Page 12 of Command and Control: GHOST Operative

But they're not getting it. Which would also explain why they can't figure out how to use our software without fucking everything up.

It's been almost two hours now of essentially banging my head against a wall and I’m over it. I'm hungry. I have to pee. And, if I'm being honest, I want to go check the monitor across the room to see if I can figure out where Vincent is now. He's been moving around since I woke up this morning, driving all over town, and it's killing me that I haven’t been able to peek at it. Partly because I'm nosy—I am a hacker after all—but also because I want to be a little prepared for what's coming.

And something is coming.

The press of my bladder finally goes from urgent topainful and I lean forward, smiling as wide as I can muster at the camera on my computer. "We're going to need to pause this conversation for now. There’s no way to resolve this issue today. I need a couple of days to come up with another option that might be more useful to you."

The old guy staring back at me doesn't hide his aggravation. "We need to know how to use the software. We spent a lot of money on this and I don’t appreciate how long it’s taking to implement this new system. If this is above your head, then surely your boss can help me. I’m confident he’ll have the knowledge it takes to solve this issue."

It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. What a fucking drama queen.

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him maybe he should ask for a refund, when my bladder offers one final warning, the painful twist letting me know my time is beyond up. "I understand. I’ll look into your issue and get back with you."

I don't wait for him to respond. He's not going to say anything worthwhile. I simply end the meeting, cutting Mr. Misogyny off just as he opens his mouth again. He can call my boss and complain. I don't give a shit. She understands exactly what it's like dealing with these ‘men rule the world’ types. Chances are good that if he does complain, she'll send him a refund, cut off his access to our system, and leave him to go back to his old way of doing things. I really hope that's what happens, because I'm confident that stooge can't figure this shit out.

Whipping off my headset as I jump up from my chair, I race out the door of my office and into the bathroom, peeling down my yoga pants before dropping to the seat.Letting out a long sigh, I drop my head back. "Oh, thank God." The relief is immediate, and by the time I’m done, I’m already in a better mood.

After reassembling my work-from-home uniform, I stop at the sink to wash my hands before flipping off the light, ready to shove in a quick lunch before my next call.

I make it two steps into the hall before I stop and slowly back into the room, eyes locked on the empty towel sitting beside the sink.

I know I left it there.

Turning the light back on, I do a quick scan. Maybe I knocked the vibrator on the floor while I was suffering through my morning skincare routine or in my haste to empty my bladder of a pot’s worth of coffee. I drop to the floor and crawl around the tile, peering behind the toilet and under the vanity, but there’s no sign of my little buddy anywhere.

Where in the world would it have—

My stomach clenches. A little from fear. A little from excitement.

I practically run back to my office, hands shaking as I wake up my personal computer. I expect to see the little dot I've been monitoring all day planted right over my apartment.

But it's not. It's close though. Sneaking across my office, I crouch down to peer out the front window, looking over the parking lot outside. What sort of car would Vincent drive? Definitely something black. Probably with tinted windows. I scan the vehicles lining the lot, but none of them jump out at me.

Maybe hewashere, but just left. If that’s the case, I’ll have to wait another half hour for it to ping again andshow me his new location. Last night I decided switching it to every fifteen minutes might be taking shit too far, but now I'm rethinking that.

After taking a few minutes to update my program, rolling my eyes over how the dingbat I was just talking to looked down on me like I was the one too stupid to understand why he couldn’t make his shit work, I force myself to get up and go downstairs. Otherwise I'll just sit here and stare at that damn thing until it moves again. And I’m already a little concerned my infatuation with this man has taken a hard right turn straight into obsession.

I give the main floor the same cursory sweep I did last night, even though I don't expect Vincent to be there. He's not, so I make myself a quick sandwich, refill my insulated cup with water, and head back upstairs. I deposit it all on my desk before taking another guilty peek at my personal monitor. It's only been twelve minutes, so I’m not shocked when the dot hasn't moved.

Deciding I don't want to get caught in another uncomfortable spot, I head back to the bathroom so I can start my next call with an empty tank. I'm washing my hands when I see the edge of something peeking out from the hand towel I'd haphazardly dropped after my last visit. My heart skips a beat because I know what it is. I pull the black card out, flipping it over even though I already know what's written on the other side.

TWO

I press my lips together because smiling doesn’t seem like the right reaction to this. I’m still appropriately terrified, but for some reason I'm also a little giddy. It's a weird combination, and I’m not really interested in unpacking the reasons for it, so I carry the card intomy office, setting it with the other one as I drop into the chair and find my little Vincent dot.

It still hasn't moved. Maybe I fucked something up when I changed the timing on it. Or maybe he figured out what I was doing and turned his phone—

I lean closer, zooming in a little more.

Swallowing hard, the soup of emotions cooking in my gut starts to swirl. It's not that the dot hasn't moved, it's just that the move was so small I didn't really notice it at first.

My earlier hunger dissolves as I discover where Vincent is.

He’s not in the parking lot like I initially thought. He’s across the parking lot in the tiny, one-bedroom floor unit the owner’s been trying to sublet for months after making a temporary move to Florida.

The urge to run back to the window—to look for any sign of him—is strong, but I need to be smart about this. So far it seems like Vincent is just toying with me. Why? I’m not really sure. Maybe I pissed him off more than I thought and he’s here to fuck with me the way I fucked with him. Too bad it wasn’t in a more literal sense. I could use a good literal fucking right now.

But I wasn’t just messing with him before. I was serious about wanting to work for GHOST. And I’m even more serious now. I can’t deal with any more asshole clients like the one today. My bladder won’t survive it. I have to show him I can be what he needs. That I’m someone worth having around.

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