Santa's Pet (12 page)

“You and I and your sister know very well she’s not.” Ben turned a hard face toward her. No smiles. No blinks. No nonsense.

“It’s the best tactic.”

“It’s wrong. You told me once, Miss DeMarie, that you wouldn’t be my agent if I didn’t respect women. Pinning the blame for whatever happened at the Christmas tree farm on Miss Reed is being disrespectful. If your sister is a good defense lawyer, she should be able to get both of us off. Otherwise, I don’t need a lawyer. I’ll take my chances with the judge at the hearing.”

Dominique blinked once, then she took a slow sip of her champagne. She held the flute and watched the bubbles rise. “Very well. We do it your way. I’ll set up a meeting with you, Miss Reed, and my sister.”

“Thank you.”

“But—” She pointed a long, slender finger at him. “If you want this to work, you need to stay away from Miss Reed, other than in the presence of me or your lawyer. No more kissy-face. Nothing. Otherwise, we’re back to smearing her.”

“What about if I run into her in public?”

“Cross the street.” Dominique pursed her lips. “There are plenty of attractive women in the world, and there’ll be a lot more once you sign a pro contract. If you’re lonely in the evenings, use the TrophyShots Hookup App.”

“I’m not going to agree with this.” Ben turned his body so both shoulders squared with hers. “Here are my terms. I get to converse or fraternize with Brittney Reed as much as both she and I desire. Your sister is to present a joint defense regardless, or I find another agent. Like you said, there are plenty of agents willing to take a bad boy like me.”

Dominique emptied her champagne and waved for the bill. Her cheeks flushed under her caramel complexion, and she whipped her braids over her shoulder as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Excuse me while I use the ladies’ room.” She rose from the booth and left Ben with the tab.

~ Brittney ~

So much for Benny Boy. That kiss didn’t mean anything anyway. Besides, now that Nash is coming to town with his dreamy eyes and twangy guitar, I get to flaunt him in front of Lacy. He was the only Powers boy that summer who didn’t follow Lacy around like a foxhound on a vixen trail. Of course, having his leg in a cast might have had something to do with it. I smile when I read Nash’s concerned emails. Nash has always been more sensitive due to his artistic nature. No one else knows this side of him because he keeps it under wraps, but he writes poetry.

I dash an email to him, telling him how pleased I am that he’s looking out for my name and reputation. I’ve never seen a public figure or male celebrity stand up against slut-shaming. But as a singer-songwriter, he’s more in touch with feelings and emotions than the big brutes who play sports—especially that two hundred plus pound behemoth named Bamm-Bamm. Ugh. What a caveman.

My belly gives a low, syrupy quiver at the memory of said caveman’s lips and tongue, and the way his strong, sturdy hands had touched me, so gentle and tender. Except that’s just my hormones talking. Yes, I’m a red-blooded female. So, sue me if I get hot for big, hulking alpha males. But I’m also civilized and I have a business to run.

I plug my phone into the charger and go off to look for Marlena Morley. The fact that she came from my biggest competitor, TrophyShots, has me suspicious. That company’s run by Mitch Slack, a guy with shady connections. His apps run inside a browser and spies on user’s browsing habits—a gaping window for security holes.

I can’t believe Dave and Jen would hire Marlena, but then again, everyone hired everyone else from their competitors. Just because she used to work for Mitch doesn’t mean she’s feeding him trade secrets. Yet, one can never be too careful.

I find Marlena in the break room cleaning out the dispersion screen on our espresso maker. She turns and wipes the ground coffee bits from her hands. “Does anyone clean up after themselves around here?”

“Uh, well, you know how engineers are.”

She crushes the paper towel and pitches it in the trash. “I’ve heard a lot about you and frankly, I’m disappointed.”

“Before you diverge to the personal attacks, I’m here to tell you the code has been pulled. No one’s purchases are being shared to their friends and followers.” I cross my arms and nod toward the door. “Satisfied? I’ll see you out.”

She doesn’t budge an inch—not that I expect her to. Her eyes narrow and her lips tighten. She glares at me and I return her stare with my own piercing one.

The standoff continues until she finally huffs, flaring her nostrils. “The Jewells hired me to watch over their investment. Shopahol invested in your company, but that doesn’t make you a subsidiary. You signed intellectual property agreements and the fact is, everything you are working on right now belongs to Shopahol. You integrated with our platform. You added code to our source tree. You use our build system, and you’re an insider in our strategy meetings.”

