Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
My computer pings. A calendar update: all-hands moved to three. A DM from my boss…
Andrew: hey quick q—any updates on the 506?
A DM from a stranger: nice blue bike.
Another: wave at us ; )
My hands shake. I tuck them under my thighs.
“Hey.”
I jump so hard I knock a pen to the floor. Gage has materialized beside my desk, because of course he has. He holds out a small paper cup. “Decaf.”
“You think you’re funny,” I say, heart sprinting.
“No,” he says, as if he’s already bored of himself. “I think you’re shaky.”
My throat is tight. I take the cup because it’s something to hold and not because I want anything from him. The lid is on crooked. He did that on purpose, I decide, to annoy me.
“New pot’s brewing,” he adds. He leans on my desk, close enough that I can see one tiny white scar on his jaw, like a comma. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“I saw HR,” I say. “Similar.”
“That bad?”
“They suggested tea.”
He snorts. “Thoughts and chamomiles.”
“Exactly.”
He studies me again with that too-quiet focus. “You should get back to work.”
“I am working,” I snap, then want to kick myself. “Besides, you’re the one who bothered me.”
Gage’s eyes flick to my computer, that’s technically turned off, and then back to me. “Right,” he says. “Well. Codes not going to code itself.”
“Tell me something useful,” I say, not sure what I’m asking for until it’s too late.
He opens his mouth like he might. Then his face shutters. “Get to work, Quinn.” He turns and walks away.
I watch him go and hate the way my chest goes tight, like I’m mad at him for not being the person I need and mad at myself for thinking he could be.
He heads out of the office, and I wish I could follow him. However, I’ve got work to do. I toss a stick of Misfit chewing gum into my mouth. Before I can even wake my computer, Ryan Carmine appears at my desk.
He’s alone.
Usually, he’s flanked by his two shadows, Alan and Benny, all three of them snickering like high schoolers behind a locker. But today, it’s just him.
“Did you find the error?” he asks casually, leaning a hand on the edge of my cubicle wall like we’re old friends. His tone is light, but there’s something slick about the way he says it. Like there’s a double meaning I’m missing.
I blink up at him. “Which error?”
He shrugs. “The one in the Rogueframe physics engine. You were in the build last night, right? Around 2 a.m.?”
My heart gives a little stutter. He knows I was working late? That’s not weird on its own—our system tracks log-ins—but something about the way he’s smiling makes my skin crawl.
I keep my voice neutral. “There’s a dozen small errors we’ve been tracking in that build. Be more specific.”
Ryan tilts his head and does this slow, theatrical blink like he’s so amused. “No worries. I just thought maybe you’d want a second pair of eyes on it. Some things can be… hard to catch. Especially when you’re multitasking.”
I squint, blow a quick bubble, then bite it back in.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“I’m good,” I say. My fingers move to the mouse, subtly waking up the screen like I’m about to get busy.
But Ryan doesn’t move. He just smirks, leans in a fraction closer, and lowers his voice.
“You’re really killing it lately, you know? Big boss man always nearby. New projects. Rapid promotions.” He lets out a low chuckle. “Almost like you’ve got cheat codes.”
I freeze.
That’s when I get it.
This isn’t about Rogueframe. This is about me.
“You got something to say, Ryan?” I ask, keeping my tone flat, icy.
He straightens and flashes me a toothy grin. “Nope. Just here to offer my help. We’re all on the same team, right?”
Then, with a wink that makes my stomach twist, he walks off—whistling a tune I don’t recognize. His shoulders bounce with a smug confidence that makes me want to throw something.
I stare at my screen, fists clenched in my lap. I can’t keep living like this. I open a browser tab and stare at the search bar.
I type how to hire a private security guard and delete it. I type online harassment help and get a wall of cheerful articles with stock photos of women laughing with laptops. I click one. It suggests taking a bath and journaling about my feelings.
I open a new tab. I think about how stupid this is, and how scared I am, and how HR gave me a worksheet about mindfulness.
“Don’t,” I tell myself, even as my fingers move. “Don’t be this girl.”
I’m this girl.
I go to an app store and buy the cheapest VPN with the most aggressive logo. I download it. A cartoon shield winks at me like we’re in on something together. I flip it on and the little key icon floats to the top of my screen like a halo.