Page 91 of The Refusal

“Whatever we need to do,” I say.

“I’ll work on it full-time,” he says, voice dropping on a wince, eyebrows gathering like birds on a telephone line.

“We’ll need to restore from another backup,” Jo chips in, and as we all digest this I let my eyes wander all over her face because I think I can look at her like this now.

“Yeah,” Fabian says.

One of the guys at the other desk groans. “Are you suggesting we throw all the work we’ve done away?”

Fabian and I are both nodding, as Jo says, “Should I stop this running?”

Fabian swings back toward James, who’s still watching the screen, occasionally barking instructions to people to change the security or lock down various parts of the network.

“Dial it back gradually, Jo,” Fabian says. “I’ve put loads of code in their system. But they’ll probably restore a backup, too; maybe be more thorough about closing the holes in their system this time.”

“How did you get in?” One of the guys pipes up.

“Modeling likely password combinations,” Jo says.

Fabian sits heavily back down in the chair he’s been in all day, waves an arm. “I had thousands of passwords from their system, hacking is an arms race.” He runs his hands around the back of his neck. “I’m so fucking sorry, Janus.”

I laugh and pat his back. “You’ve got to stop stressing about this. Problems happen all the time in companies, Fab. This is another one of those.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Just an everyday problem? Really, man? One that you could have done without though, right? One you didn’t create or ask for.”

I shake my head at him and lean forward. “Stop it right now,” I say, and I find myself right in his face, my limbs like noodles. I suck in a deep breath that gets stuck in my lungs.

He meets my eyes, and something passes between us, some old understanding, some echo of me rescuing him, him saving me; and he subsides, sinking down in his chair, nodding.

“We’ve probably got to do at least a couple of hours just with the initial locking down,” he mutters, turning back to the screen. “Don’t close us out totally yet, Jo.”

* * *

Jo yawns into her palm and scrubs her hand up her face into her hair for the third time in the last hour. I’m done watching how tired she is. I want to take her away from this mess, take her home with me, and sort out where we are. I pace over to where she and Fab are bent over a screen. My jealously from earlier has dissolved in the pleasure of watching them work together, seeing Fabian’s lone wolf façade dissolve under Jo’s warm smile.

I lean over her desk, placing my hand next to where she’s clicking the mouse, remembering the conversation we had about my arms and hands, and my lips curve up as her gaze flickers toward my arm and her fingers falter on the keyboard. It makes something burn deep inside me, and the desire to bury my nose in her curls is nearly overwhelming.

“How are you doing?” I say, trying to swallow it all down.

She sighs and sits back, resting into me, and I freeze, eyes closing for a second. The red strands are soft against my chin, and I’m losing my head, watching in awe as she lifts her right hand from the mouse and places it on top of mine, threading her fingers through mine.

“I think my brain has shut down; I was running on adrenaline before. I’m worried I’m making a mess of this.”

She nods toward her screen, and Fabian examines the pair of us, taking in where her hand is, his eyes meeting mine with a smirk.

“Take her home, Janus; we’ve got this,” he says, nodding at James, who grins at the three of us over his monitor.

“Too right,” James says. “The real men need to handle this now.”

Jo stiffens under me, sitting up straighter and removing her hand from mine, and my chest tightens as I pinch the bridge of my nose and stare down at the fluff of her gray sweater.

“You—” she starts, pointing her finger over the screen toward James, and he’s outright laughing now, waving his hand at her.

“You know I was joking, boss. Just go. We’ll need fresh brains on this tomorrow. You guys go and get some rest, and you can take over come morning.”

Before she can decide to stay or berate anyone else for making a sexist comment, I step back, pulling her to her feet. “Come.”

She pulls her hair up into a messy bun on her head, securing it with a band. Her eyes search mine as she inclines her head before bending down to grab her bag from the floor. I give the guys a thumbs-up as we head to the elevator. I think I hear every clunk and grind of the gears taking us down to the basement. Jo stands on one side leaning against the wall, eyes closed.

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