“Hey, man.” Evan approaches from the opposite end of the passage and claps me on the shoulder. “Nia and I are out of here. We’re heading to Noah and Harlow’s for a barbecue free-for-all. Want to come?”

  Evan is in a way better place since he found the Reed clan and they accepted him wholeheartedly. He had a lot of doubts they would. Of course, Nia has a lot to do with his newfound happiness, too. And I get it. Evan was a foster kid growing up since his mother died when he was five, so reconnecting with the other kids his biological dad fathered has given him the kind of family he’s never had. He loves it. He and Nia have dived in with both feet. And good for them.

  But seeing my best buddy with all his siblings only reminds me that I have a mother and four sisters back in the Philly suburbs I don’t talk to much. Mom is enjoying retirement, playing bridge, tennis, and golf. All of my sisters are married. The older two together have enough kids to form their own baseball team. One of my younger sisters is expecting her first late this summer, according to social media. I really should call… The youngest got married last spring and, that same fall, started teaching in the school we attended growing up. None of them have ever wanted to leave the quiet green commuter belt. None of them ever felt compelled to look up the deadbeat who ran out on us when my youngest sister was just six months old.

  “Bas?” Evan prompts.

  Jesus, where is my head? “It sounds like a blast, but I’m double time on my side project.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yep. Just came to grab some water.”

  Evan looks excited. “Anything to report?”

  “Not yet, but I’m just getting started on Reservoir’s financials. I found some things that don’t add up. Like I told you earlier, Rawson’s secret illegitimate daughter is a middle manager there. Sloan wants to help. She’s going to dig into their records for me.”

  “Awesome.” He claps me on the shoulder again. “Can I just tell you how brilliant this plan is? Under the guise of helping her company, you get her to give you all the information that will doom her daddy’s and employer’s chances for UK market domination. It’s genius.”

  I wince. When he puts it like that, it sounds asshole-ish. I kind of wish I’d never brought Sloan into this. Unfortunately, I like her. I respect her, too. I don’t agree with her decision to work for her dad for a few pennies and zero recognition, but maybe she has a reason I just don’t know. That’s her business, and I can’t afford to feel sorry for her. Besides, the woman is too smart and too resilient not to land on her feet. She’ll be fine.

  “Thanks. I should get back to it.” Normally, I would tell my boss she’s dipping into her third glass of wine and that getting her to give me company secrets should be a cakewalk. But I don’t. After all, I can’t guarantee that Sloan will find anything now that her computer is back, so I shouldn’t get Evan’s hopes up. Still, I’m uncomfortably aware that spilling my situation with Sloan feels a bit like throwing her under the bus…which I’m oddly reluctant to do. “Enjoy your Friday night.”

  “You, too. If you change your mind, you know where to find us. If not, I’ll see you at the gym at five a.m.”

  I sigh, wishing my boss and best friend slept more. “See you then.”

  “You can update me on the StairMaster.”

  I swear he’s part sadist. “Be nice to me or I’ll withhold information.”

  Evan laughs like he’s sure I’d never do that, then heads off with a mock salute.

  If I feel like a jerk for being less than honest with Sloan, I feel downright shitty for holding out on Evan.

  I stifle my emotions. No denying I like the woman, but my allegiance is strictly to Evan. Our wagons are hitched. He dragged us both out of poverty with his brilliance. Sure, I helped. But we have a massive financial stake in the future of Stratus. I can’t afford this guilt. And it’s not like I’ll be shutting Reservoir’s doors, just preventing them from overseas expansion. They’ll survive.

  I think.

  With a sigh, I push my way back into my office and grab the phone. “I’m back.”

  “Good. I’m here with another glass of Cab, which is still more exciting than almost everything in my life.”

  “And everyone?”

  “Definitely. So tell me the names of those funds again, by department. I have access to a lot of the information on their shared drives. I might be able to find something…”

  After two hours and her third glass of wine, Sloan finds only the barest of information about the projects’ creation and initial budgets, which seemingly coincides with the size of the previous year’s overages. So each of the organization’s VPs are taking the profits they reported and funneling them back into a secret project? For what? Every single one of these funds were green-lighted by Shane Rawson. The budgets for this year are even bigger, but she still can’t find much detail.

  Since I know he’s no business brainiac, it smells bad.

  I’m not here to help Sloan; I need to remember that. If I leave this alone, somehow convince her this is not as fucking odd as I think it is, maybe Shane will destabilize the company so much Reservoir won’t be able to pursue Wynam’s business at all. But before I can stop myself, I ask the obvious question. “Any chance Bruce Rawson’s oldest son is embezzling through the use of these manufactured projects?”

  Sloan is quiet for a really long time. “I would hope he has too much oversight for that.”

  Is she kidding? Who the hell does she think is overseeing him? Bruce is checked out for health reasons. Brady is too busy building a fitter America one IG post at a time, and Rogan is sampling all of DFW’s finest tail after tending bar at a super-swanky hotspot five nights a week. Shane has the keys to the kingdom, and no one—not even the VPs—has the authority to withhold funding.

  “Are you sure?”

