Page 8 of My Fake Billionaire Damaged Boyfriend

His lips near my ear while he comes to a stand behind me. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Kitten. You know what they say about the cat and curiosity.”

I freeze, even more unsure about my course of action tonight. Dimitri walks off towards the ensuite and large closet inside. I managed to take a brief look around while he was pouring the coffee before I raced back to get to work on his monitor.

He staggers into the ensuite doorway, keeps the doors open, and undoes his shirt right where I can see him. I don’t move a muscle, seeing his body carved with every edge imaginable. My throat aches at the sight of so many harsh tattoos on one body. He’s stunning and terrifying in the same breath.

I bite my lip to make sure there’s not an ounce of drool that will come out of my mouth, Dimitri very carelessly kicking off his shoes and throwing his pants off in a single swoop. I hiss to myself, his legs covered in similar tattoos while he wears nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.

My chair is now fully turned towards his staggering appearance, every drop of liquor suddenly drained from my system. It’s a sobering sight, and I want to watch it all night long.

The monitor pulls my focus, though, the constant beeping bringing me to reality, so I snap back towards the screen. It’s the perfect timing, too, because Dimitri is fully turned towards the screen as well. He steps into something, I assume it’s pants or pajamas, but I don’t know for sure.

He stands behind me while I fight the alert that flashes in bright lights over the front of the codes. “What is going on? What is happening?”

“It’s just some firewall I didn’t see,” I gust, my face hotter than the fucking sun in summer. “I should have seen it coming, too. Dammit, it’s going to boot us if I don’t—”

The system stops, the cursor returning to the walls of code that I needed to find.

Releasing a relaxed breath, I finally feel calm enough to be normal again. “Wow, that was close.”

“No kidding. Good job, Kitten.”

I blush harder trying to get his deep, growling voice out of my mind while the image of his tattooed body taints my memory as well. He’s stunning in figure and just a masterpiece of a man, but he’s my boss’ rival! I can’t imagine him being patrial to me for any other reason than being useful in taking down his enemy. Even with that knowledge, I scroll through heaps of code and text until a single line comes into view.

“Right there,” I whisper, pointing to the single line, tabbed out of order, and separate from the two large blocks of text that sit above and below the code. “It shouldn’t be there. It’s… it’s like a hiccup of software.”

“Wait, so was it added in, or do you think this is part of the software he sells to his consumers?”

“No, it can’t be part of the software. It’s like the software was torn, and this was put in the gap.”

“Huh, interesting,” he mutters, taking the mouse in his hand. He highlights the code, and a link comes in the default menu. My stomach hurts at the sight of the link, knowing it can’t lead to anything good. “Should I do it?”

“No, it could just be a hacker booby trap,” I warn. “If he traces it back to us, we could be in trouble.”

“He would need someone as skilled as you to do that, Izzy, don’t you agree? Besides, if this was a trap then it wouldn’t have been so easy for you to find. Hackers never scroll past the first frame of text. Everything they need to get into the system is in the bones up front. I think this is something else.”

I nod, knowing he’s correct. Staring at the line of code, I shake my head in awe. “It’s a backdoor.”

“So, what are you going to do, Kitten?”

I swallow hard and hope the lump in my neck passes. It doesn’t. “I don’t know yet. I need a minute to think about the repercussions.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be in the kitchen. You like eggs?”

“We could be committing an online felony and you’re hungry?”

“I could be running from the cops on a high-speed chase through the state, Kitten. I’ll always pull over for good breakfast food. Just sip your coffee, sober up, and tell me what you think you should do.”

He leaves and moments later, I follow. Taking my coffee with me, and trying to be as nonchalant as possible, I rack through the possibilities running through my mind. Burying it for now, I watch a stunning shirtless man make an omelet in a cast iron skillet over an open flame on the gas stovetop.

“Hungry?” he asks again.

I nod this time, sitting down on the chair that presses to the bar top’s edge. I rest my elbows on the table and sip my coffee, surprised how alert I am given how tired I was after taking those drinks at the bar. It wasn’t enough for me to be belligerent, but it was apparently too much for me to engage in some naked fun with my boss’ rival.

Maybe that’s for the best that we didn’t have sex, but staring at him now, I am kind of upset by the outcome. He turns to slide me a plate of an omelet with some veggies. I thank him with a meek nod and dig in, my stomach turning the second the food hits my gut.

“Ugh,” I sigh, pushing the plate away. “I might throw up.”

“Don’t do that here,” he says.

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