Page 22 of Howl You Doin?
“I swear to you on my life, I’ve had nothing to do with this and I have no idea what makes you think I did.”
“Whoever did it has been creating holes and covering them almost instantly. If I hadn’t seen the pattern, I never would have caught it. We traced it, but it bounced through multiple VPNs. This hacker is good at covering their tracks.” His blond brows furrow, then he eyes me warily. “The one and only lead is the culprit had contact with someone here.”
My brow furrows as well. “As in Romania?”
His expression darkens. “As in this castle. At least three weeks ago.”
I move back around my desk and sit down heavily in my chair. Rubbing at my beard, I snatch up my phone to check who was here at the time.
“That had to have been around the grand opening. It would be like picking through a haystack with the amount of people that were here.”
“Actually, no.” He grows stone-faced, his body stills with calm, and the orange leaves his gaze entirely. “It was the week before your little grand opening.”
I remember back to who was visiting the castle a week before that disaster, but can only think of Aubrey, and maybe George. “No one was here.”
It makes no sense. The ability to tackle Frank’s immeasurable network firewalls would have to be astronomical. He brags about how impenetrable Talbot is constantly, and now this?
“Who evencouldhack into Talbot and not get caught by you and your minions? It’s impossible,” I say, not willing to give him more information until I know exactly what they took.
“Believe me, once I find who did it, they will be wishing they had never been born.” He chuckles, orange sparking in his gaze again, and I growl.
“Stop it with the fire. I swear to the gods, one scrap of paper in this place goes to ash and I will fillet you.”
“Threaten all you like, Connor, but I am not going anywhere until I find out who did it.”
I run a hand down my face, groaning. Fuck me.
“You realize if anyone finds out you’re here, it’ll be even more of a mad house?” I huff out, imagining camera crews on the lawn trying to get a photo.
He waves a hand. “I know how to blend in. You just get me the name.”
“And when Vlad figures out you were here?”
Frankenstein settles his large frame deeper into the bronze inlaid chair across from me, probably one of the few in the castle that can hold his weight. “One issue at a time, pup.”
Touché.
Chapter 7
Whitley Whitt
Beauty and the bossturd.
“I feel like a princess,”Maria says, and my lips tug into an involuntary grin, since I feel less like a princess and more like a murder-bent peasant.
Connor has lost his mind if he thinks I’m wearing this. I stare at the outfit—ensemble? The thing has more ruffles than aGone with the Windreenactment and there are hose, and I don’t even mean like pantyhose.
“How the hell are these supposed to stay up?” I mutter, holding up the diaphanous fabric to the light filtering through the parlor window. This has got to be some kind of sick joke.
“Oh, girl, those go with the suspenders, and you’re supposed to wear a garter belt.” Maria holds up some sort of lacy piece of material with string-like things hanging.
“Please tell me you’re fucking with me,” I grumble.
She peels out a laugh, her dark eyes twinkling as she flicks her long dark-brown hair behind her.
It’s been a handful of days since I braved a visit to Mr. O’Doyle’s study.
Once I got away from him long enough to think, I realized I really need to get over myself. Three months’ room and board while keeping up with a handful of guests is a dream job to most. Turning down the same job with a thirty-thousand-dollar bonus is crazy pants. I should be grateful for the opportunity, whether the man is an asshole or not, which is why I want to apologize. At least, I did until I got a look at this dress.