  She’s quiet for even longer. “I should go. I’ll think about this over the weekend. I’m hoping that once the wine wears off, I’ll figure out something obvious and logical I’ve overlooked and be able to call you Monday with an oops-I-screwed-up message.”

  It’s not going to happen, and something in her voice tells me she knows that, too. “If it doesn’t?”

  “I’ll figure it out. Thanks for bringing it to my attention.”

  She’s about to hang up when I find myself blurting, “They don’t deserve you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. You work circles around almost everyone. Those problems you solve? They aren’t just Tech’s. They aren’t just Finance’s, either. You help everyone.”

  “Not HR. I don’t understand half their rules, and I’m not about to step into it with my ignorance.”

  She’s diminishing her contribution. I wonder why. “You do more than Shane Rawson. Way, way more.”

  Sloan swallows. “I don’t know what he does all day. But I appreciate the vote of confidence. I always do my best to make sure the organization succeeds. Everyone does.”

  “Do they?”

  “Granted, people haven’t been as accountable as they were when Bruce occupied the corner office, but overall, yeah. Why do you ask?”

  “I want to make sure the organization is taking care of you, too. You’re smart, dedicated, not afraid of a challenge—”

  “Thanks. It’s really flattering to be noticed. But why do you keep bringing it up?”

  She asks a great question. I don’t have a great answer—not even one to give myself to explain my own behavior. “You must not realize how many people in corporate management I see every year or the fact that you stand out so head-and-shoulders above them you could write your own ticket, so I’m curious why you don’t.”

  “Who says I’m not, Mr. McBride? Good night.”

  March 12

  * * *

  Sloan stays on my mind as the weekend rolls in.

  It’s not smart.

  By Saturday night, I’m thinking about her way more than enjoying my downtime. What is she doing? Who is she with? What would she do if I called? Any chance she’s thinking of me?

  My head is fucked up. I need to shut that down.

  I hit some of the hotel bars, convinced that if I don’t wake up alone on Sunday, I’ll be able to approach Sloan on Monday with a fresh, less fixated head. Despite three tourist traps and a couple of flirty conversations, I can’t get interested enough to leave with a warm body. The women I meet are pretty, yes. Sexy, totally. Ready to go to bed with me after a few minutes of meaningless talk, apparently. But none of them are clever, compelling, or driven. They’re self-absorbed. Finding their happiness seems like their only purpose in life. Sloan, like me, thinks bigger. We have goals.

  Or hell, maybe I’m overanalyzing. I didn’t meet anyone who flipped my switch. It happens. I was in the mood for a redhead and I didn’t find one, so I left. End of story.

  Why is a redhead suddenly at the top of your must-do list?

  I’m not analyzing that.

  Monday I stare at my phone, willing it to ring. It doesn’t. As the hours slip by, my thoughts slide off the rails. Is Sloan still working on her organizational mystery? Or is she avoiding me for some other reason?

  As I’m leaving Evan’s office around three p.m., following an advertising-strategy and budget meeting, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

  I pull it free. Sloan. She’s calling me at eight o’clock in her evening.

  “Hey,” I greet. “I wondered if I’d hear from you. How was your Monday?”

  “Thank god you answered. It was horrible. I waited to talk to you until I got home. I know it’s late in Phoenix, but…do you have a minute?”

  “For you? Of course. Make any progress on our mystery?”

  “Yes and no. I’m not sure how to interpret everything that happened today. Granted, I haven’t worked here forever, so I don’t know everything about this place, but I’ve never seen behavior like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “This morning, I called my boss. I thought it made sense to question him first. I know him best, and he’s usually easy to talk to. He should be able to tell me what he knows about the FY Initiative on his books, right?”

  “Natural assumption.”

  “He didn’t want to talk about it. At all. He insisted it’s a secret project he’s undertaken at Shane’s behest and that he’s not at liberty to say more. When I pointed out that we’re hemorrhaging money and this initiative should really have been given more scrutiny before being green-lighted, he snapped at me. I’ve worked for him for nearly two years. He’s never, ever been short with anyone.”

  “So…what are you thinking?”

  “The same thing you are. It’s sketchy.”

  “But you can’t prove it.”

  “No. And even if I could, who could I tell with enough organizational power to do something?”

  Her father. But maybe she doesn’t because they’re not close. Or because he’s got health problems. Whatever the reason, it’s obvious she’s frustrated and isn’t sure where to turn. “What did you do next?”

  “Probably something I shouldn’t have. I called Mario Perez, the head of Finance, and asked him about his fund. He hemmed and hawed about its purpose, underscoring a need for secrecy because—get this—it supposedly has something to do with a new product we’re bringing to market. Then he seemingly remembered he was talking to the woman responsible for the day-to-day administration of said products, and suddenly he was way too busy to answer my questions. So he hung up.”

  “What the hell? Smith and Perez sound as if they have something to hide.”

  “My thoughts, too. I called Brenda Keller, VP of the Management team, next. She had surgery at the end of December and was out recovering until three weeks ago, so she said she knows nothing. And maybe she doesn’t. The guy who filled her chair while she was out quit the day she returned. Or got fired, depending on who you ask. But either way, he’s not around for me to question.”