“I’m aware of that. What’s the point of this conversation?”

“ScrapCloud has no independent valuation outside of Shopahol. You’re too arrogant to take the generous buyout the Jewells have been offering you. I’m here to teach you a lesson.”

“You?” I roll my eyes and shake my head. “You worked for those TrophyShot dweebs. What do you know?”

“I’ve been around a few more business cycles than you. The market’s due for a correction, and the IPO window’s closing fast. ScrapCloud’s not ready—at least not with you at the helm.”

“Save the insults. ScrapCloud’s my baby. We’ve got projects lined up out to next year.”

“All on the Shopahol platform. Do you have customers of your own?” She twirls her finger. “Oh, that’s right, you do have that freebie website where pet rescues post pictures of pets to their followers. Do ad revenues even cover your expenses there?”

I try to relax my jaw. I’m not going to grit my teeth. She’s right. I have no other ventures except Shopahol. Maybe I should talk to Lacy about doing something with Brandon’s new venture.

“What business is this of yours?” I shoot back.

“I’m here to set direction and strategy for the joint venture. Brandon, your brother-in-law, made some bad calls—Monkey-See being a prime example. The hacking of private customer data has broad implications about the future, not only of ScrapCloud, but of Shopahol itself.”

My skin crawls with a million centipede legs, and hot bile surges to my throat.

Why was I not told about this?

~ Ben ~

Ben’s wallet was over a hundred dollars lighter after he paid the bill at the fancy, ocean-front restaurant. Maybe he should have paid attention to the label on the champagne. In any case, he was out of an agent, and her sister, Delaine, had texted him, demanding full payment immediately.

So much for the DeMarie sisters. He had several other agents calling him all the time. One even offered him a spot at a professional pre-combine training facility easily worth five figures. If it hadn’t been for his grandfather’s health, he would be in Arizona instead of working out at the private club Dominique had provided.

He was one of the top prospects and eagerly courted by all the top agents. He’d only given the nod to Dominique because she hadn’t used women as an enticement to sign.

Except now, she was only too eager to throw one under the bus. Anyway, he couldn’t let an agent dictate who he could or could not see. He wasn’t a child, and there were plenty of other agents hounding him. He was a big dog, after all. The league’s leading linebacker and pick for the All-Star game in January—despite no bowl game appearances. All it meant was less chances for injuries, although he’d feel better if he had the invitation to the combine in his hot hand.

Pumped from his self-talk, Ben jumped into his truck and drove it to the window repair shop. While waiting for the window to be replaced, he thumbed through his text messages. The nurse from the ICU assured him his grandfather was resting comfortably. They had stabilized his blood pressure and his heart function was normal.
Thank the Lord.

Thoughts turned to Brittney. Who else? He hadn’t planned on being interested in her, hadn’t thought about her in years other than with “whatever happened to those Reed girls” curiosity. But the actual touch and feel of Brittney under his hands, and the passion with which she kissed him, rather, devoured him, then jumping and wrapping her legs around him had all his senses reeling.

He’d sworn he wouldn’t allow himself to get entangled with a woman—not now, when his entire future hung on the balance. Football was his life. It was the reason he also didn’t get along with his father, who’d wanted him to settle down and help his brother take over the ranch—the ranch that belonged to his stepmother’s family.

He’d also promised his mother … best not think about it, especially since it was getting harder and harder to keep.

Ben flipped through the hot-rod magazines on the table and wandered to the coffeemaker provided for waiting customers.

Ten minutes later, he threw the magazine on the table and blew out a rough breath, palming his forehead with both hands. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding and a fury roiled in his lower belly. He needed to hit the pummel pads hard and shove the sleds all over the field. He wanted to throw himself against an offensive line of hulks over and over, fight and block and push and shove. He had to channel all the pent-up energy and wear out his amped-up body.

Brittney had done it. Man alive, she’d done him in—completely blindsided him from that first overhand throw to the last dick-throbbing kiss. He couldn’t stop imagining her long legs wrapped around his waist, the way she’d moan and writhe underneath him. The feel of those luscious mounds in his mouth, and the way her chest would heave and quiver as he made her peak.

All the self-talk in the world couldn’t keep him from texting her. He had to see her again. Of course, it was stupid and pathetic. But he had to tell her he’d fired his lawyer. Maybe she’d agree with him that the best offense was a joint defense.

Ben:
Any plans for dinner?

He didn’t expect an answer, and the rule of texting was to not text more than two times without a reply.

