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My forehead wrinkles in confusion. "Harper?" I recognize that voice instantly. "You called my phone. Let me transfer you to Poppy."
"Wait. Hold up, Cowboy. I meant to call you," Harper interjects, stopping me in my tracks.
I instantly feel uncomfortable; the little I know about Harper is already setting off alarm bells. I lean back in my chair, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "What do you need?"
“Did Poppy wear the shirt I got her to work yet?” Harper asks. She might be speaking through the phone, but it sounds like she's the damn devil on my shoulder taunting me.
I shake my head, amusement mixing with exasperation. "Harper, that shirt is an invitation for an HR seminar."
She scoffs; I swear I can hear her eyes roll. "You're the CEO; rewrite the HR textbook, make 'dating your boss' shirts a workplace fashion statement. It can start a conversation. Isn't that the goal of offices to talk and gossip?"
"You're forgetting work, too," I snort, unable to suppress a smirk. "You giving ideas for a textbook is terrifying."
"I never did like textbooks. They were so goddamn heavy; I mean, why aren't kids suing for backaches and early-onset osteoporosis. Not to mention that as soon as the textbook goes to print, it’s outdated. I'm digital all the way, and in the digital world, rules are meant to be broken."
Spoken like a hacker.
“Is that the real reason you called?” I ask, folding my arms and leaning in, ready for her ramble.
“Nope,” she replies, popping the 'p.'
“Alright, Harper, spit it out. What’s the real reason?”
“It's more about whatyou need, but I'll need a favor in exchange for the information I'm about to share," she says cryptically.
"What info?" I question as I readjust the phone and sit back down. "Did Poppy tell you?" I press.
I had a feeling Poppy would divulge the threats and photos sent. Those two share everything. I'm not pissed, but Poppy will have to keep a tighter lip when it comes to some of the details at work. Our information is sensitive, to say the least.
"No," Harper replies quickly.
"But you know what I'm referring to?" I reply. If Uncle Dan finds out more people are aware of what's happening, he'll have a fit. He was furious when I told Poppy only some of the details.
"Poppy is my sister, and since you two are getting closer, I took the liberty of doing a background check on you," Harper explains casually.
"Whose permission did you have for that?" I challenge, a bit irked.
She laughs, a sound that's both threatening and playful. Harper might portray the role of a dumb blonde, but she's a wolf in sheep's clothing. No one who works for the NSA and hacked into the Pentagon as a teenager is an angel. She's a devil in disguise, and my brother better be careful.
"If you hurt Poppy, I know people who can thoroughly mess you up, not just physically but mentally and emotionally too. Consider this a friendly warning," Harper purrs like a Girl Scout selling me Thin Mint cookies.
"Why are you calling me Harper?" I ask, my tone serious.
"Because I didn't like what I found when I started digging, Julian.” It’s the way she pronounces my name that alerts me to her pissed-off nature. “Someone shot you,” she states matter-of-factly.
My injured shoulder tenses instinctively. "I was a soldier. It happens."
"You were targeted because of your family name. They found you on a black site and shot you as a warning," she deadpans. “They don’t give a shit about who you are or where you are. They are coming for you, Julian, which puts my best friend in their sights. Do you understand why and how your problem has become mine?"
My heart stills. How the hell does she know that? The details are confidential, locked away in CIA servers. Harper works for the NSA, but her knowledge suggests she's been doing some unauthorized digging.
"You realize if I reported you to my uncle, you'd lose your job," I point out.
She laughs again, her amusement clear, “I’d lose a lot more than that. That’s what makes it so much fun. By the way, your uncle has a guy named Tyler Simmons working on your case. Tyler Simmons!” I can almost hear her eyes rolling. “The guy tells people he’s a serious gamer, and he plays Fortnite. Fortnite." She pauses for dramatic effect. "He has no idea what a real hardcore RPG is. He’s a joke, a poser. It’s insulting that he holds that position in the CIA.”
“I don’t know what the hell any of that means.” I bite as I mentally etch Tyler Simmons's name into my mind so I can tell my uncle.
"I'm talking about gaming, you know, video games. You game, don't you?"
