No point in asking what’s obvious.
Sometimes Nate asks, but it’s not like I ever answer honestly.
But it’s Sloane asking now, and something about that… it hits me right in the chest.
“I…” I have no idea how to answer. HowamI?
No clue. “I’ll be better.”
She gives me this sad little smile and leans in a bit. Her fingers brush mine, and that alone is enough to make me feel lighter.
“You know,” I say softly, “I’m starting to think this reality show might not be the total train wreck I thought it would be.”
One of her brows arches as she slides her glasses back on. And there she is again—my sexy CEO.
“Oh no? You’ve changed your mind?”
“Let’s just say I’ve found a new motivation,” I murmur, my eyes dropping to her mouth.
She blushes again. She’s not stupid. She knows exactly what I mean.
We’re about to say something else—something dangerous, something real—when a shrill sound tears through the air.
An alarm.
Not the fire alarm. A digital, repetitive tone that’s coming from the computers outside.
Sloane jumps to her feet. “What is that?”
Her office door flies open.
Lila bursts in, hair mussed, clutching her tablet to her chest like a shield. She’s white as a sheet.
“Sloane! Sloane, it’s a disaster!” she yells, not even registering that I’m here.
“Calm down, Lila. What is that sound?”
“It’s the server alarm! There’s been a breach! A data leak!”
Sloane goes pale. “What kind of data?”
Lila swallows hard, looking at her boss with naked terror.
“They grabbed a specific file. Someone downloaded it and sent it to two contacts.”
“Which file, Lila? Who did they send it to? How did they get past security?” Sloane’s voice climbs higher with every question.
“The file… the file ‘Christmas Project.’ The one with the full strategy breakdown for Rae and Grant. It was sent to them.”
Sloane drops back into her chair like someone cut her strings.
“Oh no,” she whispers, covering her mouth with her hand. “The Christmas War.”
48
Viral Flowers and (Hopefully) Soundproof Dressing Rooms
Cohen