Ben:
I fired my lawyer and agent. Grandpa is doing better and resting. I’d like to speak to you about a joint defense strategy.

She wasn’t going to answer. Her lawyer would laugh at his suggestion. They’d nail him on the charges and his brother would throw him to the wolves—paint him as a slut-shaming bad boy while he came off as the hero, paying for Brittney’s lawyer bills and riding off with her, a guitar slung over his shoulder—then dump her after he’d had his way with her.

A rolling stone gathers no moss
. Nash was as rocking and rolling as they every came—smooth and slick.

Ben put his phone away, picked up his gym bag and sauntered to the restroom of the repair shop. He hadn’t been kidding about a long, hard run after yesterday’s killer workout.

He’d kill his impulses and put his mind and body back on football. He’d be merciless in his workout and tire the lust out of him.

The more his body hurt, the less his heart would hurt, and right now, between Grandpa and Brittney, he had plenty of pain to pound out on the pavement.

~ Brittney ~

“Yes, Jen. I agree.” I try to keep my voice calm, but this is the first time I’ve ever been dressed down. I’m glad we’re on the phone, because I’m wiping tears from my eyes and my lip is quivering. “It won’t happen again. I’ll find out who broke the build. Don’t worry. It’s in the source tree. We already deactivated Amy Suzuki’s account and deleted her entire purchase history.”

“That’s not enough,” Jen said. “Her attorney is suing us for damage to her reputation. Because you were working under Shopahol, we are the ones named in the lawsuit, along with Mississippi.com. Believe me, they are not pleased.”

“I’ll get to the bottom of this and fire whoever screwed up.”

“Closing the barn door after the cows are gone.” Jen’s voice is harsh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re distracted. I know you have your own legal problems, but from now on, you’re going to work closely with Marlena. We’ll start with an itemized security review tomorrow morning at eight. I want a vulnerability list in my email tonight.”

I want to ask her about Marlena—why they hired her without telling me, but I’m in no position to question them. Marlena’s right. I’m only one of the many joint ventures Shopahol works with, a little fish in their big pond.

What hurts more is the way Jen seems so unconcerned about my feelings. I thought I was close to her, that she enjoyed working with me. But maybe it was all one-sided, me admiring her and wishing someday to have it all together like her.

“I’ll prepare the list.” I stifle a sniff. “I’m sorry, Jen. I really am. I should have paid attention to the code reviews.”

“There’s a reason we have them. I could go through the source tree and find the culprit, but it’s your company and your employees.”

“I’ll get to the bottom of it. I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”

“I don’t care about explanations. Miss Suzuki doesn’t care either, and neither does the judge. She’s not the only one whose purchases were leaked, just the most visible. If the hackers post more embarrassing purchases, this could take Shopahol down and seriously tarnish Mississippi.com’s reputation.”

“It won’t happen again,” I bleat pathetically.

“It better not. I don’t have to impress on you how tragic this is, not just to our company, but to the millions of users who trusted our social shopping site to keep their data safe.” Jen sounds like she has a big frog in her throat. She coughs and says, “The Monkey-See feature is offline now and we’re in damage control mode. Let me know what you find out about the leak.”

“Sure, I’m really sorry.”

“So am I. Talk later.” She hangs up.

It’s useless to cry, but my stupid weak eyes water. I swipe them angrily and log onto the software configuration management system.

I’m deep in the source code tree when a shadow falls on my monitor. Samantha pulls a chair and sits down. “I thought we fixed everything last night. How come Monkey-See is down?”

“You didn’t read the news?”

“Sure, Amy Suzuki’s suing Shopahol for leaking her purchase of sex toys. So what?”

“So what? It’s a big deal. We’ve broken the customer’s trust. People will stop buying online if their purchases aren’t private.”

“So she bought a vibrator, what’s the big deal? Women should be able to enjoy sex just like men. And if her guy can’t satisfy her, then get the bunny ears.”

“Ugh.” I slap the desktop. “Sammie, it’s her privacy that was violated. Can you help me look through the code to find the leak? I’ve gone over your code. You stubbed out the call to the encryption module and broke the build.”

“Yes, but all that meant was nothing was called, so no purchases were sent to the follower scrapbooks.”

“True.” I examine Sammie’s code. “What’s this?”

She looks over my shoulder, breathing hard. “Oh, shit.”

“You didn’t secure the database access. How could you?” My heart’s pounding in my throat and nausea hits me like a punch in the gut.

