Page 24 of The Billionaire's Secret Kiss

My best guess went back to adolescent resentment combined with the crush he had on Ella in college. I'd never stolen a goddamn thing from anyone. Particularly not from Philip Martin, who didn't have the skills to create a program like the one I'd used to found Endicott Tech. The lawsuit had been mostly bullshit from the start.

He'd cribbed together notes from some projects we worked on in undergrad and some emails that looked incriminating taken out of context but had nothing to do with anything in reality. I hadn't settled because I was guilty. I’d settled because the lawsuit was fucking expensive and there were better things I could do with Endicott Tech’s money than spend it on lawyers.

I did not need this now.

Taking a deep breath, I said to Dave, “Is there anything else, other than the tweets?"

"Not yet, but they're being retweeted like crazy."

"Anyone sticking up for us?" I asked.

"Some," Dave said." Everyone who knows us, knows Martin, is defending us, but you know the Internet. That still leaves a lot of assholes with no fucking clue and a big platform to jump on Martin's bandwagon. I'm afraid to ask how the meeting with Winters went."

"I'm optimistic," I said. "Though this isn't going to help. Winters hates the media. If he invests with us and this kind of shit keeps going on, he runs the risk of getting dragged into it."

"Can we shut Martin down?" Dave asked.

"No. We can’t afford to buy him off. And we can’t afford to sue him. We need every penny to keep the company going until we crack the code."

"I may have good news on that front, at least," Dave said.

"Really? I could use some good news. Lay it on me."

"We think we may have figured out a way around that bug that was disabling phones too close to the transmitter. We haven't done full testing yet, but the few times we tried it before we all passed out last night, it worked."

Dave's voice vibrated with triumph and anticipation. This was huge. Our software—and the transmitter we were developing—would give property owners the ability to incapacitate a drone almost instantly, forcing it to land itself and ignore commands, either preprogrammed or delivered from its remote.

That sounded great, and we'd already been selling limited versions of it overseas. More and more, terrorists and wackos were using drones to attack. Imagine a drone, armed with a chemical weapon, programmed to land in the courtyard of a school or a stadium. The potential for devastation was terrifyingly high.

Unfortunately, the technology we used to force the drone to ignore its mission and land also interfered with local Wi-Fi signals, which was a violation of federal law. If we couldn't get the technology to work in compliance with United States law, we couldn't sell it here. We had a long list of buyers ready and waiting, from the federal government to NFL owners and schools of all levels.

We were so close to working out the last of the bugs. If Dave thought they'd isolated the Wi-Fi interference issue, we might be able to move into the final stages of testing. It wouldn't be fast enough to do without additional funds, but hell, after Dave's other news, any progress on the project was great.

"Call me as soon as you give it another roll and feel like you have a handle on where we are. I'll keep my phone with me."

“And the tweets? Do we respond?"

"No. For now, let's just ignore him. We know our code is 100% original. So does he. If the rest of the Internet wants to work themselves into a frenzy over it, let them. If Vance holds this against us, I'll have to figure something else out. But we need to keep our eyes on the ball. We’re too close to let Martin distract us."

"Got it, boss. I'll keep you posted." Dave hung up.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the hardwood floor between my feet. At the sound of the bathroom door opening, I looked up to meet Ella's eyes.

"What's going on?" She pulled on a worn flannel robe that was sexy as hell when wrapped around her body. I wanted to strip it off and drag her back to bed, but I had a feeling the mood was broken. "You want me to make coffee?" she asked.

"That would be great."

I jumped in the shower and got dressed in the clothes I'd worn the day before. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to end this interlude with Ella, but it looked like my day would be all about damage control thanks to Philip fucking Martin. Ella, bless her, had a hot cup of coffee waiting for me.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. I didn't want to dump this crap on her, but it wasn't fair to try to protect her either. She should know what was going on.

"You remember Philip Martin? He tweeted out a bunch of bullshit last night, trying to get people stirred up against Endicott."

Guilt flooded her eyes, and I tensed. In an anguished voice, she said, "Noah, I'm so sorry. I meant to tell you and then . . . we got distracted. He called me last night. Philip did. When Tate and Emily were driving me home.”

"What? What did he want? What did he say to you?"

"He said he was calling to warn me that you were in town, but I really think he was trying to find out if you'd met with Vance. He knew I worked for them. He said he's had an eye on you because you’re bidding for the same jobs."