One of them still has her lipstick on it. A faint, soft imprint. A ghost of a kiss.
I pick it up.
I bring it to my lips.
I taste the amaretto.
And I taste her.
Chapter Seven
Victoria
By Friday afternoon, I have become a cautionary tale.
There is no other way to describe it.
I am sitting in my temporary office at Conti Headquarters with my laptop open, six files spread across the desk, a half-eaten protein bar at my elbow, and a headache taking up permanent residence right behind my right eye.
I have not slept. Or barely anyway.
Since Monday, sleep has become a place I visit briefly and leave worse than I arrived. I lie down exhausted enough to feel mybones ache, close my eyes, and almost immediately find myself back in Mario Conti’s office.
Against the window.
On his desk.
Or in his lap, which was Wednesday night’s contribution from the deranged theater of my subconscious.
Last night, I dreamed he held my wrists above my head in one hand, the other between my legs, and told me, in that low, accented voice, that I could ask all the questions I wanted as long as I was prepared for his answers.
Then, he unbuttoned his pants and…
I woke up at 2:46, shaking, hot, and furious.
Again.
Then I worked until dawn because apparently that is the only reasonable response to erotic psychological warfare being conducted by my own brain.
Now it is Friday, and I am not a person so much as a collection of caffeine, stubbornness, and poor decisions on unsteady heels.
The access audit has taken over my life.
Mario gave me full authority on Monday, which sounded thrilling for approximately eleven minutes. Then reality arrived with forty-two user permission reports, conflicting department charts, inactive employee profiles that still had active credentials, and enough legacy access issues to make me question whether anyone in this company has ever heard the phraseleast privilege.
To be fair, they have heard it now. Repeatedly.
In one tense conversation with a logistics director who tried to explain that his assistant needed access to archived manifests from eight years ago “just in case,” and then looked genuinely shocked when I asked him to define the case.
I had Ainsley running employee access comparisons from our office, Benjamin reviewing vendor permissions, and me camped out here like I planned to be buried beneath Conti letterhead.
By Thursday, I had identified thirty-seven redundant access points, twelve expired contractor accounts, five department heads with permissions they should never have had, and one shadow admin profile I couldn’t find an explanation for.
That last one is still sitting in my notes.
I have not told Mario yet. I figured getting confirmation first would be a better idea.
Also, if I am honest, I wanted one piece of information I could walk into his office with that would remind both of us why I am here.
