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The bright blue that sparkles in his speech matches the arrogance in his smirk. “It’s a date.”
Holy shit…itisa date.
Like…a real one?
Or like a real pretend one?
Do I ask?
How do I even ask that without sounding like a bad title for a Fall Out Boy song?
“And now that we’re on the subject of work…” Blu turns his body my direction. “Why are we going in at all?”
“I need to acquire some information off the secure servers that can only be accessed directlyon site.” Migrating Slater’s direction is absentmindedly done. “IthinkI know the reasonwhymy emails to department heads and digging into the discrepancies set off alarm bells; however, I need to verify it before bringing these accusations to those we answer to.”
“What are you thinkin’?” My fake boyfriend cautiously inquires from beside me. “Mole?”
“Worse.” Our eyes find one another’s. “Poacher.”
“What the fuck is a poacher?” Blu asks, light yellow lettering bouncing through the air. “What the fuck does hunting have to do withyoubeing hunted?”
“Poachers in our industry are actually one of the main reasons the private sectorthrives.They use their resources to get access to the information of individuals that could be of benefit to whoever it is they’re working for.Typically, they’re scanning financials and personnel records of people who fit into whatever category it is they’re in charge of scouting for. For instance, operatives wise, they’d look for someone who is in active service yet close enough to their renewal date to be persuaded to leave their shit government pay and make two or three times that while still being able to be home by dinner, or someone who is in active service yet close enough to retirement to be considering what lifeafterthe military has to offer them. Outside of the military they would look at those in government fields – CIA, FBI, NSA for example – that have remarkable skills that could be of high value. Of course, there are other places and types that get poached as well – scientists, doctors, lawyers, analysis – but to avoid pulling up the colorful line graph I made-”
“You made a line graph?” Blu interjects, words bouncing in bewilderment.
“-I’m trying to use broad strokes versus the actual details I think we’re dealing with.”
“I don’t even know how you fuckingstartmaking a line graph.”
“Blu,” Slater huffs, typically crystal shaded tone darkening in disapproval.
“Sorry,” he quickly brushes off, “continue.”
“Poachers aren’t a bad thingunless…” it’s hard to keep my voice steady during my explaining to both of them, “you’re poaching in the wrong territory.”
“Meanin’?”
“Meaning…it’s one thing if an operative isunhappyat a different company and looks for a change of venue all on his or her own, but it’s a whole other when you actively send someone in topoachdirectly from your competition. Clients are one thing. They’re fickle. They want the best price. They want the best service. They’ll go wherever they feel their money is better spent. Those are the woes of doing business. But takingactivepersonnel from your competitors? That’s basically a declaration of war,especiallywhen the company you are dealing with is Haworth.”
While I may not knowallour enterprises most innerworkings – which is probably for the best – I do know enough to know that they didn’t get to be the most respected and mostfearedby being the bigger person or turning the other cheek.
This business isruthless.
Andthey– whoever holds the top title – rule with a steel fist.
“And I wanna be as certain as I possibly can be that that’s what’s really happening before making an accusation of that caliber. Hence,” my head tips to the side for emphasis, “needing to go into the office to physically access some files for analyzing.”
“Your diggin’ most likely alerted their inside source in the company,” Slater points out at the same time he lifts his coffee to sip. “And their inside source alerted them yet rather than deal with the heat that comes from eliminatin’ a high value asset, they chose to try to frighten you into silence.”
“And fuck them for that,” I immediately grumble.
“I don’t know,” the man beside me casually begins, “I prefer you alive and a little shook up than buried in a box I’d have to visit before ultimately joinin’ you after doin’ whatever it takes to avenge your death.”
Awe can’t be kept out of my gaze or my tone. “You’d really avenge my death like that?”
“Angel Cake, I left a man tied up to choke on his own blood in a grocery store bathroom for simplytryin’to get to you.” His face cranes a bit closer. Almost too close. “You don’t even wanna fathom the lengths I would go to if somethin’ were toactuallyhappen to you again.”
Admiration and adoration and appreciation all send me to the tips of my toes.
