Chapter 19 I drum my fingers against the heavy glass of Vander's desk, eyeing the closed door at the far end of the office like it's insulted me. Which, in its silent, impenetrable way, it has, since I haven't seen Vander since he left his house on Monday, and today is Thursday. Behind the door he affectionately calls the closet, guarded with two forms of biometrics and a keypad, Vander has sequestered himself, and part of me can't help but take it personally. I'm essentially living alone in his house. Cooking in his kitchen and afraid to touch anything. If that isn't weird, I don't know what is. The fridge is loaded with things. All kinds of food, including baby things I always wanted to get for Hazel but was too broke to afford. Things like organic yogurt packs and oatmeal smoothies and crap like that. I even noticed the wine refrigerator, which is huge, is now fully loaded with red and white wine. He's doing all these things for us, and it's not even like I can have a conversation with him because he's in there and only replies with short answers to my texts. Like these... Me: I quit the club. Vander: Good. Me: How do I turn on your crazy TV system? Vander: Try the ON button on the remote. Me: Is all this food for us? Vander: Yes. Me: Are you home for dinner tonight? Vander: No. Me: Can I bring you some breakfast? Vander: No. For seventy-two freaking hours it's been like this. On the bright side, Hazel loves the house. It's big, and she can run around in it, and she doesn't have to share a bed with me. Plus, our bathroom has a big bathtub that she's loving. I went to clinical yesterday armed with makeup on my cut that's now a lovely and delightful bruise on my face, and with an explanation of how I was so sick I tripped over the curb and face-planted into a building. Ha-ha. Isn't that so funny? Everyone bought it because why wouldn't they? But all that aside, I need to talk to Vander, and he's locked in his damn closet. Is he sleeping in there? How big is that room anyway? Is there a bed in there? A kitchen? Drums? A bathroom? Hell, he could have a woman in there that he's been pleasuring nonstop. Ugh. Why did my stupid brain have to go there? My phone pings with an email. Then another. The red exclamation points are multiplying like digital rabbits. Each one more urgent than the last, each one requiring his attention and decision. Each one adding to my growing collection of problems I can't solve without him. I go to open the first one when Champagne pops her head around his office door, her tortoiseshell reading glasses slipping down her nose. "Has he emerged yet?" "What do you think?" I gesture to the closed door, trying not to let my frustration bleed into my voice. It bleeds anyway. "What's in there anyway?" She shrugs as if she doesn't know, but I bet she does. "The Thompson people will be here in two hours." She taps her watch. "He promised to meet with them. Their CEO is jumpy. Did you hit the button?" I grimace but nod. "Like three times, and he's not replying to my texts. I think there's also an incident going on that I don't understand." I hold up my phone. "It's blowing up with emails all from the same company." The office hums beyond his door with the quiet efficiency of people who know what they're doing. Unlike me. I'm only a couple of weeks in, and I still don't understand half of what people say or any of the acronyms they regularly use. "This email says something about a... phishing email and someone clicking a link they shouldn't have." Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Damn. Who's the client?" I glance down at my phone. "Um, Pinnacle Financial. So far there are like five emails from them." She purses her lips. "You need to knock on the door and get his ass out of there." I never should have accepted this job. "Can't you? He likes you better than he likes me." She gives me a grin that I don't particularly like the meaning behind. "I think we both know that's not true. Knock if he's not responding to the button or texts. He has CEO work he has to do." "You can't retire. You can't leave me alone with him." "You've got this. Go knock on his door and don't take any of his shit." She walks off, and I'm left gnawing on my lip and pulling on a loose thread on my blouse. Crap! Me: We have an incident with one of your clients, and you have a meeting in two hours. No reply. Ugh! Vander's office phone rings, and it's... Pinnacle Financial's freaking CEO. Double crap! "Vander Moore's office, this is Liora speaking." "This is Marcus Daniels. I'm so glad you picked up," the man says, his voice urgent. "One of our senior vice presidents has us in a panic. He clicked on a link in an email, and it took him to a funny website he felt didn't look legit. I'm concerned it was a threat actor, or whatever you call them, and now we've been infiltrated. Again." My blood freezes. "Did he say what the email looked like?" "It was an internal email from our auditing department. Said it looked completely legitimate. It had our logo with all the right formatting." "Got it. Mr. Daniels, I'm going to relay this message to Mr. Moore immediately." "Please hurry. The last time something like this happened, it turned out to be ransomware. Vander was able to fix it somehow without us having to pay, but it's not a road I want to travel down again or let our shareholders know about." "Right. Of course." Because that's not sketchy at all. "We'll be in touch shortly." I disconnect the call and chew on my lip. I call Vander's cell, and it rings once, twice, until his voicemail picks up with no mailbox set up. Of course not. I stand and straighten my slightly too short pencil skirt with one sharp tug. Each step to his closet door feels like a mile, with the tap of my cheap heels on the polished concrete floor an exclamation point of my annoyance. The glass walls of the main office give way to a short, private corridor leading to his closet. Unlike the rest of our sleek, modern workspace, this hallway feels like an industrial tunnel, leading to a black hole or a cave. With my heart hammering in my throat, I knock. Hesitantly at first, then with escalating insistence when no response comes. "Vander." My knuckles rap against the wood until they hurt. "I know you're in there." Silence. "Pinnacle Financial was hit with a phishing attack, and you have a meeting with a CEO in less than two hours." I raise my voice, not caring if it carries outside his office. I kick his door in frustration. "Vander?" I close my eyes. Not now. Not her. Alesha rounds the corner and finds me standing in front of his closed door. "Oh. You. We have a meeting soon." "He knows." "Can't you get him out of there? Isn't that your job? He can play drums later." I