Ā Kylie
Holy irony, Batman.
As a teen, I hacked into a company and waved a virtual victory flag in the founder
and CEOās face. Nine years later, Iām interviewing for a job there. And not just any jobāone in infosec. Information systems security, that is. If I get the job, Iāll be defending the company against hackers. Like Catgirlāmy old
DefCon identity.
So here I sit, in the opulent lobby of SeCureās international headquarters, wondering if theyāll somehow recognize me and send me out in handcuffs.
A group of employees stroll past me, laughing and talking. They look relaxed and happy, like theyāre headed into a resort, not their nine-to-five grind.
I want this job.
I changed my outfit approximately ninety-seven times this morningāand I usually
donāt care what I wear. But this is the interview of a lifetime, and Iāve obsessed over getting every detail right. In the end, I chose a sleek black suit, the kind with a fitted jacket and short, tight skirt. I opted for no hose, going bare-legged, but stuffed my feet in a pair of high heels. Underneath the suit jacket went my favorite Batgirl shirt. It fits tight around my chest, and the hot pink glittery bat nestles perfectly between the lapels of my jacket.
The outfit screams āyoung and hipā IT genius, while the suit flips a nod to the conservative corporate thing. I debated over heels or Chucks, but, in the end, the heels won out. Which is too bad, because when Stu, my contact, comes down for me, Iāll have to stand up in them. And walk.
If my teenage hacker self saw me now, she would laugh in my face and call me a sellout. But even she shared my obsession with SeCureās billionaire founder/ owner, Jackson King. An obsession thatās morphed into admiration with a heavy dose of attraction.
Okay, itās a crush. But Jackson is totally crush worthy. Billionaire philanthropist, heās endlessly impressive. Not to mention smoking hot. Especially for a geek.
And the one moment we sharedāthe moment when I made it past all his security measures and found myself face-to-face with himāwell, cursor to cursorāis branded in my memory as the hottest encounter of my youth. I didnāt steal anything from him. I simply wanted to see if I could get inācrack the genius code. I backed out after he found me, and never risked going back.
Now, I might have another shot at cyber sparring with King, and the thought thrills me.
Especially since, this time, my actions wouldnāt be illegal.
āMs. McDaniel?ā
I shoot to my feet, hand already extended, ready to shake. I only wobble a little on the heels. āHi.ā I sound breathless. I force my shoulders down and smile as I grip the offered palm.
āHi, Iām Stu Daniel, infosec manager here at SeCure.ā He looks like a proper nerd, glasses, collared shirt, slacks. Thirty or so. His eyes flick to the pink bat in the middle of my boobs and then away. Maybe theĀ T-shirt was a mistake.
I keep pumping his hand, probably for too long. I read five business books to prep for today, but canāt remember what Interviewing For Dummies said about the proper length of time to shake a hand. āNice to meet you.ā
Fortunately, Stu is just as awkward as I am. His eyes keep detouring downward. Not like heās trying to perv, but like heās too shy to maintain eye contact. āIf youāll follow me, weāll head to the sixth floor for the interview.ā
In addition to unbreakable cyber security, SeCureās physical fortress is also well-protected. When I walked in across the gleaming marble floors and checked in at main reception desk, they told me to wait in the lobby for an āescortā to my interview.
I trail after my escort. āBeautiful building you have here.ā
Okay, that was lame. I suck at small talk. Like, really suck. Maybe I shouldnāt have
spent the last eight years hiding from all social interaction. IT geeks shouldnāt have to interview like normal people. They should just have to take a test or hack something. But, presumably, SeCure already knows about my code-cracking abilities, or so the headhunter said. I nearly choked on my coffee when she called me up out of the blue. I thought it was a prank by one of my old online compatriotsāthe Clean Clan. But, no, it was legit.
Besides, the chances of anyone from my old life finding me now are nil. At least, I hope so.
Stu leads me to the elevator bank and hits the up arrow. The doors of one elevator swing open to reveal a man in an elegant suit, his head bent over his phone. Tall and broad-shouldered, he takes up more than his fair share of the elevator. Without looking up, he moves to the side to make room for us.
Stu lets me step on first, and I push down panic. Itās a small elevator, but not too small. I can handle it. If I get the job, Iāll find out where the stairwells are.
I focus on the bright buttons and hope itās a fast ride.
Before my escort can board, someone calls his name.
āOne sec,ā Stu says as a young woman bustles over, followed by two other people.Ā
āStu, the Galileo server shut down this morningā¦ā
Great. Just what I needāextra time in an elevator. I swallow, ignoring the prickling on my skin. A panic attack will not make a good impression.
