Zero Day Exploit (Bayou’s End #1.5) (10 page)

But right now, she was coming up blank.

At quarter to six, she shut down her workstation, shouldered her messenger bag, and headed out into the snow to catch the train to the Square. She felt out of place in the swank hotel lobby, even if no one gave her a second glance in her suit and heels. A quick conversation with the receptionist gave her Evan’s room number. Nineteenth floor. Every story the elevator rose just made her stomach sink further, until she was pretty sure she’d left it behind in the lobby. As she stepped off on the nineteenth floor, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Just business. She could do this. Never mind that she’d had yet another rotten day and right now, she wouldn’t mind the particular brand of comfort Evan was so very, very good at. She wouldn’t have any excuse this time. Not when she knew who he was—and knew exactly what a slimeball he could be.

She stopped in front of his room. Muffled music came from inside. She lifted her hand to knock—but the slightest rap sent the unlatched door swaying open, letting the sound from inside drift out more clearly. That…that wasn’t music.

That was Evan.

Singing.

His deep baritone voice pitched and rolled. “
’cause I may be bad but I’m perfectly good at it, sex in the air, yeah baby I love the smell of it
…”

She stifled a snicker, pressing her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t see him anywhere, but the acoustic echo of his voice paired with the steam coming from the open bathroom door didn’t make it hard to find him. Zero crept to the doorway and peeked inside.

And immediately wished she hadn’t.

He stood inside the glass-walled shower, glistening slick as polished bronze sculpture, deluged by a pounding shower of water that poured and licked over his skin in coursing rivulets, detailing each chiseled ridge of muscle as if they’d been drawn in ink outlines. His back was to her, powerful arms lifted over his head to swipe his hands over his close-shaved skull, the broad expanse of his shoulders and back rippling. Broad wings in black ink spread over Evan’s shoulder blades, thorned and stylized patterns tattooed into his skin and seeming to flex and arch with every movement; the center of the design marked a tapering pattern down the groove of his spine to end in a point just above his tailbone. Heat crept down Zero’s throat and up her jaw to linger in her cheeks like the fire of a sunburn. Fuck. She was staring. Fuck fuck fuck—

He turned. Zero yelped, skittering back, and careened into the doorframe before grabbing the door and swinging herself out of the room. Gasping, she flattened herself against the wall in the hallway and listened to the creak of the shower door opening, the squeak of the faucet as the whisper-patter rain of the shower silenced.

“Hello?” Evan called. “Is someone there?”

Oh, hey, just me, your average peeping Tina
…

She kept her mouth shut and closed her eyes—and nearly screamed when his voice rumbled just over her head.

“Hello, Zoraya.”

Heart pattering, she squeaked and jumped back, eyes snapping open. He leaned in the doorway with a towel hitched around his hips, one arm propped over his head and an insufferably smug smile quirking his lips.

“Um. Hi,” she fumbled out. “Rihanna? Really?”

“
Pitch Perfect
soundtrack, actually.”

“Oh. I…uh…wasn’t expecting you to be naked. And singing.”

He tugged at the towel on his hips. It fell just a little too dangerously low, and Zero averted her eyes sharply, gulping. “Towel,” he pointed out archly.

“
Mostly
naked.”

“Didn’t have to look.” Both brows rose slowly. “How long
were
you looking, Zoraya?”

She hunched her shoulders. “I wasn’t looking!”

“Mmhm.” He pushed off from the doorframe with casual, powerful ease and vanished back into the bathroom. “Let me rinse off and I’ll be right with you.”

“Sure,” she said faintly, then shook herself. God, she’d seen naked men before. She had to stop acting like such a ninny. “Nice tattoo,” she called after him.

The squeal of the faucet came as the water turned on again. Nothing else. Thank God. She didn’t know how she was supposed to talk to him when he was in there being so…so…
naked
. She liked him better when she didn’t know what he looked like naked. Not that she hadn’t felt all that caged heat under her fingers, all fire and tawny skin, when she’d raked her hands under his clothes and clutched at him—

Cut it the fuck out, Z
.