“The database access is behind the firewall. It would slow things down,” she explains, taking over the mouse. “See? I commented here and no one said anything during the code review.”

“What code review? Did you really have one?”

“Well, sort of.” Her hangdog look tells me they had pizza and a cursory code review.

“Did I sign off on this?” Panic floods my bloodstream. It doesn’t matter if I did or not. I never thought about securing the databases. I was too concerned about the permission code, the granting and revoking of shares to make sure no one could insert themselves as a follower of another user without their permission. How stupid I was. The hackers could steal the entire database dump without knowing who was following who.

“You signed off on all code reviews,” Sammie says. “I can find the emails.”

“But I trusted you, Sammie. I asked you as the lead engineer, to point out any questionable areas. I can’t be expected to look through every line.” Even as I say this, I know I’m screwed. One hundred percent screwed.

I’m the CEO. I’m the owner of ScrapCloud. I hired these engineers, and I’m responsible.

“I’m sorry, Britt. I didn’t think this was important. We were so careful to make sure no one could follow anyone without their permission.” Tears bubble in her eyes and she blinks hard. “What are we going to do?”

The fault lies entirely with the design. We secured all of the interactions on the frontend, but trusted the backend data could not be accessed.

“I’ll prepare a report for Jen.” My voice is flat and my heart is sinking into the ground. I’m twenty-one and my life is over. Everything I worked so hard for is finished.

“Am I, am I fired?” Samantha grabs a tissue from a box on my desk and blows her nose. “You know how much I need this job.”

“It’s my fault, Sammie. Find the emails on the code review and forward it to me. I’ll ask Jen to spare all of you, but if this is all true, ScrapCloud is finished.”

Two hours later, I’ve collected all the code review notes and gone over the change log. We plain missed this vulnerability. Sean Rodgers, my security expert, was supposed to probe weaknesses and he passed the system, assuring me it was safer than Fort Knox.

Of course, he also missed the hole. It wasn’t a straightforward access—that was protected by the firewalls, but an API called through email notification.

Again, the fault is mine. Sean and I went through the entire test plan for the security audit and missed the email notification vulnerability. From the audit trail, it looks like the hacker triggered the hole by sending a sequence of commands through email.

The only silver line is that only the customers who signed up for Monkey-See and had email notification turned on to alert their friends had their data compromised.

With a heavy heart, I type up my findings and set up a meeting with Dave and Jen Jewell along with their corporate counsel, Michele Song. I’ll need legal representation too, but the only lawyer I know is Owen Williams and he’s a criminal defense attorney. I call him and ask him to accompany me. Hopefully, his past friendship with Jen will appeal to her and Dave to go easy on me.

I’m only twenty-one. Can I have a do over?

~ Ben ~

Two days went by with no message or news from Brittney. Ben couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t the least bit interested he’d fired his lawyer. She didn’t even care that he was proposing a joint defense. Her silence meant one thing. She was forging ahead with her sexual harassment lawsuit and placing the blame squarely on his shoulders.

Ben sat outside his grandfather’s room at the Cardiac Care Unit, waiting for the doctors to finish their rounds. His phone rang, and he flipped it over to look at the display. Dominique again. She’d been calling and texting him nonstop, apologizing and explaining that she hadn’t meant to leave him at the restaurant with the bill. She’d had to freshen up at the ladies’ room and that when she returned, he’d already left.

Ben silenced his phone. His first two priorities were Grandpa and working out. Grandpa was doing better, thank God, and off the ventilator. As for conditioning, he’d been knocking himself out at the club with the private trainer. Dominique had not cut his membership, and Delaine had issued retractions to the press about Brittney being at fault.

The two sisters had to be aware of the slew of agents courting him, now that he was in play again. Most players were signed by mid-January, before the Collegiate All-Star game. Ben swiped a hand through his hair and glanced at the doorway to his grandfather’s room. He liked Dominique and respected her. It wasn’t easy being a female agent in a man’s world, but sometimes, she had to learn who called the shots. He’d make her sweat a bit longer.

“Mr. Powers,” a nurse said, coming toward him. “Your grandfather’s asking for you. Fifteen minutes max. We don’t want to tire him.”

“Sure, thanks.” Ben stood and followed the nurse into the room.

Grandpa was still threaded through with tubes, but he was breathing on his own and his color was much better.

“When am I getting out of here?” He lifted an arm. “I’m sick of this place already.”

“As soon as the doctor lets you go,” Ben said. “I’m setting up a hospital bed and nursing care for you at home.”