Stu takes his foot out of the door as the young woman opens her laptop to show him something.
The door snicks closed, and the elevator ascends. Just like that, Iāve lost my escort. So much for tight security.
I punch the number six button. I know where Iām going. The sooner Iām off this tiny box of death, the better.
Weāre halfway up when the lights flicker. Once, twice, then off.
āWhat theā¦ā I trail off to focus on breathing. I have about a ten second window before full on freak out.
The suit next to me mutters something. The light from his phone casts an eerie blue
light on the walls.
The elevator car grinds to a stop.
Oh no. Here it comes. My heart slams in my chest; my lungs grab for breath.
Stop, I tell my panic. Itās nothing. The elevator will start up again in a second. Youāre not stuck here.
My body doesnāt believe me. My stomach clutches, skin grows clammy. Everything goes dark. Either my vision has dimmed or the guy has just put his phone to his ear. I sway on my feet.
The big guy curses. āNo reception in here.ā
My heel twists under me, and I grab the rail, breath coming in quick gasps.
āHey.ā The guy has a voice to match his giant size, deep and resonant. Iād find it attractive under different circumstances. āAre you freaking out?ā Slight disdain in his tone.
Not my fault, buddy. āYeah.ā I barely get the word out on a pant. My death grip on the handrail tightens.
Stay on your feet. Donāt faintānot now. Not here.
āI donāt like small spaces.ā Understatement of the year.
Did the elevator just move? Or is my body reeling out of control? Old panic grips me. Iāll die in here. Iām never going to get out.
Two large hands push me back against the elevator wall, pinning me with pressure on my sternum. āWh-what are you doing?ā I gasp.
āTriggering your calm reflex.ā He sounds calm, as if he shoves hyperventilating girls up against a wall on a daily basis. āIs it working?ā
āYeah. Having a strange guy grab me always calms me down.ā I swore Iād hide my
sarcasm until I landed the job, but here it comes, spewing out. Being seconds away from passing out will do that to a girl.
āIām not grabbing you,ā he says.
āThatās what all the guys say,ā I mumble.
His short chuckle cuts off as soon as it starts. Almost like he didnāt mean to let it out.
Who is this guy?
My heart rate slows, but my head still spins. Iāve never had a man stand so close to me before. Not to mention touch me. A few inches over, and heād be cupping my chest.
Now, thereās a thought. Sensations I havenāt felt before outside the privacy of my bedroom thrill through me.
āNot that I mind you groping me,ā I babble. āI just think you should buy me dinner firstāā
His hands leave my sternum so fast, I lurch forward. Before I can fall, he catches my shoulders and flips me around. He locks his arms around me from behind, applying pressure to my breastbone again.
āHowās this?ā He sounds amused. āBetter? I donāt want my good deed to get me written up by HR.ā
God, his voice. His lips are right next to my ear. Heās not trying to seduce me, but, man oh man...
āSorry.ā My voice strangles a bit. āI didnāt mean to accuse you. What I meant was...thank you.ā
For a moment, he doesnāt move, and I breathe into his firm hands, surrounding me, protecting me, keeping me safe. And all I can think isā¦wow. I thought a panic attack would be bad. Now Iām stuck in an elevator, wrapped in a total strangerās arms. So. Very. Turned. On. Itās like my pussy is disconnected from my body. The rest of me is running around wringing my hands with worry, but my hooha thinks being manhandled by a stranger in a dark elevator is a good reason to get all excited.
āYou should sit down.ā
Apparently, I have no choice, because he lowers me to the ground with steady, inexorable pressure. Once there, he eases me against the wall, his firm, yet gentle hands maneuvering me like a doll. Sharp words dance on the tip of my tongueāIām a
grown woman, not Barbieābut sitting feels good. Despite his blunt caveman act, heās taking care of me. I almost miss his hands on my sternum.
āWhereād you learn that?ā I ask to distract myself from the fact Iām trapped in a tight rectangle of space with a guy who has no qualms about running his hands all over me. I am totally qualm-less about it, too, though I wish I could remember what he looks like. All I have is a vague impression of a rugged jaw and air of impatience. I was too focused on psyching myself up to ride the elevator to check him out.
āYears and years of terrifying women in dark places.ā
Ah. A kindred spirit in dry wit. I like him even more. āThanks,ā I say after a moment.Ā
He sits down next to me, his suit jacket brushing mine. āYouāre still freaking out.ā
āYeah, but itās better. Talking would help. Can we talk?ā
āOkay.ā He adopts a German accent to sound like Freud, āVen did you first notice zee problem?ā