While he showered off, she busied herself glancing around his room. Expensive. Gold fixtures, silks and satins, a bed the size of a small continent. Must be nice to be able to afford things like this. She wondered how it felt to sleep every night on a bed paid for with destroyed careers.

God, that made him sound like a movie villain.

Well, he
looked
like one, anyway. Sinfully handsome.

And sinfully bad for her.

When the water shut off again and the quiet pad of his bare feet warned he was coming, she risked a glance from the corner of her eye. She wouldn’t put it past him to walk out naked and swinging in the wind—but he wore a thick, plush hotel bathrobe, the soft white terrycloth bringing out the freshly-scrubbed glow of his bronzed skin. Steam practically radiated off him as he sauntered past her and toward the work table set up under the window.

“You’re early.” He sat down, flipping his laptop open.

Zero shrugged. “It was either go home and come back, or stand around the Square for an hour. In the snow.”

“Don’t like snow?”

“I love it, as long as I’m inside.” She smiled faintly, fingering the strap of her messenger bag. “I love watching it fall on shadowed streets at night. I was always happy when my parents moved somewhere with snow.”

“Where are they now?”

“You know, I’m not quite sure. Budapest, maybe. This week.”

He studied her in silence, the quiet stretching so long between them that she fidgeted, ducking her head, looking anywhere but at him. She hated when he looked at her, sometimes. She could never escape just how well he
knew
her. He’d been under her clothes, under her skin, and sometimes it felt like he had her figured out better than she ever understood herself.

And it pissed her off.

“Stop staring,” she hissed through her teeth.

“Mm. I was just wondering why you’re hovering around the door.” Evan gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Sit. Let’s talk.”

Yeah. Sure, that’s all it was. Zero rolled her eyes and stalked away from the door—and nearly tripped on her heels again. Cursing, she bent to yank them off, wiggling her toes against the plush pile of the carpet.

When she straightened, Evan was watching her with a broad grin. She pointed a finger at him and plunked herself down in the chair. “Not one word.”

“Wouldn’t have said a thing,” he said, right before adding, “…neon purple toenails?”

“Nothing in the corporate dress code about my feet.” She settled back against the chair and gave him a pointed look. “Musicals, hm?”

He scowled. “It’s not a musical. It’s a film.”

“A film where…they spend half their time singing.”

“
Not a musical
,” he growled, and she burst into laughter.

“Oh, just put some clothes on, Mr. Astaire.”

“I resent that. I wasn’t dancing. And I am dressed. A bathrobe is clothing.” He pointed a warning finger at her, then snorted and rattled his fingers over his laptop keys. “If you’re done being a brat, let’s get through this before you threaten to put one of those heels through my eye.”

“I’m listening. Thanks for the idea, by the way. I should’ve worn the stilettos.”

“Always happy to help.” He spun the laptop to show her the screen, littered with charts, graphs, business planning documentation. “Here. Start with this.”

This
turned out to be the company’s five-year strategic business plan. Which involved outright cutting twenty percent of the workforce, and outsourcing another thirty percent overseas. Meaning half the company would be losing their jobs, and it looked like the majority of the cuts were hitting the lower tiers first.

Zero groaned, dragging her hands through her hair, tearing its neat twist out. “Tell me this wasn’t your idea. Because I will go home, get the stilettos, and come
back
.”

“Not my idea, no.” Evan watched her gravely. “The Board of Directors pushed this plan through months ago and kept quiet about it until they hired me to find the best way to implement it. They’re being underhanded about it. The whole ‘motivational speaker’ thing is just a smokescreen for testing who kisses ass well enough to stay.”

“And you can’t do anything about it?”

“I’ve tried.” Rough warmth suddenly captured her hand under the table, his fingers curling around hers, gripping tight, holding her as surely as his gaze held hers. “I’m just doing what I’m paid to do, but I’ve already told them it’s a bad idea. It’s going to cut into the company’s reputation when performance and customer satisfaction go down, and people will start trusting other brands instead of yours. It’s a losing business in the end. Keeping the current workforce as-is and keeping you
happy
is worth the investment, but they don’t want to hear that.” He exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…we’ve all got to make a living, I guess.” Zero tugged her hand from his and tucked her hair back, avoiding looking at him. She didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to believe he was
sincere
, but when he looked at her that way…

“Z. Hey.” He leaned over, trying to catch her eye. “I can put in a good recommendation for you. Make sure you’re on the short list for retention.”

