Dirty Daddy

“You have Brittney coming over, don’t you?” Cheryl asks me, her eyes narrowing. “You’re cooking dinner for that woman.”

“Does it matter?” I ask with a sigh and turn to face Cheryl. I’m not sure if what I’m doing is the best course of action, but I’m sure as fuck not embarrassed about it. But enough is enough.

“Do you know anything about that woman, Ethan?” Cheryl asks me sharply. “Do you know anything about what you look like when you’re around her?”

I stare at Cheryl as she continues.

“She’s changing you right in front of my eyes,” Cheryl says. “You used to be an asshole, now look at yourself. Cooking dinner.”

“I can still take care of things that need to be done,” I tell Cheryl and take off my apron and grab my glass of scotch and walk out of the kitchen.

Fuck, did you just hear what that sounded like? Did I just fucking say take off my apron?

And I’m supposed to be the bad boy? Jesus fucking Christ.

“You can’t walk away from this Ethan,” Cheryl says, following me out. “There are thousands of employees who depend on your leadership, and if you’re placing it in danger by falling for that woman it’s my job to look out for you…and them,” Cheryl tells me as she follows me out.

“I’m not walking away from it, Cheryl,” I tell her coldly as I go toward the door, open it, and turn to her. “I’m showing you out so I can enjoy my evening in peace.”

Cheryl looks at me and pauses. Finally she sighs.

“I can only try to keep warning you, Ethan,” she tells me. “You may think you’re following your heart, but you could just as easily be getting played. Don’t forget how you know her in the first place.”

And with that piece of profound advice, Cheryl turns around and walks into the open elevator as the doors close.

Fuck.

I know she’s right. I should probably be a bit more careful.

If only I could stop thinking about Brittney for a moment, I might have a chance to listen to my fucking brain.

122

Brittney

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Walter,” I say from the back seat of the limo as Walter drives me towards Illicit Escape.

We’re weaving our way towards Times Square. It’s been two days since I went over to see Ethan, have dinner at his place, and fuck his brains out.

"Are you forgetting that we have a job to finish here?" he asks. He's looking me straight in the eyes with a serious gaze.

Since I stole the data from Ethan’s office, there have been four software upgrades. The data I had was junk literally 24 hours after I had it. I gave the USB device to Simon yesterday who tried to run it on his computer in his office before throwing it against the wall and then getting up and stomping it.

"I know; I haven't forgotten," I say thinking back to Simon’s frustration yesterday and threats to give Robert a call. "But did you forget the icy tone in Cheryl's voice in his office? She's onto me. She isn't messing around. If she finds out what we've done; I'm in serious trouble. This won't be some little slap on the wrist. I'll do prison time, Walter. I mean, you saw the NDA I signed, right?" I say. By the look in my eyes, he knows I'm serious too, but he then tries to lighten the situation.

"You're being paranoid," Walter says. "That's all. You're letting the stress get to you, darling. This is a big job. I get it. But buck up. This job is nearly done. You've done tougher things in the past. Are you forgetting all of your past clients? I honestly don't know why you're letting this job get to you … more so than anything else you've done. Let's just finish this now."

Those words make my mood sink even lower. The job's almost complete. I know what you’re thinking. How can the job be over if the data I stole is now junk?

I’ll tell you why.

I’m inside.

I’ the face of Illicit Escape.

So what the data I stole has gone bad?

I can try again. And if I don’t succeed, I can maybe try again. And if I still don’t succeed, I can even at the end steal the physical prototype somehow.