I’m ready.
I’m a professional.
I can absolutely handle working in the same building as my cheating ex-boyfriend.
The elevator doors open onto a floor that’s all motion. Some people work at standing desks, others huddle in transparent conference rooms, and there’s a constant hum of activity, with keyboards clicking, quiet conversations, and the energy of a company that never stops.
A woman in her thirties, with a tablet and uptight energy, appears at my elbow. “Miss Ray? I’m Sherina, executiveassistant to the Jacobs brothers. I’ll be your point of contact for administrative needs. They’re ready for you in the executive conference room.”
I follow her through the maze of desks and glass-walled offices, hyperaware of the glances I’m getting. I don’t blame them. I’m a new face, heading straight to the executive offices. I’m either someone important, someone about to be fired, or someone spectacularly lost. Given my track record, any of those options seems equally likely.
Sherina stops at a door, knocks, and opens it without waiting for a response. “Miss Ray is here.”
The conference room has floor-to-ceiling windows on one side. The table is large enough to seat twenty, but currently only holds the three Jacobs brothers. It’s still a little surreal to see them together. Three sets of the same blue eyes, the same dark hair, the same sharp jawline, but somehow completely different people.
They never paid me much attention when I was with Damon. I was just his girlfriend—background noise, barely worth a second glance. But I always noticedthem. It was hard not to when the Jacobs triplets walked into a room like they owned it—and usually did. Three stupidly attractive faces that made every industry event feel like a photo shoot I'd accidentally wandered into.
Ansel, the one in charge, sits at the head of the table, laptop open, charcoal suit perfectly tailored. He doesn’t look up when I enter.
Enzo, who Damon always described as his favorite troublemaker, is sprawled in a chair halfway down the table. His sleeves are rolled up on his black button-down to reveal a tattoo sleeve. He’s got a tablet in front of him, screen filled with code. His eyes flick up to assess me, before he nods once.
Breck, the personable triplet, stands and is already smiling. He looks more relaxed than his brothers in a navy blazer with no tie. He gestures to the chair across from him. “Welcome. Coffee? Water? Something stronger?”
“Coffee would be great, actually.” I set my portfolio down and take the offered seat. “Black.”
“That’s easy enough.” Breck moves to a sideboard where there’s an entire coffee setup. “Fair warning: Enzo’s already had four cups, so if he starts talking about quantum encryption methods, just nod and smile.”
“I heard that, asshole.” Enzo doesn’t look up from his tablet.
“You were meant to.” Breck sets a mug in front of me and reclaims his seat. “And if Ansel broods at you, don’t panic. That’s just his face.”
Ansel finally looks up and rolls his eyes. “I’m reading the preliminary security audit Remy sent.”
I blink. “I sent that well after midnight. I was going to present it to you today. I didn’t expect you to review it beforehand.”
“I need this to get fixed as soon as possible.” He drums his fingers on the table, his gaze fixed on mine. “Your analysis was thorough. You identified two vulnerabilities our team missed entirely and proposed fixes that are both doable and cost-effective.”
I nod, almost accepting his comment as praise, but I know it’s not.
“However,” he continues, and I brace myself, “your timeline is aggressive. You’re proposing a complete system audit in three weeks. Our team estimated six months.”
“Your team is being conservative because they don’t want to admit how bad this could be.” I meet his gaze steadily. “The longer a breach exists, the more damage it does. Three weeks is aggressive but necessary.”
Breck leans forward, smile still in place but eyes all business. “Walk us through your plan. Slowly. Use small words for those of us who didn’t sleep last night.”
Great. He’s hot and funny. That’s annoying.
And here’s where I either prove myself or crash and burn spectacularly.
I open my portfolio and pull out the report I spent most of yesterday refining. “Your security breach isn’t random. Someone knew exactly where to look, which means you have an internal problem. Or it’s someone who used to have access. The attack vectors are too precise.”
Ansel’s full attention is on me now, intense enough that I have to resist the urge to fidget.
“Your firewall has three weak points. Two are common: legacy systems that haven’t been updated, and vendor access that’s too broad. Those are easy fixes. But the third—” I slide a diagram across the table, “—is in your authentication protocol. Someone modified it approximately two months ago. It’s a small change, almost invisible, but it creates a backdoor.”
Enzo sits up straight, his casual sprawl gone. “That’s not possible. I personally review every change to authentication.”
“I’m sure you do. But this change was made to look like a routine security patch. See?” I point to the code snippet I’ve highlighted. “It’s disguised as an encryption upgrade. But if you look at what it actually does, then it’s not just an upgrade.”
