“It creates a secondary access point.” Enzo grabs the paper, scanning it rapidly. “Fuck me.” His jaw clenches visibly. “Two months. Two goddamn months, and we missed it.” He looks up at me. “You found this in what, an hour?”
“Four, actually. I’m thorough, not magic.”
Breck clears his throat, but he’s leaning in, too, studying my notes. “If this has been here for two months?—”
“Then someone’s had access you definitely don’t want them to have,” I finish his thought. “Luckily, it’s still contained, and it will be an easy fix. Now we just need to figure out who has the information and what they’ve done with it.”
Ansel’s fingers stop drumming. “Can you trace it?”
“Maybe. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. But people make mistakes. Leave digital fingerprints. I’ll find them.”
“Three weeks,” Enzo mutters, still staring at my analysis. “You think you can find them in three weeks.”
“If I can’t find them in three weeks, then I will have to admit they are better than me. And I really don’t like admitting people are better than me.”
That gets a ghost of a smile from Ansel.
The conference room door opens without warning, and Damon walks in.
He looks the same. Brown hair styled just so, brown eyes that used to make me feel seen. Objectively attractive, until you put him next to his best friends and realize he's just... mediocre.
For a second, nobody moves. Damon’s holding a coffee cup and a tablet, clearly expecting a regular Monday morning meeting. His eyes slide past me, then snap back. I watch the exact moment recognition hits.
His face cycles through about five emotions in two seconds before settling on pissed off. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
There he is. The Damon I know. So eloquent.
Ansel stands slowly in a way that seems casual, but he puts himself between Damon and me. Enzo’s hand tightens on the edge of the table. Breck’s smile vanishes completely.
Before any of them can answer, I say, “You didn’t tell him that you hired me, did you?”
It’s not really a question.
Ansel’s expression doesn’t change, other than his very blue eyes narrowing slightly. “We don’t clear hiring decisions with employees. Even friends.”
I don't respond. This isn't my battle to fight. But I'd be lying if I said watching Damon squirm wasn't a little satisfying.
Damon’s coffee cup hits the table hard enough that liquid sloshes over the rim. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Watch your tone.” Ansel’s voice drops to something cold and commanding. “This is a business decision.”
“A business decision?” Damon’s laugh is bitter. “You hiredherwithout even telling me?” His voice cracks on the last word. He’s not angry, but hurt. “After everything I told you about what she did.”
I force myself to take a breath, to remember that losing my temper here means losing this job, this salary, my parents’ security. It’s killing me not to be able to defend myself.
Damon’s eyes are wild, darting between the brothers and me. “You’re just going to let her sit here and?—”
“She’s here to do a job. One that our entire team failed at.” Enzo’s tone tells me I need to stay on his good side.
“She’s a liar.” Damon’s pointing at me now, his hand shaking slightly. “She’ll say anything to make herself look good, to get what she wants. That’s what she does. That’s what sheis.”
The urge to defend myself, to list every shitty thing he did, to tell them about the women (plural), the gaslighting, the way he made me feel crazy for noticing his phone was always face-down—it all rises in my throat like bile. But I swallow it down.
Because he wants me to lose it. He wants me to prove I’m the unstable, emotional mess he told them I was.
So instead, I look directly at Ansel. “Should I step outside while you handle this?”
Ansel studies me for a long moment, and I can practically see him deciding what to do next.
