Page 12 of One More Night
“I’ll ask. Say I bumped into the guy myself.”
“No,” I hiss as we step into the lift with pantsuit lady. “He’ll figure it out.”
“How?” Sarah frowns while her thumb flies across her screen.
“What are you doing?” I try to see over her shoulder, yet she keeps turning on the spot to fend me off.
“What have I done, is the question.” She rotates the phone to show me a message to Chase.
Met some guy last night who said he knows you—Jordan. Should I be worried if he offers to buy me a drink again?
“I can’t believe you did that.” My ass hits the glossy brass rail as I slump against the lift wall in defeat.
“Well, you weren’t about to.”
Pantsuit lady gives us both a scathing glare before exiting on her level, two below ours. I poke my tongue out at her retreating back before realizing their reception has a mirrored rear wall. Oops. Hopefully I don’t see her at the end of the day then.
Sarah’s phone chimes with a reply. The two of us scramble to see the message, losing balance as I crash into Sarah’s side, arm extended to save my coffee.
The lift dings and then opens on our floor, the two of us crammed into the corner as we read the simple, blunt answer to Sarah’s question.
Stay the hell away from that guy, S. He’s trouble. Make sure Corinne doesn’t go near him, either.
“Well.” She cocks an eyebrow at me, stepping sideways into our office foyer. “Looks as though you’ll have your hands full.”
“How?” I shake my head. “There was no exchange of numbers, remember?”
She parts ways with me to head to her department, while I veer left to mine. “Doesn’t mean a thing.”
***
Apparently, it doesn’t. I spend the entire work day being bombarded by emails from Sarah with questions about how I know him, what I remember of Jordan, and links to possible Facebook accounts for the guy.
It’s no use—I tried that already. If he is friends with Chase, he has his account locked down so that people who aren’t connected with him can’t see him. And yes, a simple question to my brother would save us all this hassle, but like hell I’m asking Chase for information on Jordan when he warned Sarah—and me—away from the guy.
I already have an over-bearing father; I don’t need a brother who acts like one too.
“Corinne.”
I swivel my chair to face our manager, Ted. “Yes?”
“Would you be able to stay behind a little later today?” He turns his wedding band around his finger—a sign he’s nervous.
“Sure. I guess so. Why?” Only big projects require extra time, and even then it doesn’t happen more than once or twice a year at most.
“We’ve got a major client threatening to pull their account if we can’t do some damage control after a breach that happened over the weekend.”
“Flynn & Taylor?”
He nods. “You know about that?”
“Yeah. I heard the stories going around the office.” Their website—which our company designed and maintains—was compromised. Two hundred customer files were harvested with credit card information stored inside.
The breach wasn’t our fault; it was the result of a hit on the third party used to process the store payments. But our company was the one who chose that third party, so the blame lies with us.
“Can you help with some damage control?” Ted asks hopefully.
Not that I know what I can do, but, “Sure.”