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The person who actually contacted Cosmo, and no doubt spread those rumors around the office as well.
Whoever it is, I hate them, and it’s always good to know who you hate.
Jumping on my laptop, I navigate my way to my cloud storage account and check access history for the testing document.
It doesn’t take long to locate what I’m looking for.
Someone who lives in Queens—as in, not me—has regularly accessed the file in the last couple of days.
I grit my teeth. The IP of the scum looks familiar.
I bring up the IP of that CrazyOops user who’d said catty things about my app.
Yep.
It’s a match.
Which means there’s a very good chance it was Britney behind all this.
Not a huge surprise. She’s known as a hacker, she hates my guts, and she’s been sniffing around this project from the start. She’d even stalked our lunches.
Vlad being rude to her at the monthly meeting probably didn’t help matters.
Fuming, I go down the rabbit hole of internet searches to find out if what she did is legal.
Nope. Unauthorized access to computer systems is a crime.
Speaking of crimes, smothering Britney would also not be legal, no matter how good it would feel.
I resume my pacing.
It’s been hours now, and nothing from Vlad.
I might as well admit it.
He’s ghosting me—and I can’t blame him.
His privacy is kaput, all because of my negligence, and his sister didn’t get the write-up she’d hoped for.
Well, screw him. By not talking to me, he’s missing the Britney info.
This might actually be for the best. I was beginning to fall for that bastard, and if he’s like this, I’d rather learn early.
Yeah. I should thank him for not texting.
This is like ripping off a Band-Aid.
That’s always a good idea, right?
Maybe not if the Band-Aid is covering a festering wound.
I stop pacing and force myself to eat.
Everything tastes like cardboard. Montages of my lunches with Vlad play out in my treacherous brain, followed by recollections of us cuddling last night.
And the orgasms he gave me.
Okay, need major distraction.