swear to Jesus, if he's in there playing the damn drums, I'm going to shove one of those sticks up his ass. And how does she know what's in there? This woman has been shit talking me up and down the floor. Sometimes I actually hear her, and she's as nasty as it gets. "Alesha, go pee in someone else's cornflakes for once. I'm in no mood. He'll be at the meeting." "And you'll be out on your ass by the end of the week if you keep this up. The sweet ex-girlfriend charm is no doubt wearing thin if he won't even open the door for you." I give her a wiggly finger wave that might have a bit more of my middle involved and turn back to the door. I listen for her heels clicking and clacking their way out, and once I'm sure she's gone, I bang on his door again. Then I try the handle, but obviously it's not budging. Something inside me snaps. Maybe it's the stress of the past week, maybe it's the fact that I've barely seen him since Hazel and I moved in. Whatever it is, I pound on the door with the flat of my palm. "Vander Moore! Unless you're actually dead in there, you need to open this door right now or so help me God, I will knock it the fuck down and kick your ass." The door flies open so suddenly that I nearly fall backward. Vander fills the doorway, all six-foot-four of him wearing a black T-shirt and jeans with shoulders that seem specifically designed to block entry and arms filled with colorful tattoos I wish I had a moment to analyze. His green eyes encased in clear, gray-framed glasses could freeze lava for how coldly he glares at me, his annoyance at my pounding on his door evident. His blond hair stands up in places like he's been running his hands through it, and he's got several layers of beard going on. Or perhaps he was asleep if his disheveled appearance and purple stains beneath his eyes are anything to go by. "What are you doing out here banging on my door?" Wow. He seriously wants to die. "Did you not hear anything I just said or read any of my texts?" I grit out, ready to strangle him. "No. What's going on?" He scrubs a hand up his face. "I fell asleep." With an aggravated sigh, I repeat everything. "Shit. Again?" Frustration flickers in his eyes. "Dumb motherfuckers clicking links they shouldn't." "He said the email looked legit." He rolls his eyes. "I'm sure it did. Do you know how many times we've given presentations specifically to them on social engineering? Never click a link from an email." "Ever?" "In their case? Yes." The door slams shut behind him, and he's already moving past me, his shoulder brushing mine since I didn't move out of his way fast enough. "Their last ransomware was for twenty million. They're lucky I was able to get the guy and stop it." He grumbles that last part under his breath, but I hear it anyway and blink, taken aback. "How'd you do that?" He throws his head over his shoulder but quickly turns back as he gets to his desk. I stand helplessly as he logs in and starts typing things I can't understand at a million miles a minute. It's in code or something, and his screen isn't like any screen I've seen before. And it hits me. Hard. Like a bullet. Vander is a hacker. Not just a cybersecurity CEO or a genius in his field. It's how he knows things he shouldn't. Things I've never told him. It's how he got that actor at the club. It's what he does when he locks himself away for hours on end. A shudder runs through me. What else does he know? "Why are you still standing there?" he growls, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. "What do you need me to do?" He pushes up the bridge of his glasses. "Call their CEO back and tell him not to touch anything else. Don't let anyone log into any other systems. In fact, tell them to log out of everything right now if he hasn't already." "Okay. I'll call him. What about your meeting?" Vander's jaw tightens, a muscle feathering beneath the beard he hasn't bothered to shave pulsing. "Christ. I'll be there." He scrubs his hands up his face again, and I catch something on the underside of his forearm. It looks like blood dripping off something I can't fully make out before he lowers his arms and starts typing seventy thousand miles a minute, the sound and pace distracting me from that. "Okay." "Next time don't come pounding on my door. That space is off-limits." "You could have answered my calls or emails or texts," I snap, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "I also hit that fucking button that did nothing." "I was working." He doesn't spare me a glance as his fingers fly across his keyboard. "I thought you were sleeping." "Same shit, Liora." "Fuck you, Vander. No one said you have to be an asshole when I'm simply doing my job by making sure you do yours." I pick up a stress ball on the corner of his desk and chuck it at him. It bounces off his head, and he looks up at me in shock. "Did you just throw that at me?" Oh shit. I cover my mouth to stifle my laugh before I swallow it down. "You're lucky it wasn't a paperweight. You evidently live in that room and not at your house and are clearly avoiding me, but that's not an excuse to go radio silent when the company needs you." He doesn't look up. "The company has survived worse than my unavailability for a few hours." "A few?" I splutter incredulously. "You've been in here since Monday. It's Thursday, in case you didn't know that." "I haven't been in there the entire time. Just for the last couple of days." "Good to know, asshole! And while you've been holed up in your closet doing who knows what, the rest of us have been trying to keep things running. Now we have an incident and a freaking meeting all at once." He pins me with an icy glare. "We employ over a thousand people in this building alone. Three hundred of them are incident responders. You're telling me I'm the only one who could handle this?" "Who should I have delegated it to?" "Their freaking department." "The CEO called you directly. I fielded the call. I thought you'd want to know. And if it's so easy to delegate it, then why aren't you?" My phone pings with an incoming message that I open to read. "What is that?" "A guy I met at the club on my last night there. He's blowing up my phone again. Maybe I shouldn't have given him my number or sent him that picture of me, but he was hot." "Liora," he growls my name. "Now is not the time to fuck with me." "Oh, but it's so fun." He's not amused, but neither am I. I'm pissed and oddly and annoyingly hurt that he's been avoiding me like this to the point where he locks himself away and stays who knows where doing who knows what. "They're screenshots from Mr. Daniels." "Good. Forward them to me." I send them to Vander's email and go to leave when he stops me with a curse.