Love Bytes

Love Bytes

Dahlia DeWinters

Copyright © February 2013, Dahlia DeWinters

Cover art by For The Muses Designs © February 2013

ISBN: 978-1-939151-15-5

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

Sugar and Spice Press

North Carolina, USA

www.sugarnspicepress.com

Chapter One

The steady glow of the computer’s dual monitors illuminated the room. The intruder sat, shoulders hunched, his fingers tapping in the required codes and passwords that would give him access to the needed databases. The soothing whirr of the computer’s fan—a familiar sound—relaxed him into the task. Focus was key. Each screen was a landmine ready to activate an alert if he entered the wrong password. He took a deep breath, consulted the notes on his iPhone to ensure that everything was going as it should.

Sweat traced a hot, trickling course down the center of his back and his breathing was loud in the quiet room, despite the deafening thumping of his heartbeat. If he were caught, he would lose everything he had worked toward over the past two years in addition to the lucky break he had stumbled upon less than a month ago. Or had it stumbled upon him?

He had been sitting in his usual spot in the coffee shop, otherwise known as the neighborhood bar for programmers. His coffee had grown cold and he was considering refreshing the brew when a stranger sat across from him with an offer that he not only could refuse, but also did not believe. However, once that hefty envelope of cash was in his hands, he was more than ready to discuss business. The cash and the eventual prestige were too good to turn down.

Strangers were better to him than the friends he thought he had.

Having reached his digital destination, he inserted the flash drive, checked the appropriate boxes, and let the program install itself. There it would sit on the server, his custom-made digital bomb, waiting for the right keystrokes to set it in motion. By the time they found out what the problem was, it would be too late to fix.

He wiped the perspiration from his forehead and sat back, anticipating a twinge of guilt. If he followed through, he’d be throwing away a friendship of over five years. But the guilt remained at bay and he slipped his cell phone into his pocket and shut down the desktop. The dual screens went dark and he sat there, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom before he pushed the seat backwards and left his office.

****

The restaurant was loud with the clatter of utensils on plates, tipsy chatter, and outright cheering-on-of-teams. Several good-natured shouting matches had transpired over who had the best quarterback, kicker, what have you, but overall it was a good crowd.

Rogers signaled the server for another beer, his eyes on the large television screen on the wall, silently urging his team on to victory. So far, they were winning, up by a touchdown, but there was a still a quarter to go and anything could happen. Next to him, Francis seemed more intent on his iPhone than on the game—typical behavior for his friend. Rogers glanced over at the tiny screen and saw that he was checking his numbers for his fantasy football teams. Francis got more pleasure from checking the numbers than he did in watching the actual game.

Rogers relaxed, the cold, alcoholic fizz of his beer buzzing his throat and warming his stomach. It had taken a bit to persuade his old friend and recent supervisor to come out and watch the game with him. Work had been so hectic with putting the finishing touches on the software that Rogers was glad for a moment to zone out and forget about code for a couple of hours.

“How are you doing so far?” He pointed to the iPhone.

Francis grinned and slipped the phone into his pocket. “I’m always up. Got it down to a science.”

Arrogant bastard.
“How much are you up to win?”

Francis took a long swallow of his beer before he answered. “About twenty thousand, plus side bets. Depends on the spread, the push, all that.”

Rogers shook his head. Francis must have balls the size of watermelons to be able to gamble that much on a playoff game. He couldn’t imagine having the nerve to risk that much money. Then again, the guy was a machine. He did tireless research and wasn’t a loyal fan of any particular team. He played to win.

“You’ve got guts, man,” he said aloud. “I couldn’t put up that much money on a game.”

“I’ve been at this a while, so…” Francis let the sentence trail off, his gaze drifting to the large screen. The restaurant was hushed as the kicker lined up, took his shot, and missed, causing half the restaurant to groan in frustration and the other half to shout with victory.

Rogers took another swallow of beer to fortify himself for what he was about to say. In an attempt to be casual, he kept his gaze on the huge television screen. It made it easier to talk that way. “Listen, Francis, since this software project seems to be drawing to a successful end, what are the chances of me coming on board as partner?” Keeping his features neutral, he turned in his seat to look at Francis.

Francis stared at him for a second, his glasses catching the overhead lighting. “Rogers, I thought we went over this before. I mean…”

“Yeah, I know, I know, but since this is the second successful software launch—”

“It’s not successful yet.”

“We’ve got a great chance of winning this competition over Avarix Software.”

“I don’t know about that. They’re stiff competition and they’ve got twice the staff we have.” Francis shook his head, his expression pensive. “It’s going to be a tough fight.”

Rogers stared at his friend, ignoring the shouts from the crowd. “You should have let me buy in, that would have been one less employee to carry.”

Francis avoided his eyes, showing a renewed interest in the game. “You didn’t have the money.”

“You could have lent it to me.”

“Friends and business don’t mix.” He took another swallow of beer, grimacing. “It’s bound to end in disaster.”

“But you can bring me in now. I’ve done great work with this program and—”

Francis cut him off before he could finish the sentence. “It’s not my call, Rogers. Violet is the controlling partner.”

His mood soured and he tapped his fingers on the sticky table. To say that Violet was controlling was to say that the sky was blue. She had a hand in everything from the cafeteria menu down to the type of pens they ordered. He poked at his half-finished meal, growing cold and greasy on his plate. Violet had her little nose in everything and it was clear that she ran Francis too.

