Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“How was your day?” I ask.
She slips off her black stilettos and I kind of wish she hadn’t. I mentally chastise myself. I shouldn’t be thinking like that. I’ve got to get to the bottom of who she is and why she’s popped up in my life now, of all times.
“Want a drink?” She heads to the kitchen area.
“Questionable red?” I ask.
“If I’d known you were coming, I would have got something better in. My brother-in-law owns a vineyard and he’d be horrified I’m not better stocked.”
“Another brother-in-law?” I ask. “Is that code for something I don’t understand? Or does it mean something different in the UK?”
She laughs as she fills two glasses of water from the faucet, no ice, then slides one across the counter toward me.
“My sister is almost married to a guy with five brothers. So I call all six of them brothers-in-law. Is that wrong? I keep meaning to look it up.”
“And one of them owns a vineyard?”
“Yeah, in Argentina I think.”
“Okay,” I say cautiously, not knowing what to do with that information. Do I have to do anything? Is this “getting to know her”? I can’t remember ever doing this with a woman. Chatting. About nothing. Without an aim or an expectation.
“So, you know how you told me about the hotel systems?” I ask.
Her face lights up—not because she’s excited, just because she’s engaged. “Yes. Isn’t that weird? And the fact that the website was offline too. They should have been able to get that back up and running in like, a nanosecond.” She shakes her head.
“What’s that look for?” I ask. I really want to know what she’s thinking, but I don’t want to influence her by making a suggestion.
“It just feels—well, I guess I’m getting as paranoid as you. It’s probably nothing. Everything is up again now anyway.”
“No, something was bothering you. What is it?” I ask, trying to sound only vaguely interested. She specifically mentioned sabotage before, but why?
“The systems at the hotel are all back up and working again. Thank god.”
“You said you were getting paranoid. Why?”
“It’s just that a malfunction like this feels… deliberate. I mean, why a hotel website? It’s not like it’s a ton of complex code. The hotel isn’t even a chain. I had a look at the website before I came out to New York—really simple stuff. That’s not going to go down unless someone hasn’t done their job in terms of maintenance. But if a maintenance issue caused the site to go down, it’s easy to get it back up.”
She’s totally right.
“And why a hotel booking and room management system? Two systems that work together but are wholly separate. It feels deliberate. It has to be corporate ransom or something.”
“Ahhh. You think it’s ransomware.”
“For sure,” she says. “Don’t you? I had a quick check online. There are no major issues out there. And then before I left tonight, the entire system came back up. Like someone paid their bill—or their insurance—and suddenly everything’s working again.”
She’s not behind this. I can feel it in my bones. There’s no way.
A feeling of relief settles over me and I feel my jaw unlock. I’m really fucking happy this isn’t her doing.
“Except you normally hear about a ransom,” I say. “The person holding you to ransom has to ask for money. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“Right. The owners of the hotel were probably contacted. And they paid.”
“Except he wasn’t and he didn’t.”
She narrows her eyes. “You own the hotel?”
I shrug. “One of my companies does.”
She takes her glass and pads over to the sectional. “Wow.”
“I wanted to be completely honest with you.” I follow her and sit down as far away as possible. I don’t trust myself not to touch her if I’m too close.
“Says the man who pretends to be someone he’s not.”
“I don’t pretend,” I say. “I’m always the same man. My name just changes in certain scenarios.”
“But why?” she asks. It’s a question my closest friends still ask, even though they know the reason. “For security reasons? Like… you don’t want to be kidnapped?”
“Well, obviously I don’t want to be kidnapped, but that’s not the reason. I just don’t want the attention. I don’t want to be famous. Or well-known. Or recognizable.”
“Okay. But why?” she asks.
I don’t know where to start.
“You were so suspicious of me,” she continues, “but I’m an open book. I should be suspicious of you. You’re the one with all the secrets.”
“Let’s agree that ends now.” I don’t know what I’m saying. What I’m doing. All I know is that being close to her feels better than anything I’ve felt. Maybe ever.
A look of disappointment washes over her. “What does?”
“The secrets,” I explain. “We both agree to be completely honest. From now on.”
“From now on,” she says, confused. “Until when?”
It’s a good question. Something I would ask… normally. But I’m not in normal territory. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But now, and for as long as we know each other, let’s always promise to be honest.” It’s the unspoken bond I have with my friends. We’re all completely and utterly honest with each other—and I know I can’t have any deep, fulfilling relationship without that. Growing up in Hollywood, I witnessed the exact opposite all the time. It was trickery and special effects, rehearsed lines and prosthetics. It didn’t matter if it was on camera or not, the relationships were scripted. Fake. I want no part in that.