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1
ATLAS
I work my shift at The Wicked Wench, a popular old-timey tavern located in the heart of Asheville. I keep one eye on the clock, feeling the butterflies in my stomach do somersaults.
On Friday afternoons, my dad will show up for a meal here. But he won’t be alone. He’ll bring his best friend, Eric Holt.
Eric looks like a sexy Greek god and I just happen to know he’s an excellent kisser.
As if I’ve conjured the two of them up, the bell above the door rings. I suck in a breath as Eric walks in. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up, revealing muscular forearms and a Semper Fi tattoo.
Despite the fact that he is my dad’s best friend, I didn’t meet him until the day he officially retired from the Marines. I can still remember being sixteen and standing on the back deck, watching him arrive for the homecoming party. I knew right then that I was in love with Eric.
The problem is that Eric has never given me the time of day. Unless you count that one kiss in Mexico after my nineteenth birthday when he was slightly tipsy.
Nothing happened other than a steamy make out session that still makes my panties damp whenever I think about it.
Dad and Eric settle at a booth in my section and I grab two beers. They’ll sit here for an hour, talking and laughing. Then they’ll both tip me a couple of fifties and leave.
Eric is scowling when I approach the table and I remember my little trick today. I wish I’d been in the room to see it happen. But that would be too much of a tip-off that I’m the one that keeps hacking him.
“I thought you got rid of this woman,” Dad says to Eric.
My stomach flips at the thought of Eric with another woman. As far as I can tell, he’s never been with anyone for longer than a night. “Got rid of who?”
“Miss Karma,” Eric spits out the words, fire dancing in his deep brown gaze.
I fumble with the beers, knocking one over. It’s not open yet so it doesn’t spill. Miss Karma is the nickname I go by whenever I create trouble for Eric. I’ve never done anything malicious to the head of computer security.
“Is she up to her old tricks?” I ask as I set the beer upright. I realized after Mexico that the only way to get Eric to see me in a new light was to pretend to be someone else. So, I started learning everything I could about hacking, my way of getting his attention.
“She added a macro to my PowerPoint. When I clicked on the slides in front of the team, it started playing a porno.” He shakes his head. “I’ll be lucky not to get my ass fired.”
“Unless your boss is a close friend,” I point out. When Eric retired from the military, Dad hired him to work for his company, Alpha Defense Industries, as the leader of his cyber security division.
“You have to find this woman. She could cause big trouble for the company. If word gets out that someone’s penetrated your system…” Dad trails off.
“The usual?” I ask the two of them. I’m not exactly sure what Eric will do once he discovers the real identity of Miss Karma. He’s attracted to her if the flirty messages we exchange when I’m in his computer are any sign. Will they stop once he knows who I am?
“Extra cheese and bacon on my fries today,” Dad says, sounding weary. For a second, I feel bad that I’ve made him worry.
I click my tongue against my teeth. “The doctor told you to cut back on the fried, greasy foods.”
He focuses on Eric. “This is why you don’t have a daughter. She’s either worrying you, or you’re worrying her.”
Eric chuckles at that and takes a swig of his beer. I watch his throat work, remembering the regret on his face in Mexico as he realized what he was doing and who he was doing it with.
A blush works its way up my neck as I think about how hungry and demanding his kisses were. The way he backed me up against the wall and put his arms up, caging me in. His possessive growls as he cupped my ass and grinded his hardness against me.
“I’ll get this off. To the kitchen spinner, I mean,” I say before I turn and flee. In the kitchen, I take a deep breath and remind myself that I’ve been careful.
Every time I’ve hacked Eric’s devices, I’ve done small things. Like messing up his presentations or redirecting all of his bookmarks to princess-themed websites for kids.
Once the food is done, I bring it to the table. I’m just in time to hear Eric say, “I don’t think it’s corporate espionage. It’s personal.”
“Based on what?” Daddy grimaces at the side salad I added to his order. “Why did you bring me lawn clippings?”
“It’s a side salad, and the dressing is fat-free.” Neither are likely to win points with Dad. But I’m worried about his health. He works too much, barely sleeps, and lives on caffeine.