“How are Treat and Big Blizzard? You taking good care of them?”

Ben pulled a chair and moved it close to the head of the bed. “Bob and Cece have them. They’re trying their darndest not to get thrown out of that retirement center.”

“Aye, no pet policy. That’s why I’ll never go there. I love my animals. Unlike people, they never disappoint me.” He gave Ben a harsh side-eyed look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ben all but growled, now on the defensive. It had to be about Brittney, but since he hadn’t seen her, hadn’t talked to her about the kiss, hadn’t decided what to do about the lawyers, he had no clue how to respond.

Truthfully or hopefully?

Because that was the crux, wasn’t it? He could neither tear his thoughts away from her nor could he accept that he and she weren’t meant to be.

“That Reed girl,” Grandpa said. “You bringing her into my sickroom after what she did to you. If you end up convicted of indecent exposure, you can kiss your football career goodbye. Heck, you won’t even be able to coach children.”

“That Reed girl happens to be your Angel Face. Remember your nickname for her?”

Grandpa’s eyebrows lowered. “What’s the matter with you? Her tits and ass got to you?”

Ben pushed away from his chair and paced the room. He would have punched any other guy who’d referred to Brittney in such a derogatory manner. Instead, he had to gather his thoughts. Why was his grandfather so dead set against Brittney?

Returning to the bedside, he said, “Brittney and I are going to work together to get our charges dropped. We’re friends, so I hope you get used to it.”

“Friends? In what sense? Are you hooking up? Is that what young people call it these days? Friends with benefits?”

“No, Grandpa. Regular old-fashioned friends, like the way you and Bob Reed are buddies.”

“Bob defends his granddaughter. He’s turned against me.”

“Do you remember calling him? He was the one who called 9-1-1. He gathered the entire Reed family at the emergency room to wait for me to arrive. I don’t think I could have done all this on my own. I haven’t even called my father or any of my uncles and aunts. I didn’t know whether you wanted them at your bedside.”

“None of the stinking lot,” Grandpa said. “All disappointments. Every last one of them.”

“Even Uncle Ron?” Ben couldn’t believe his grandfather hadn’t reconciled with his uncle after his aunt had passed away. He would have thought they’d had something in common, both widowers.

“Ron’s okay, but he insists on bringing your dad around. Wants to force the issue.”

“Considering what just happened, shouldn’t we at least give them a chance to pay a visit?”

Grandpa’s eyes narrowed and the nasal prongs in his nostrils twitched. “You thought I was going to die, didn’t you? That’s why you wanted to bring them around, to pay their last respects.”

“No, that’s not it. I just thought maybe it’s about time. Before your second heart attack, you wanted me to take you to Wyoming. You even agreed it’s time to bury the hatchet.”

“I’m not going there with my hat in my hands, an invalid. He has to admit what he did was wrong.”

“It’s not wrong to marry again after being widowed,” Ben said, swallowing bile. After all, hadn’t he also blamed his father for remarrying so quickly?

“You don’t know all of it,” Grandpa said. “Let it be. Now, tell me what’s going on with you and Brittney.”

“You hurt her feelings.” Ben fixed his grandfather with a fierce stare. “You made her cry. Did you know she thought of you as a third grandfather? That you and Santa were the same? Why’d you turn on her?”

“For you, Bennett Lee Powers, my grandson. I’m sorry I made her cry, but she had it coming. It’s about time she grow up and learn that babies don’t always get their way.”

“I really don’t get the hostility toward her. I thought you liked her, maybe even loved her as your own.”

Grandpa wiped his forehead and closed his eyes. “If she thought of me at all, she would not have gone after you.”

“So you’re hurt. Is that it?”

“I’ve always thought of the Reeds as family. They should have spoken to us before lobbing those wild charges—sexual harassment and indecent exposure. It’ll ruin you. Ruin everything you worked for.”

Ben took his grandfather’s hand and rubbed it lightly. “We both let our lawyers run away with this. Brittney never meant any of it. She and I talked. My lawyer trashed her reputation.”

“Has she called off her attack dog? Are you free of the charges?” Grandpa sat up straighter. “Because if you are, I take everything back and apologize.”

“I’ve called off my lawyer.”

“But she hasn’t?”

“I don’t know. I’ll go by and ask her parents.”

Grandpa’s lips flattened and he shook his head at Ben, the way he’d always done to show his disappointment. “Better watch it. She betrayed you already. It’ll only get worse.”