FOCUS AND DECISIVE ACTION...that was the difference between losing and winning, the difference between winning and winning big. Timing was everything. It was a lesson Max Whitfield knew better than most. He had no time for visits from the ghost-of-sexual-encounters-past.
So why the hell was he sitting there, half-hard, remembering things best forgotten?
Remembering her.
That mouth. So prim, even when it was painted scarlet.
Fuck, the things he’d wanted her to do with that mouth. Down on her knees, calling him sir with a wicked gleam in her blue eyes.
Now he couldn’t look at his desk without remembering the press of the black garter belt against the pale skin of her thighs, without hearing the gasps that escaped her lips, as though she was surprised by the heat between them. He wasn’t surprised. Hell, he was consumed, and he’d barely gotten his hands on her.
He exhaled at his lapse in judgment.
Taking her on his desk has been a mistake.
“Am I boring you, Whitfield?”
Max’s gaze snapped to the man in the chair across from him.
Wes Brennan. Founder and CEO of Soteria Security. World-class asshole.
A brilliant asshole, obviously, but an asshole just the same.
“Not at all. I believe you were telling me about the massive breach in security you failed to prevent.”
Max took an inordinate amount of pleasure at the flat, cold look that invaded Brennan’s eyes.
“That spyware was caught in less than twelve hours. That’s worth every zero you pay Soteria.” Brennan always distanced himself from the company.
“It had goddamn better be. I want this handled.”
If this got out, it would ruin him. Whitfield Industries was on the brink of reinvention. Five years after Max had ousted his corrupt father and begun to erase the era of scandal and questionable morals that had dogged the company during Charles Whitfield’s reign, he was on the verge of reestablishing his grandfather’s company as a leader in the world of financial services. He couldn’t afford any screwups, and he certainly couldn’t afford any bad press.
“Handling things is what Soteria does,” Brennan assured him, like Max had insulted his honor or something.
Not that he gave a shit. The only thing Max could afford to care about right now was results.
A flash of movement in his peripheral vision tugged Max’s attention to the glass door with his name on it.
“What’s so important that you need me here on a Saturday afternoon?” Vivienne Grant breezed into his office, her red skirt suit almost as impeccable as her confidence.
Max allowed himself a glance at Brennan and was vindicated by the momentary crack in the man’s cool facade before it was swallowed up behind bored hostility. The stiff formality that invaded the room whenever Vivienne and Brennan were present was unmistakable. He didn’t know what had gone on between his chief counsel and the cybersecurity specialist, and as long as it didn’t affect his business, he didn’t particularly give a damn. Still, he allowed himself a moment to revel in Brennan’s discomfort.
“I believe the two of you are acquainted?”
His unnecessary introduction put a hitch in Vivienne’s self-assured stride, but she recovered nicely, bestowing a coolly regal nod at the other occupant of the room as she took a seat in the chair farthest from him. “Wes.”
“Vivienne.”
Max ignored the chill in the room. “Excellent. Now that we’re all here, let’s discuss our next steps.”
“As I was saying, the security breach is internal. I don’t think—”
Vivienne’s head snapped up at Brennan’s words, her eyes locking with Max’s. “What internal breach? Do you have a suspect in mind? What the hell is going on?”
Max leaned back in his chair, forcing the relaxed pose, even though every nerve in his body was coiled tight. “We’re waiting for answers.”
“I might have a couple.”
The voice at the door stole the attention in the room.
Jesse Hastings was Soteria Security’s second in command. More personable than his business partner, Hastings was the de facto face of the company and his geniality was responsible for scoring the majority of Soteria’s clients. But he really shone when you put him behind the keyboard, so when he’d insisted on helping Brennan handle this clusterfuck personally, Max had agreed. With any luck, having both of Soteria’s big dogs on the case would see it resolved quickly and quietly.
“I’m just not sure you’re going to like them,” Hastings continued, leaning a broad shoulder against the doorjamb. “Are we waiting for Kaylee?”
The reference to his absent PR director soured his mood further. She hadn’t picked up her fucking phone. If his little sister wasn’t so damn good at her job, he’d have fired her when he’d purged the company of the bulk of his father’s hires. “She’ll be briefed first thing Monday morning. What have you got?”
“It’s definitely a contained breach, but whoever’s behind this is good. The information’s been fragmented and rerouted through hell and back. It’s going to take a while to piece together what’s been leaked. But I can tell you that all the activity is localized to one computer.”
Hastings raised his eyebrows, waiting until he received Max’s nod to continue.
“Emma Mathison’s.”
Max was careful to keep his expression neutral, but his hand clenched involuntarily. Vivienne and Hastings didn’t notice, but Max’s jaw tightened when Brennan’s eyebrow lifted with cool interest.
Smug prick.
Vivienne’s face was pale when she turned back to Max. “You really think Emma sold you out? That seems...out of character. I mean, has she been acting strangely?”
Besides quitting while she lounged on his desk?
Besides her secret, self-satisfied smiles?
Besides fucking him into oblivion in thigh-highs and garters on his goddamn desk?
“She didn’t sign her contract extension.”
Hastings frowned at that.
“Did she say why?” Vivienne asked. “Was it something to do with her mother? She was in the hospital a while ago. Emma didn’t say much about it, but she seemed worried.”
His lead counsel had the kind of mind that liked to connect all the dots, but Max didn’t have time for conjecture right now. He needed facts. “While I’m touched by your concern for Emma’s family’s well-being, let’s try to stick to the salient points.”
“Well, I’m not sure you’re going to like those either,” Jesse countered, his expression marred with concern. He walked toward them.
“I ran a couple of checks,” he explained, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he took the empty seat between Vivienne and Wes. “There’s a ten-thousand-dollar deposit in her primary bank account, and one Emma Marija Mathison is booked on a plane that’s leaving the country on Monday.”
Max’s jaw tensed. “Where?”
Jesse raked a hand through his hair, and Max could tell by the stalling maneuver that he was not going to like the answer.