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It’s that Google alert I’d created to monitor for news mentioning Vlad’s name.
Curious, I click on the alert and open the article in question.
It’s on Cosmopolitan’s website. The tagline states:
Belka sex toys so addictive, reclusive CEO Vlad Chortsky couldn’t help but test on himself.
Chapter Thirty
Precious slips out of my fingers, hitting the floor with a thud.
Hands shaking, I pick up my poor phone.
The screen is cracked, but the article is still visible and I’m able to read the rest of it.
According to a source, Vlad and a female QA tester couldn’t help themselves and used the toys to reach multiple orgasms. The article even goes as far as to list the number of orgasms he and I had, and every type of toy used.
What’s worse, they have a picture of Vlad, and I recognize it. It’s the very same one I snapped at Starbucks when I first saw him, the one used by my app.
This proves it.
Vlad was right when he said that it was me and not Sandra who’s responsible for this info getting out. Someone snooped around that public photo database my app uses—the very same one that Phantom/Vlad had suggested I make more private. The leaker dug out that photo and guessed my password to get my testing results from my documentation. They then handed all this to Cosmo, along with the gossip about Vlad, whose name wasn’t in my write-up.
Since the Cosmo folks were going to write a story about Belka toys anyway, they jumped at the chance to make it juicier.
This would be bad even if Vlad weren’t obsessed with privacy. As is, I can’t even fathom how pissed he’ll be when he learns about this.
Fuck.
Between my storming out earlier and this, I doubt I’ll ever hear from him again.
Feeling masochistic, I text him the link to the article, asking, Have you seen this?
No reply.
I begin to pace my apartment.
With every second he doesn’t text me back, I get more anxious.
He could at the very least say something, even if it’s “You’re fired” or “I never want to see you again.”
To calm myself down, I grab some treats and go to feed Monkey.
She’s not alone.
Of course.
Vlad left Oracle here.
That’s just great. Every time a guy dumps my ass, I get another guinea pig.
Soon, I’ll have a whole pigsty.
Since this isn’t Oracle’s fault, I feed both of them as they squeak and run around, popcorning in joy.
Their cute antics actually make me feel a little better. That is, until I get angry—but this time, not at Vlad.
It’s the hacker.
