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“I can only try to keep warning you, Ethan,” she tells me. “You may think you’re following your heart, but you could just as easily be getting played. Don’t forget how you know her in the first place.”
And with that piece of profound advice, Cheryl turns around and walks into the open elevator as the doors close.
Fuck.
I know she’s right. I should probably be a bit more careful.
If only I could stop thinking about Brittney for a moment, I might have a chance to listen to my fucking brain.
143
Brittney
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Walter,” I say from the back seat of the limo as Walter drives me towards Illicit Escape.
We’re weaving our way towards Times Square. It’s been two days since I went over to see Ethan, have dinner at his place, and fuck his brains out.
"Are you forgetting that we have a job to finish here?" he asks. He's looking me straight in the eyes with a serious gaze.
Since I stole the data from Ethan’s office, there have been four software upgrades. The data I had was junk literally 24 hours after I had it. I gave the USB device to Simon yesterday who tried to run it on his computer in his office before throwing it against the wall and then getting up and stomping it.
"I know; I haven't forgotten," I say thinking back to Simon’s frustration yesterday and threats to give Robert a call. "But did you forget the icy tone in Cheryl's voice in his office? She's onto me. She isn't messing around. If she finds out what we've done; I'm in serious trouble. This won't be some little slap on the wrist. I'll do prison time, Walter. I mean, you saw the NDA I signed, right?" I say. By the look in my eyes, he knows I'm serious too, but he then tries to lighten the situation.
"You're being paranoid," Walter says. "That's all. You're letting the stress get to you, darling. This is a big job. I get it. But buck up. This job is nearly done. You've done tougher things in the past. Are you forgetting all of your past clients? I honestly don't know why you're letting this job get to you … more so than anything else you've done. Let's just finish this now."
Those words make my mood sink even lower. The job's almost complete. I know what you’re thinking. How can the job be over if the data I stole is now junk?
I’ll tell you why.
I’m inside.
I’ the face of Illicit Escape.
So what the data I stole has gone bad?
I can try again. And if I don’t succeed, I can maybe try again. And if I still don’t succeed, I can even at the end steal the physical prototype somehow.
Yeah, don’t roll your eyes, hun. What I’m trying to say is that there are options.
I should be happy. Walter's right. I will have made more money than I've made with a single client before, and I'll be safe from Robert. This is just one job of many. You'd think these facts alone would have me finding Simon and throwing the I.E. data straight into the palm of his hand and calling it a day.
But that's not how I'm feeling. That's not exactly what I want to do. Are you following?
This is new territory for me. I've always been able to handle any job. But I may have just met my match. Maybe I bit off more than I can handle with this one. But did I have a choice? Simon basically threatened my life if I didn't take this on.
How can I explain any of this to Walter? He'd just say that I'm overanalyzing things.
He's known me forever. He'd just keep telling me to relax.
He'd also say I'm not thinking clearly. That I need to take a deep breath and steady my thoughts. Get my head screwed back on straight. To stop being a 'negative Nancy' in that off English accent of his.
The car stops outside the Illicit Entertainment offices in Times Square and Walter gets out to open my door.
"Okay, here you are darling," Walter says. We are both standing outside the Illicit Entertainment headquarters. "While you're in your shoot, I'll make my way to Ethan's office and plant the bugs; I have three—one underneath his desk, one behind a wall socket, and one buried in this potted plant here. I added a nice note from you, for a bit of realism. He'll never suspect a thing."
I look at the plant in Walter's arm. It's a potted plant with a pink ribbon around its pot and a card that reads simply, "Love Brittney." Shit. That makes me feel awful.
"Do we really have to plant these bugs?" I ask.
