Page 82 of Burning for You

Josh squeezes my breasts. “You smell so good,” he says, kneading my bottom too. “Do you want to? Or are you still sore?”

Closing my eyes, I reply slowly, “I’m still sore.”

“Of course,” Josh says, withdrawing. He then swipes at my hair. “What is this?” He says and rubs my neck.

Levi bit it when he was driving me to Bozeman. My heart warms, recalling the moment.

“It got pinched in between branches when I fell.”

“Where?”

“Outside Bozeman, in a forest. I told you I had pain.”

“Caro, I know it was my fault that you didn’t want to tell me about your pain. But next time, please, please call me.”

“I will. I’m sorry,” I say.

Barely minutes after saying goodnight, Josh falls asleep with both arms on his belly.

My ten-thousand-dollar bed suddenly feels cheap compared to Levi’s mattresses, be it in New York or Montana. And not having his sinewy torso to roll onto simply turns me into a baby who’s lost her blanket.

I’ve never truly missed a man before. Now I know what it feels like to have longing. He is not my nice-to-have—he is the very core of my existence. The thought of him imagining me sleeping in the same bed with Josh puts me in throes of agony. No doubt this is a consequence of the thing called ‘opening your heart.’ It’s suffocating, it’s debilitating, but it makes me feel complete.

After waiting for a while, convinced my so-called fiancé is asleep, I tiptoe to Josh’s desk and snatch his laptop. I switch it with a broken laptop that looks exactly like his, just in case he wakes up and looks for it.

I bring the Macbook to my own desk, and then switch on my laptop for a decoy. In case he decides to check on me, I’ll hide his beneath a pile of files, so he’ll find his workaholic fiancée doing what she does best—working obsessively.

Josh and I use each other’s laptop occasionally, so I’m familiar with his password. As I scour through Josh’s emails, I realize my stupidity. Why would Josh be corresponding with Rupert through Brilliance’s system?

He has a personal account with AOL, which is readily accessible—but again, there’s nothing in there apart from various business and gym newsletters, along with his purchases from eBay and Amazon.

I ponder. He uses a program to manage his passwords. If I can get into it, I might be able to find another email account. And I’m hoping it’s synced with his mobile phone, so whatever he accesses there, I will find it on his laptop.

The program asks for a password. I take a punt at using the same one as his main login. His predictability doesn’t surprise me. I’m in.

Among the hundreds of records listed in the software, there are no other email accounts, but there is a website called The Black Cat Engine which Josh seems to access regularly—username Bitterroot. I hit the ‘Show Password’ button next to it.

The phrase that the program shows me makes my blood boil: 600Mill!0N$Baby

Yeah. That was how much my dad and I paid for his shares!

The Black Cat Engine turns out to be a secure chat site. Josh only has one contact, or ‘crony’ as the platform calls it. Avatar. The earliest conversation looks to have taken place around the time Josh and I officially announced our relationship.

In his first post, Josh says:

Let’s use this from now on. I like what you’re proposing.

To which Rupert replies:

You scored big with the daughter of Albert Meyer. Do you dare to score even bigger with me? No one knows Carolyn better than I do.

She’s an idealist. Let her invest in Brilliance to fulfill her moronic dream of a better New York. Or should I say, let her invest in you.

I discussed my dreams about New York with Josh not long after we met. I guess he shared it with Rupert, and both men are trying to take advantage of my enthusiasm and belief. Most of all, they’ve exploited my trust of Josh—which I shouldn’t have easily given, really. My desperation to prove I have a heart and the ability to keep a relationship had tampered with my instinct and common sense.

Josh then responds:

Are you saying I should let her buy me out?

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