  “Clearly. Do you think there’s any way the VP of Management hasn’t figured out what’s up with her budget in the last few weeks?”

  “No. After that, I gave in and called Meredith Roop, who heads HR.”

  “Gave in, huh? You two don’t get along?”

  “No. She’s been part roadblock and part bitch since the day I hired on.” Sloan sighs. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you away from the office. I know you’re trying to improve the organization, but I can’t help you do that if I can’t be honest.”

  “No. Absolutely. I appreciate that. What did she say?”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t even take my call. I wasn’t totally shocked when she didn’t answer right away because she’s told me point-blank in the past that my work ethic is daunting to some who feel the unrealistic expectation to perform at my level. She says my effort to go the extra mile isn’t appreciated.”

  “What? She wants you to work less hard so you don’t make the employees around you feel bad?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I roll my eyes. That’s not the mentality at Stratus, and if we had an HR VP like that, she’d be fired. “That’s insane.”

  “Right? So Meredith has her assistant call me to tell me she knows what I want and isn’t at liberty to speak about it, so I should stop calling.”

  “For real?”

  “I can’t make this stuff up…” Sloan sighs even harder. “Screw it. I’m pouring a glass of wine.”

  “Sounds like you could use it.”

  After some rustling, I hear the soft pop of a cork, followed by the clink of a glass. Liquid splashing follows. Then she sips and swallows.

  “Better?” I ask.

  “I wish. I don’t usually open wine on a Monday, but I want to shake all these VPs. After you and I talked on Friday night, I spent the weekend scouring that annual report. We should be in a far more liquid position. Mr. Rawson wouldn’t be happy that Shane is financing these secret projects and potentially jeopardizing the organization’s cash position. Frankly, more than one department is relying on improved funding next year. The R and D people alone need a boatload of money to keep up with those cutthroats over at Stratus.”

  Cutthroats? We’re simply smart businessmen, damn it. “They’re competitors, right?”

  “They’re more than that. For years, we’ve had this unspoken line in the sand. They typically handle the large-business market, so it made sense for them to have all these redundant, off-site servers for storing data. We catered to the home office and very small-business audience. So our on-site solutions, especially with the advances in solid-state technology, made sense for those customers. We only serviced a sizable business if they approached us first. But what did Satan—I mean, Evan Cook—and that swaggering asshole of a sidekick—” She snaps her fingers. “I can’t think of his name.”

  She means me. “Asshole?”

  “Yeah. He’s their CFO, technically. But he’s pretty much their corporate mouthpiece. Cook doesn’t like to make speeches, attend tech conferences, or give interviews for industry press, so this guy does it for him. He gave a presentation at an event I attended a few years back, I’m sure because he likes to hear himself talk. Thank god I was at the back of the room. I left as soon as it began. But you know what the asshole did?”

  Came after the home and small-business market—like any good businessperson with two brain cells to rub together would. Evan and Stratus didn’t need Rawson’s or Sloan’s permission to do that. “What?”

  “Jumped into our arena without warning. Full product suite, competitive pricing, ads everywhere…”

  “And you weren’t happy about it?”

  She scoffs. “Why come after our customers before improving the market penetration with their own first? It’s a threat to our bottom line, frankly at the worst possible time. And now Reservoir’s disappearing funds threaten to undo us altogether. And I’m the only one warning management that the sky is falling. I don’t understand.”

  “First of all, don’t sweat Stratus. Competition happens, and all you can do is your best to compete. Reservoir is doing a good job,” I have to admit. “From the conversations I had with Bruce Rawson before he hired me”—well, from my own research, but whatever—“they’re holding their own in their original market segment while making inroads in the large-business market.”

  “Modest inroads,” she corrects.

  “It hasn’t been that long, and an on-site storage solution isn’t right for a lot of bigger companies, especially those with multiple branches or offices.”

  “How would you know that?”

  I wince. I’ve got to be fucking careful not to say things that would give my identity—and my whole scheme—away. “You’re not the only one who’s been doing their homework lately. Part of my effort to help you is to understand your industry.”

  “Of course. I’m not thinking.”

  “Still mad at Satan’s swaggering asshole of a sidekick?”

  “I’d love to crush him. It’s on my to-do list.” She swallows back more wine. “But right now, I’m focused on all the VPs and their terrible stewardship of our corporate funds.”

  Seriously, why doesn’t she just call her father and tell him what’s going on, maybe get his advice? I’m not sure, and that’s not my problem. Maybe my swagger and I can step in to fill the void.

  “The org charts don’t indicate there’s anyone else you can take this to. Well, unless you think the comptroller has balls.”

  “Our comptroller is a woman, so she doesn’t.”

  “I don’t mean that literally. You’re a woman, and you have balls.”

  “You think so?” She sounds touched by my opinion.

  “Hell yeah.” In fact, I’m hard-pressed to think of many women with as much moxie as Sloan. Nia comes to mind. Evan’s sisters, Harlow and Bethany, for sure. I admire them all.

  On Sloan, drive and guts are sexy in a way that has nothing to do with physical beauty. I barely know what she looks like, but I’d absolutely take her to bed with a smile on my face.