my come pooled at the base of her throat, spilling onto the sheets beneath us.
“What’s the verdict?” Finn asks. Sam stands from her bent position.
“This code makes Brad’s team look archaic. I was able to break some of the code, but I can’t see how they froze the accounts. The money is there, but it’s not—for all the sense that makes.”
“So, we need to make a call to the SEC?” Finn asks.
Sam looks at her watch. “Clock started when?”
“Yesterday at noon,” Brad says.
“Give me an hour, but keep your team on it.”
“Where are you going?” Finn asks.
“To see Elise Donovan,” Samantha says.
“We met with her,” I remind her.
“But you didn’t hire her. She can fix this,” Sam says over her shoulder as she exits the conference room.
“Who is Elise Donovan?” Brad asks.
“She’s a little bit of everything. Political Operative, Publicist, Marketing Consultant,” Finn says.
“She a fixer,” I grumble, a tad bit angry with myself. I purposely haven’t been back to Elise after we first met with her several weeks ago. I inadvertently accused her fiancé of hiring the hackers so that we’d be forced to go to the SEC and take a hit to our stock. My stubbornness may have caused more frustration than necessary.
An hour later the conference room doors swing open, and Sam walks in with Elise.
“I need three million dollars wired to this account in thirty minutes,” Elise says with no preamble, dropping a piece of paper in front of Finn. “Your accounts will be unfrozen, and you can report a repaired glitch to the SEC instead of the breach. Then tomorrow, I need two million transmitted to the second account listed. This will serve as a deposit. Three days tops your system will no longer be susceptible to these attacks. Once the rebuild is complete, you will need to send a remaining five million dollars to the third account.”
“Let me get this straight. You want me to spend ten million dollars because you tell me to,” I say slowly. I’m being a dick, but it grates mine that she is waltzing in here on her white horse like she’s fixing this.
“Yes. That sums it up,” Elise says, not remotely bothered by my surliness.
“And I would do that because?”
“I’m Elise Donovan.”
“Ten million is nothing,” Sam says. “Pay it and this all goes away. The patch we build after each hack is costing more than ten million. Ten million is a steal.”
“What’s to say they won’t come back?” I ask. “We haven’t been able to keep them away as of yet.”
“Can we have the room please?” Samantha asks, nodding to the various people situated around the conference room. They follow her command and my dick thickens behind the zipper of my trousers.
“I found a signature in the code,” Samantha says. “It’s Waldo.”
“Who the fuck is Waldo?” Finn asks.
I’m a tenth of a second away from commenting on his f-bomb but think better of it.
“You remember the airline system failure last June? The one that grounded flights for four days?” Elise asks. “That was Waldo. He cost the airlines about 150 million dollars in lost revenue and all he did was break the code in one place.”
“It’s his signature. It’s so simple it’s hard. Most hackers have to re-write the code extensively. It’s hard to correct, but at least you know what you are correcting because it’s easy to spot. With Waldo, you don’t. It’s literally one break in the code and a virus is hidden behind that break.”
“So, he’s called Waldo because?”
“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. Like looking for Waldo,” Elise says. “He also claimed responsibility for the electrical grid hacks that kept L.A. in the dark for two days this summer. The list goes on and on.”
“What does he want?” I ask.
Elise shrugs. “It could be anything or nothing. It probably has something to do with the fact that you have more money than God. At one-point Waldo was like Robin Hood. Hitting greedy banks, government agencies, etc., but somewhere down the line started using his talent for evil instead and is more than likely doing this for fun.”
“This is ridiculous,” I bellow.
“It’s ten million dollars. Do you know what it will cost you if you don’t spend this? Hundreds of millions. Plus, your stock will plummet from the rumors of SEC investigations alone.”
“I say pay it. It’s a steal. What’s your hesitation?” Finn asks.
“It feels like we’re being held hostage and I don’t like it,” I answer. “I mean, who is more at fault? The person holding my accounts in peril or the person holding the repairs hostage until I agree to pay the ten million? What guarantee do I have that the person I let in to fix this won’t create chaos himself?”
“Because I know the person who can fix this,” Sam says. “And if you look at the accounts in front of you, you will see they are not personal or off shore bank accounts, they are charities. So, you get the credit for giving and you get Waldo out of your system.”
Finn addresses Elise. “I thought Mask was the only person you said could get us out of this?”
“That’s correct,” Elise says.
“You know Mask?” Finn asks Samantha. “How?”
“I can’t and won’t answer that question. Elise represents Mask. The clock is ticking, we need an answer.” Sam looks from Finn to me and back to Finn. He nods, and Elise exits the boardroom.