“No!” She shook her head quickly, staring at him. “I don’t need handouts, okay? Do you have any idea how that would look?”

His brows knit. “How what would look? It’s just a recommendation based on evaluation of your performance.”

“But it’s not.” Another groan slipped out. “They know, okay?”

“Know what?”

“That…” She had to close her eyes and breathe deep before she could force herself to say it out loud. “That I slept with you. Everyone on my team knows.”

“Oh, God.” He dragged a hand over his face with a resigned chuckle. “I take it that didn’t go over well.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she said. “‘Clusterfuck’ is another way. I like that way.”

He shrugged. “So your reputation takes a hit. So what?”

“So when you have almost zero work experience, your reputation is all you have.” She wrinkled her nose. “People in tech talk. Hell, that’s half of what we do: invent new ways to talk. Social media. That’s all our fault, wanting more creative ways to talk.” Her stomach sank. “Ugh. I bet Alejandro’s bitching about me all over Twitter right now.”

Evan grinned and spun the laptop back to face him, typing rapidly. “Let’s check.”

She stared at him. “How do you know Alejandro’s Twitter handle?”

“Corporate keeps an eye on everyone. Inappropriate tweets get people fired, you know.”

“I know. Why do you think I’m not on Twitter?”

“A twenty-something punk princess who’s not on Twitter?” He eyed her over the laptop screen. “I was right. You’re not human.”

“Very funny, gramps.”

Evan only snorted, then grimaced at the screen, tilting his head. “Ouch.”

“…oh God. How bad is it?”

“Let’s just say it starts at ‘Jezebel’ and goes downhill from there.”

“Let me see.” Zero slid out of her chair, rounded the table, and peered over his shoulder. That was Alejandro all right, down to the eye-searing heavy metal background. She scanned the first few tweets.

@rojasrockstar:
man u think u no sum1

@rojasrockstar:
turns out they nuttin but a jezebel

@rojasrockstar:
sum people do nething 2 get ahead

@rojasrockstar:
even shit all over ur friends

@rojasrockstar:
hope the dyck was good jezebel

Every last one had a good dozen replies, probably all her coworkers. She didn’t want to know, really. Zero closed her eyes, taking another deep breath and trying to calm the queasy sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Tomorrow would be an interesting day at the office. So much for hoping people trusted her enough to have her back. “Guess no more after-work cocktails at
Tapas
.”

“Is he always that crude?”

“Yeah.” She smiled faintly. “That’s just Alejandro. Fart jokes and gutter humor.”

“Sounds more your type.”

She glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means he sounds honest.” He turned his head toward her, and she froze when the tip of his nose brushed hers. “You value honesty, don’t you?”

She tried to speak—but her tongue didn’t want to move, thick and heavy in her aching, so very heated mouth. He was so close. Close enough that she could pick out every fine grain of dark stubble, rough as sandpaper, along the incisively sharp lines of his cheeks and jaw; close enough to inhale his shower-fresh scent; close enough that his long lashes mingled with hers. Those lashes swept down as his gaze gravitated to her lips. Every breath rang too loud between them, a pull and sigh that drew on her until she could feel nothing but the tingling in her fingertips and the glimmering fire in the pit of her stomach and the warmth rising off him like heat-shimmer waves on asphalt.

“Don’t you?” he repeated softly, and she watched every supple twist of his lips as they formed around the words. It would be so easy to just…lean closer and…

No
. She jerked back with a sharp gasp, pressing a hand over the tightness in her chest and staring at him. She couldn’t do this. Not with him. He was a liar, and she couldn’t let herself get sucked into his magnetism again.

“Yeah,” she managed to say. “I do.” She stepped back, putting distance between them. “Though I’m starting to wonder if you’re even capable of honesty.”

He said nothing as she circled the table and retreated to her chair once more. But his eyes followed her, penetrating, skin-stripping, almost accusatory. She folded her arms over her chest and stared right back at him. He wasn’t about to intimidate her with those looks.