Page 100 of This is a Kissing Book

She straightens slightly, chin lifted, and gives me a nod of acknowledgement. “The thing about hating someone is that it gets exhausting over time. It’s like being locked in a dark room with a vampire—eventually, you run out of energy to keep fighting. What changed?”

I study her face, memorizing the way the morning light makes her eyes look like crystal, like glass. “I stopped the rude exec act because I realized I was acting like my dad. You were getting caught in my crossfire.”

She considers this, nods to accept it, and then quietly says, “You rattled me, too. I kept thinking, ‘Obviously this guy thinks he’s better than us worker bees, us little debt peons.’”

It’s my turn to hang my head in shame. “My father essentially installed me, so I figured if he was going to force me to follow in his footsteps, I’d go all the way.”

“I’ll admit that from what few interactions I’d had with your father, I hated him, too. Perched up there on the fortieth floor like a vulture.”

I chuckle darkly. Or a predator, depending on what’s going on with the insurance claims.

She adds, “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

My eyes arc a slow half-circle along the upper lids, weighing the notion as if that’s debatable.

She giggles.

It’s time to tell her that my father insisted I take the position at Meridian despite the fact that I have a full-time, demanding, and very fulfilling career. “The thing is⁠—”

She waves her hands. “Wait. We’re getting too friendly again. We need to bicker.”

The moment to confess dissolves. “I prefer to think of it as banter.”

“You’re such a pest.”

I leap to my feet. “Ah ha! That’s it. If we’re going to pull off our visit to the Checkpoint Secure site, we have to seem like we’re coworkers for a pest company. Like method acting.”

Her grin turns mischievous. “Something you’re all too familiar with. When we first met, I was convinced they sent the villain executive from central casting. You forgot your curly mustache prop.”

I tip my head back with laughter, then level her with my gaze. “But that’s not what this is anymore, is it?”

Silence slinks between us as if we’re both afraid to answer the question and turn back to formulating our plan of infiltrating the building of a security company, which, no doubt, will have a high level of security.

36

LINC

That afternoon, we’re standing outside Check Point Secure Inc., wearing matching brown polo shirts with name tags—she’s Yulia and I’m Dirk. Jules insisted because it rhymes with jerk, to really embrace that we’re disgruntled coworkers.

We also had a fake pest control company logo patch produced on short notice. After all, this is a major city and as a billionaire’s son, money isn’t an issue.

Yulia’s hair is slicked back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and she carries a clipboard. I’m wearing a non-descript baseball hat with my glasses and trying to look like someone who knows the difference between termites and carpenter ants.

As we approach the reception desk in the cold, stone building, Jules says, “Remember, we’re here about reports of structurally damaging pests in the basement level. With the earth beneath, once being a swamp, it’s a very common problem.”

The receptionist barely glances up from her computer. “Basement access is through the maintenance door. Building management said you’d be coming by.”

Sometimes being ridiculously wealthy and having connections pays off in ways that probably violate several laws.

The basement is a maze of modern mechanical rooms and storage areas, but eventually we find a crawl space. In a crouch, we walk through it, leading to a preserved pocket of 1800s architecture, complete with original brick walls and the musty scent of centuries-old wood and stone.

Jules turns in a slow circle, wincing when a cobweb grazes her shoulder.

“It’s like stepping back in time,” I say, fascinated while she’s visibly uneasy.

We find what remains of the inn’s foundation—soggy, splintered wood and basically a dug-out basement that’s been reinforced but not renovated. Jules hesitantly starts examining every corner with her phone’s flashlight while I search for a place where letters may have been hidden.

I find a slim break in the wall, barely wide enough for me to squeeze through. “Check this out. I found a passage that leads to a tunnel.”