Page 176 of Matteo

I still think it could be one of the tech guys sitting out there. They’re all super clever and smart, from MIT and Harvard. They could pull something like this off. But the question still remains—why?

With my medical testing ongoing, it helps to be out of the office; anywhere where there’s no risk of running into Elizabeth. Our time together was short, but so vivid in my mind. I hear her laughter when I’m watching TV. Hear her moans as I’m lying in bed, tugging my cock.

Alex keeps an eye on what she’s doing while I’m away. She seems determined to prove her innocence, but with her access being curtailed, I’m not sure she can do much.

Towards the end of the week, I’m sitting at my desk one evening when Elizabeth walks in, looking disgruntled.

“You got anywhere?”

“I would if I didn’t have so many restrictions on my access,” she snaps, nostrils flaring.

I had a feeling she was going to complain about this. I’m surprised she didn’t do it sooner. “Nothing I can do about that.”

“How can I prove my innocence when I don’t have access to the tools I need to prove my innocence?”

She stands before me, arms folded as if she’s about to unleash hell. She’s wearing a short black skirt, dark opaque tights and battered combat boots, with an oversized sweater. The dark colors suit her, and make her pale skin and green eyes stand out even more. Images of our good times together flash before me and I hate how different things are between us now.

I want to give her everything, but I can’t. I need to follow protocol and not show favor. “The rules are the rules. You’re lucky you weren’t suspended.”

“I’m surprised I wasn’t.” Her hazel eyes blaze, and I notice she’s wearing her nose-ring again.

“I need conclusive proof, Elizabeth. Just get it for me.”

Her lips are tightly pursed, and she looks furious, but trying to keep her cool.

“What line of work were you in with Vlad and Takumi?” I ask. It’s a cheap lousy shot, but I throw it out there, curious for her reaction. Instead, I get nothing back. Her expression is neutral, her eyes staring back at me calmly.

Then, “You really think I did it, don’t you?”

“No,” I say quietly. “What I think, Elizabeth, is that I don’t know enough. Would I like you to prove your innocence? Yes. I would. You think I want this? I don’t. What I want is for you to prove what you set out to prove—that this was nothing to do with you.”

Something in her gaze softens and she shifts from one foot to the other. “You have doubts,” she murmurs, her voice a mere whisper. It feels as if her armor is breaking down. “You’re not sure.”

She’s right on both accounts, but I don’t tell her that. It’s just a gut feeling, not just my heart talking, or my dick.

I want us to be how we were before; spending our nights together, having dinner together, walking around New York and going for walks in Central Park. Dodging one another at work, trying to keep our romance a secret, even though everybody knows now. Taking the same time off work fuelled the fiery rumors.

“I need more access,” she says. “Not enough to touch anything sensitive. Just enough to trace the path. If someone used my credentials, there’ll be inconsistencies. Timing mismatches. Access routes I wouldn’t have taken. Privilege jumps my account shouldn’t have been able to make. And if someone planted this, the logs won’t be clean. They’ll look clean on the surface, but underneath, something won’t line up.”

I consider her points, and for the first time, I can see exactly where she’s coming from.

“You giving me read-only access to the incident archives and supervised access to the relevant logs isn’t enough,” she emphasizes.

It’s true.

I do need to equip her better, and I need this resolved soon, before I take time off for surgery. I let out a slow breath, making it sound like a bigger ask than it is.

“Okay,” I tell her. “I’ll give you a little more access, but don’t make me regret this.”

“What part?”

I blink.

“What part of this do you regret?” she asks. “Do you regret me?”

I grind my teeth and try to steady my pulse. Just being alone in a room with her is difficult. That’s why we spend our days avoiding each other. Circling around each other. Pretending none of this exists.

“I regret what happened,” I say finally. “I regret this between us. I regret ...” The words stick in my throat. “It’s not just the tech issues.”