Page 523 of Rage

Chapter Five

The next few days are a whirlwind of covert meetings—mostly online—and late-night research. During one of the dark web chatroom meetings, I managed to secure an invitation to a charity gala hosted by Zenith Corp—a perfect opportunity to gather more intel. They have a hacker for just about anything now. Kids as early as ten are learning to write professional code, and it’s a dangerous world when you can just ask an AI to write code for you, too. The computer is supposed to have guidelines and standards, but they are bypassed just as easily with—you guessed it—another piece of code. At least I am comfortable in my abilities as an investigative journalist that no piece of technology would ever be able to take my place or do my job as well, at least not with the current tech. We aren’t at that level of consciousness just yet with computers; no Matrix or Skynet is coming to kill off all of humanity just yet.

I woke up late after pulling another all-nighter. The charity gala is in about an hour, so I should have just enough time to getdressed and gussied up enough to fit in and schmooze with the crowd of hoity-toity creme-de-la-creme of high society. I am sure that should all be red carpet worthy themselves. The donors for the charity gala always make a show of themselves, probably to make sure the world still knows they’re rich assholes who have exorbitant amounts of expendable cash.

My rideshare driver has a black Lincoln with blacked-out everything, and it’s actually perfect to show up at the doors of the event. I couldn’t have asked for anything better unless I sprung for a limo driver to take me there.

Dressed in an elegant navy gown that hugs my curves, I step into the grand ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the opulent décor, the scent of expensive perfume and hors d’oeuvres fill the air. Laughter and clinking glasses create a symphony of affluence. I had never imagined that this story would bring me here, but I am damn sure going to enjoy it.

I weave through the crowd, subtly eavesdropping on conversations. Snippets of information float by—mentions of offshore accounts and hush-hush projects. I regret not wearing my wire, just so I can take notes on everything without having to actually take notes. I have a great memory, but this is just information overload.

“Wynter Morgan, isn’t it?” Romello’s voice sends a shiver down my spine.

I turn to find him beside me, impeccably dressed in a tailored tuxedo. His eyes trail over me appreciatively.

“You clean up nicely,” he remarks.

I offer a polite smile. “You too.”

He extends a hand. “Care to dance?”

I glance around, weighing my options. “Why not?”

He leads me to the dance floor, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. As we move to the soft sounds of the orchestra,I can’t help but notice the warmth of his touch, the way his gaze seems to see straight through me.

“Enjoying the evening?” he asks.

“It’s enlightening,” I reply.

He chuckles. “Have you learned something I should know about?”

His question takes me by surprise.

“You’re in R and D, right?”

I giggle nervously. “Yes, yes, I am. But I regret to inform you that I haven’t found anything I would need to run that far up the flagpole just yet.”

“Always such a goodemployee,aren’t you?” He squints down at me.

“And you, always the enigmatic executive.”

He leans in slightly, his breath warm against my ear. “Perhaps we both wear masks.”

“Perhaps,” I concede. I do my best to ignore the sensation that his whisper sent down my spine. I can’t help the reaction to his proximity. My body wants him.

The song ends, but neither of us steps away immediately. The air between us is thick with unspoken words.

“Would you like to get some fresh air?” he suggests.

I nod, allowing him to guide me toward the terrace. The cool night air is a welcome contrast to the heat of the ballroom. The heat is building within me for this man. The city lights shimmer below, a sea of stars mirroring the sky above.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he muses.

“Yes,” I agree, though my attention is more on him than the view.

He turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “I have a feeling you’re not here just to enjoy the party.”

I meet his gaze steadily. “And what makes you say that?”

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