“You could ask her,” he suggested without real hope.

“Not at this late date.” Francis stared at his phone.

“Francis—”

“Rogers, come on.” He still didn’t look at him. “You didn’t have the money to buy in. What am I supposed to do?”

They sat in silence, Francis staring at the television screen, Rogers staring at his plate. Though it pained him to admit it, his friend was right. However, it didn’t mean he had to like it. Francis could have found some way to make that castrating little bitch see reason and bring him on as a third partner. He would be getting a much bigger bonus when this project was finished.

He shrugged, pasted an amicable expression on his face. “Didn’t hurt to ask, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Francis’ tone was non-committal.

Another thought occurred to Rogers. “Are you sleeping with her?”

Francis sat up straighter, frown lines appearing between his eyebrows. He laughed a little, an incredulous expression on his face as if he couldn’t believe the question. “Sleeping with Violet?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“She’s got a tight little body on her.” Rogers made small talk, trying to shed his feelings of resentment. “You went to Atlantic City with her for that conference. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

It amused him to see his friend so uncomfortable, the color rising in his cheeks. Good. Payback for stonewalling him.

“Thought about it, yeah.” He bobbed his head, pushed his glasses up on his nose. Fiddled with his phone. “She’s a little out of my league, I think.”

“I wouldn’t risk it.”

Francis gave a short laugh. “You got that right.” He sobered. “Look, Rogers, I’m sorry that I can’t do more, but you understand my position.”

Rogers waved his hand, showing a nonchalance that he didn’t feel. “Forget about it. Some things aren’t meant to be.”

They went back to watching the game.

Chapter Two

“After you, Vee.”

Francis opened their shared office door with a flourish, extending his hand to indicate that she go in first. A courteous gesture, which gave him an excellent view of her rear end as she walked in before him. It had been a long, lonely weekend.

Violet eyed him over her shoulder as she hung up her coat. She knew exactly what he was doing, and encouraged it. “How was your weekend?”

“Without you? Torture.” He went to the mini-kitchen in the back of their office and plugged in the electric teakettle. That, along with the private bathroom and sitting area, were the extras that sold them on the office suite when they were shopping around. Given the amount of time they spent in the office poring over their laptops, it was a welcome necessity.

Violet dropped into her office chair and pushed the button to boot up her desktop. “Same here.”

He turned to look at her. “If only that were true.”

A little grin played across her lips. “It’s true, Francis. I do miss you over the weekend.” She raised her eyebrows in an expression of sincerity. “You don’t believe me?”

“I would never doubt your word.” He turned back to making coffee. He shook the grounds in the bottom of the French press and then crossed his arms, waiting for the water to heat. Violet teased him; it was a hobby for her. However, as time progressed, things were reaching a breaking point between them. Yes, water could wear away rock, as he’d been doing for the past six months, but there was a limit.

Steam rushed from the kettle’s spout and he poured hot water over the grounds. Behind him, the grind of the electric sharpener told him that Violet was sharpening her pencils for the day. Framing her dual monitors, there were two jars each filled with thirteen sharpened pencils. Her good luck charms, she called them. She winked at him as she stuck another yellow pencil into the sharpener.

“Happy Monday, Francis. It’s going to be a great week.” Her brown eyes glinted with happiness as she stuck another pencil in the sharpener, her molasses-colored curls floating around her head.

“Happy Monday to you.” Francis turned back to the coffee, pressed the plunger down in one smooth motion, ensuring all grinds were removed. “We’re right on track for finishing things up for the competition. The team meeting’s tomorrow.”

Violet’s reply was quick. “I’ll be sleeping in tomorrow.”

“You don’t like my meetings?”

“It’s not personal.” She waved a hand at him. “I don’t like meetings, period. You know that.”

“I don’t care for your absences. You know
that
.” This wouldn’t be the first time that she skipped out on his meetings.

She gave him a flirty, sideways glance. “I think you can handle it alone. They like you better anyway.”

He poured the steaming coffee into two cups. “As long as you’re prepared for the consequences.”

“I think I can handle it.”

It pleased him to see her shift in her seat. “I think you welcome it.”

“I’ll never tell,” she said in a singsong voice. Violet counted her pencils, touching each eraser in turn. Her teeth caught her top lip, dragging across the soft flesh as she finished her ritual. Double-checking done, she looked up and gave him a brilliant smile, her cute little nose crinkling. “How long are you going to make me wait for that coffee?”

Her morning voice, low and husky with an undertone of grittiness sent a surge of pleasure through him. It made him wonder—and not for the first time—what she sounded like in the early morning, fresh from sleep.

Francis placed the cup of doctored coffee on her desk. Two creams, one sugar. She didn’t like it too sweet. “Voila. Coffee.”

“Thank you,” she said, her merry brown eyes lingered on him before taking a tiny sip.

It was part of his morning ritual to watch her take the first sip of coffee. He brewed it so strong that it might as well be espresso, but she liked it.

A satisfied sigh passed her lips. “Francis, you make the best coffee.” She batted her eyelashes. “I love it and your magical French press.”

“Good.” He went to his own desk, pushed a few papers aside to make room for his cup. “Glad to be of service.”

“You’re of service, all right.” There was the flirting again, a smile in her voice as she sipped her coffee. “Seriously though, Francis, you don’t know how glad I am that this project is almost ready to submit. I’ve got a stack of bills at home that I’ve avoided opening for the past two months.”