Page 4 of My Best Friend's Bully

I use the downtime to unlock my phone and scan my schedule for the day. Then I move on to my emails. Ever since I moved out of my parents’ house, work has been my entire life. I’ve thrown everything into my company, continually driving its success, and I don’t plan on stopping now. Most people would think, having become a self-made billionaire at only twenty-seven, that I could relax a little. But it’s not in my nature to ever consider coasting. No matter how successful I become, I can always be better.

“Here you go.” The barista slides the paper cup across the bar. Puffs of steam swirl up from the cup, and I inhale the sweet smell of the dark roast and the promise of caffeine as I press on the lid.

The first sip is hot, almost burning, and I savor its bite on my tongue. I step outside into the cool air and continue to cool down from my run. My sweaty shirt lets in a chill, and the hairs along my forearms stand on end. I’m grateful for the sun’s enthusiastic rays on my back.

My building looms up ahead, all white stone and glass shining in the sunlight, a mirror of the skyline behind me. I raise my hand to greet Sebastian, the doorman, and ride the private elevator up to my penthouse. The apartment is palatial, but empty and silent as I scurry to the bathroom and strip off my clothes into a pile on the cold black tile floor. Stepping beneath the hot stream of water, I savor the feel of it stripping away the doubts in my mind and the sweat from my skin.

Tyson

I stride into my company conference room and take my place at the head of the table. The room is full, and the faces are brimming with impatience and expectation. I make a show of unbuttoning my jacket and pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. It’s not until I’ve taken the first sip that I turn and address the room, ensuring I maximize everyone’s anticipation to the fullest before I speak.

“Good morning, everyone.” I take a moment and scan the faces in the room, noting who meets my eyes and who looks away. With the press of a button, I turn on the large screen behind me that displays the specs of my our product, the one I’ve been fine-tuning for months, pouring my blood, sweat, and last vestiges of sanity into.

“CyBrix Guardian two-point-oh,” I start. “The most advanced cybersecurity technology in the world. The only cyber system protection guaranteed to stand between your company and the enemies who want to take it down.”

Some attendees perk up, leaning forward to read the details on the screen. I’m not surprised when one of them, George Robinson, speaks up. He’s reclining in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, with an expression so smug it takes everything in me not to get up and smack him on the forehead. The man is a dictator who takes advantage of his employees and regularly sends them home crying — I know because many of his people have quit and now work for me at Cybrix.

“You said the same thing about Guardian One. Now, two years later, here we are again.” He raises an eyebrow, and I grit my teeth. “Why would I spend a fortune on the same product when the one I have is working just fine? This feels desperate, Reynolds. Are finances getting a little tight at CyBrix?”

He’s like that obnoxious kid we all remember from high school, craving attention and pointing the spotlight on himself by making others look bad. Reynolds’s remark triggers scattered nervous laughter around the room, but I don’t waste a glance on any of them. Instead, I focus my full attention directly on George. And I don’t say a word.

After what must feel like an eternity, George squirms in his seat, glancing at the others around the table, who have now gone silent.

“You’re right, Georgie,” I continue, allowing him to think that he hasn’t put his foot in his mouth. I rise from my chair. “Guardian One was a fantastic product. Unquestionably the best of its kind—two years ago when we put it out.”

“So, what you’re saying is that your products don’t last.” George smirks, as if he scored a point against me. I drum my fingertips on the table to keep from flipping him off.

“Let me explain something about technology to you.”

“I know—“

I hold up a hand to forestall his interruption. “Don’t worry, George. I’ll go slow and use small words.”

A flush of red creeps up George’s neck and across his cheeks. “For the past two years, Guardian has kept the bad guys out of your shit,” I continue. “It’s done its job spectacularly, and you know it. Now, during those past two years, do you really believe the bad guys have given up? That they’ve been sitting around crying about being beaten? Not a chance.”

George rolls his eyes. I ignore him, turning my attention to the others in the room.

“What they have been doing is throwing everything they’ve got at Guardian. Day in and day out, they’ve been working tirelessly to hunt for and penetrate any cracks they can find. And make no mistake, people. Everything has cracks. If you look close enough.”

“Are you saying your product isn’t all that? Remind me, why did I pay so goddamn much for it again?” George’s question gets another round of chuckling and even I give into a smile, knowing he’s playing right into my hands.

“What I’m saying, Georgie,” I reply, coming to sit on the edge of the table, close enough that he has to scoot his chair back to avoid touching me, “is that your enemies are smart, they’re crafty, and they are determined. Right now, one of those bad guys may be peering in through one of those tiny cracks to see exactly what someone like you has to hide.”

George pales, and I feel the sweet satisfaction of victory as the realization sinks in for him. “What do you think the bad guys are really after, hmm? It’s not just all of yourcompanyrelated information, it’s yourpersonaldata, too. Your darkest secrets. The sorts of things a gossip columnist would love to print. The types of scandalous information Peeps Magazine would pay millions for. The compromising data that can take down entire companies. And their owners.”

“What if we have nothing to hide?” George looks up at me, trying but failing to maintain his bullish façade. “What if we don’t have any ‘deep, dark secrets’?” He uses air quotes around the words.

I pretend to think it over. “Georgie, Georgie. You do know thateverythingyou do on the internet is available to these bad guys if you’re not careful? Any little… foray into the one-handed workout videos? They know what you’re watching.”

I give him a break, standing up again and returning to my chair at the head of the table. George sits in stunned silence, no doubt playing back every adult video he’s ever watched, and I can see I have the attention, and respect, of everyone at the table. But I’m not ready to move on yet. There’s something about feeling all of their eyes on me that fuels me, knowing they’re hanging on my every word.

“Marissa,” I say, pointing to a woman in a smart suit on one side of the table. “Edward,” I point to an older man on the other side. “Your companies are competitors, aren’t they?”

Marissa nods, glancing sideways at Edward as if she can already see where this is going. Smart woman. Unlike George, word on the street is that she treats her employees with respect.

“Well,” says Edward with a bark of a laugh, “I dare say my company stands quite a bit ahead of hers. No shame in it, darling, we’ve just been around much longer.”

Her lips tighten at his condescension, but she doesn’t reply. She gestures with her eyes for me to continue.

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