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It was only when we stopped to eat lunch that I remembered what had happened yesterday. And while we sat there, slurping down Vietnamese noodles, I found myself making another list.
Reasons Not To Kiss Jude Again:
1. He’s my boss.
2. The first kiss made things awkward.
3. I don’t want to screw up this job.
4. If Owen found out, he would probably fire me. Or worse: keep me employed but ridicule me about it forever.
Reasons To Kiss Jude Again:
1. I really,reallywant to.
“You still here?” Jude asked me gently.
It was a miracle I didn’t fall out of my chair. Jude was considering me like I was a puzzle he wasrighton the edge of solving. It made me feel like he could read my thoughts.
Did he know I was thinking about the kiss?
I managed to forget about it as I turned my attention to Owen, and how I was going to get even with him. The cocky tech-bro wasn’t lying about his hacker cred. That much I knew. But I still thought I was smarter and trickier than him.
I needed some time to plan my next move. And to allow Owen to let his guard down. I wanted to strike when he would least suspect it.
Getting revenge on Owen stayed in the back of my head throughout the week while I got myrealwork done. We officially hired the two good interviews from the other day: Dave and Nancy. Both of them reported directly to me on the org chart, which wasextremelyintimidating for me at first. I was used to working on projects with other people… but I had never been anyone’s boss before. For the first two days, I was answering a lot of questions. Nancy hit the ground running with her code, but Dave second-guessed himself oneverythingand was constantly running his code by me to make sure it was fine. By Thursday, I got fed up with it and told him that he didn’t need to bring every line of code to me like a kindergartener showing off his latest finger painting. After that, he put his head down and left me alone.
“I’m really not a good people-person,” I told Jude later.
“You’re fine,” he insisted. “Honestly, the fact that you didn’t call him any variation of the C-word means you’re growing.”
Despite my new responsibilities monitoring my subordinates and managing their projects, I dedicated thirty minutes every day to planning my revenge on Owen. Melinda had warned me not to use company property for anything nefarious, with claims that she would audit my server access if she had to, but I wrote a script that would wipe the access logs after I poked around, removing any evidence that I was sticking my nose where it didn’t belong.
Yet Owen was trickier than I expected. He may have left his workstation vulnerable on the first day I started at ACS, but he had since learned his lesson. He had tightened up the account permissions on his laptop and the two servers in his office. I couldn’t back-door into them, even when I tried to do so from one of the many shared directories we used.
One afternoon, Owen left his office and strolled across the open area on the second floor. The billionaire paused with his back to me at the printer while it hummed and whirred. He was wearing gray sweatpants today and a navy blueSurf Arrakisshirt that hugged his frame like a second skin, showing off every ripple and bulge of muscle. Even his ass looked good in the sweatpants.
I still can’t believe he’s a legitimate coder, I thought with annoyance.He looks like he was the captain of the football team. Or homecoming king.The combination of charm, fitness, good looks,andhacker credibility was a conundrum I couldn’t quite wrap my head around.
He turned away from the printer, and I hastily cut my eyes back to my computer screen. Instead of going back to his office, he walked in my direction with the printed paper in his hand. Had he seen me staring at him? I started typing random gibberish on my keyboard to pretend like I was working as he walked right into my office.
“It’s polite to knock,” I said, removing my headphones. “I’m busy.”
Owen flashed his perfect white smile at me. “Oh, I know exactly what you’re busy doing.” He placed the paper on my desk and slid it toward me. It was still warm to the touch from the printer. On it was a picture of Boromir fromLord of the Rings, played by the actor Sean Bean. Printed above him were the words:ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY HACK INTO OWEN MARCH’S COMPUTER WITH A SQL INJECTION.
Heat crept up my cheeks. That was exactly what I was trying to do five minutes ago. The embarrassment at getting caught washed over me like a film of grease.
“This meme is, like, twenty years old,” I said.
“What can I say? I’m old school.”
“Also,” I added, “who the hell prints out a meme on a piece of paper? You could have just sent a GIF like a normal person.”
“I wanted to see your reaction in person.” He extended his thumbs and pointer fingers into a rectangle shape, like he was framing my face for a photo. “Click. Your cheeks are redder than a baboon’s ass right now. Way more enjoyable than sending it on the computer. Also, it’s pronouncedJIF.”
I barked a laugh. “Thanks for reminding me that you’re an idiot. It’sGIF. The G is a guh-sound.”
He grinned and said, skeptically, “If you say so.” Then he turned and walked back down the hall.
