Page 30 of The Refusal

“I guess the things people like that would be into—blackmail, extortion, fraud—the data you hold is probably a holy grail for them,” Jo says.

I run my hands up my face. “I don’t really think that’s the kind of drugs he does. He takes things no one else would take. They’re not generally things that people would sell, even illegally.”

Matt harrumphs at this. “We need to get a P.I. on him, find out who he’s seeing, track his movements.”

“God, Isodon’t want to do that,” I groan. “He’s my best friend! He’s paranoid—if he catches on someone is watching him, it might scare him unnecessarily.”

“Have you thought about just asking him?” Jo chips in, and I try not to stare at the freckles and perfect skin.

“He doesn’t tell me much. He’s said in the past he doesn’t want me dragged into anything illegal through him. If there’s some trouble driving why he’s doing this, then there’s a reasonable chance he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Yeah, there might be other reasons he’s not telling you stuff, people on drugs—” Matt starts.

Jo interrupts. “If I was able to access his apartment, it might be possible to set something up to track the activity on his computer.”

And oh! I hadn’t thought of that. Ugh. The thought of doing something like this to Fabian—

“You’d have evidence of what he’s actually up to,” Jo says.

“But notwhy. God, I don’t want to do something like this.”

“Janus, we need to get as much info on this as we can,” Matt says. “If he’s innocent, he’ll forgive you. Come on, man, this is the company you’ve built from scratch; you can’t let it be damaged like this.”

Matt’s so laid back normally, but here he’s staring at me intently, eyes narrowed, and I’m impressed all over again with how professional he is. He understands how much trouble our recent security breaches are causing, and what could happen if it gets worse. Jo’s doing an amazing job, and we’ve kept it out of the press, but it could only be a matter of time. Caltech were hung out to dry. He’s right. He’s right. I hold up my hand.

“Okay, okay. Let me get my head around it. Let me get to the point where I can accept I’m going to do this to my best buddy. I’ll get there, okay? This is so fucking mercenary, all because my company is worth a billion fucking dollars.” My hand lands on the wood of the table with a slap.

I thrust my seat back, pace to the window, and look out at the cold gray twist of the East River below. I swore I wouldn’t do this kind of shit because the money was too important. Now I’m planning to investigate my closest friend.

I lift my head, and their faces are tight, worried. A wash of gratitude spills through me.

“Thanks, I appreciate you coming in and—”

Jo shakes her head. “Can we think of any better ideas?” she says.

I walk back over to them and sit down. She’s right to pull us back; we need to explore all avenues. We all look at each other glumly.

Matt nods grimly, rises from his chair and heads toward the flip chart. “Let’s brainstorm.”

19

Jo

My Brooklyn rental is the garden apartment in one of the brooding brownstones that hang over the streets in this part of town. The guy who owns the building lives on the top floor and works on some kind of financial trading desk. When I told him I worked in tech his eyes lit up, and as I probably didn’t look like the sort to give him trouble, he gave me a good deal when I had to move out of our college apartment. I miss Liss and Kate, but it’s warm and peaceful despite the tiny rooms. The living-cum-kitchen space opens out onto a plant-filled yard, and my favorite thing to do on the weekend is to sit outside buried in a book with a cup of coffee.

I’ve staved off Des and James setting me up on any dates by telling them about this thing tonight with Andy, although I was careful to avoid the backstory. The full-length mirror shows my taupe lace dress in all its glory; with my pale skin, I look like I’m wearing nothing. If only I had the courage to wear Doc Marten boots with it, but I’m Andy’s date, so I’ve dusted off some elegant suede shoes and a handbag. Yet another disguise. I turn to look at the dresses piled on the double bed; there’s a million miles of lace here. I skim my hand over the pile, peering over my shoulder at myself in the full-length mirror. I look like a petite fairy princess: no ass at all. My phone beeps with a text.

“Are you ready? A.”

“On my way.”

Calico, my gray cat, winds around my ankles. “No time for any of that, buster, I’m going out.”

I grab my wrap and slip my feet into my shoes. When I appear on the sidewalk, Andy’s standing there next to a car, a tux molded to his frame, blond hair slicked back. His eyes scan over my dress and his mouth is a perfect O.

“Jesus Christ, you look amazing,” he says, waving his arm up and down the lacy dress. “Remind me why we never hooked up again?”

I stick my tongue out at him, and he drops to one knee. “Please say yes, Jo,” he says, raising his eyes to the sky with a grin.

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