My cheeks heat again, and I can't shake the feeling he knows what I was doing before he texted. Which, of course, he doesn't.
"I want to put your skills to the test and see what you're actually capable of. Your degree's in computer science, but you're a glorified data entry person."
I don't say that is not really a job. Data analyst is the title, but I let it slide. I don't expect CEOs to know the minutiae.
"I just suspect your skills are being underused."
"Really?" I sound scathing, even though his words buoy me.
"I have got one more meeting, but?—"
"I thought you said meetings were done?"
He picks up his satchel where he left it by the elevator, a whole handful of steps from me. "Business meetings are. I will see you here at five-thirty."
His comeback is a diss in my head by five-twenty. And the need to prove to him exactly what I'm capable of is so strong it is threatening to strangle me.
I want to throw my competence in his face.
And more than that, I'm having a hard time finding reasons to hate him outside of what his father did. And those facts aren't in the report from Silas I got. I'm just hoping he finds something else.
So I can sink my teeth into the hate and stop this wild fall.
Because the more I think about it, the more I can't help but wonder just how fair it is to hate someone for being a teen and disappearing from my life when his father did, just like I don't really know how fair it is to resent him for what his father did.
This time, I'm ready for when the elevator dings and he steps out.
Enzo is early, which to me fits CEO Enzo, but not the Enzo with the slightly wicked, slightly underhanded knowing almost smile. The almost-smile I had wanted to kiss.
I force myself to breathe as he comes in.
He motions for me to follow him into his office and places a laptop on the desk, hooking it up.
It isn't just plug and go, he sets up his laptop, one that looks beaten up and doesn't fit him at all.
He spins the one facing away from him and starts tapping away. "Sit."
Then he spins it back as he runs through what he wants.
I don't touch the computer.
He is a CEO. Why would he want me to do this?
"This is hacking, Enzo."
"So, you don't want to do this? You're refusing?"
I lick my lips. "You're asking me to go—hack—into the company's bank accounts and transfer money from them remotely to what looks like an offshore account."
"You don't have to do it."
"I didn't say that." I start working because what he is asking is easy.
Like all the doors are flimsy and the locks are there for show.
One is a little tricky, but I do it, making sure the pathway to and the path that goes to the offshore accounts are hidden if I can't brush them away.
It sounds easy, and it is, sort of, but it does take time. I get one done and look at him.
