Page 101 of #Bossholes

I pull up my recent call log and tap on Maverick’s name, hoping he’s not in a meeting and has some damn answers.

He answers his cell on the second ring, a loud thud echoing through the speaker. I can only guess he closed the door to his office, trying to give himself a little privacy. “Did you see those articles?”

“No.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, ignoring another dirty look. Two dirty looks. “I completely ignored everything you sent me and figured I’d call for some chit chat.”

His sigh is heavy. “I’m really not in the mood for your bullshit, Wyatt.”

I run a hand through my hair and get the hell out of the way before grandma runs me over with her walker. “I only clicked on the first one, but it was enough. How did they get our witness lists? They fucking outlined the entire case from our side. Anderson is going to have a field day. Whoever fed this information to the press handed him the fucking case. The same thing happened to Brantley over the weekend.”

“No idea. I just got off the phone with IT, and they’re already searching through employee emails and looking for anything that looks off. They don’t think we were hacked.”

I blow out a deep breath as I run a hand through my hair, then grip the back of my neck. Who the hell would do something like this? We don’t have any brand new employees. There’s no one we’ve pissed off recently. Well, except for Zach. After Brantley’s mantrum last week, he’s the obvious choice.

Except, he wouldn’t have access to these files.

And no offense to him, but I don’t think he’s smart enough to find a way into them.

I step back out onto the sidewalk, but am unfortunate enough to end up behind a group of young women. They’re probably about Kinsley’s age and judging by the squeals of excitement, the amount of time hands fly in the air, and the loud giggles, they’ve been doing a fair amount of day drinking.

Thank God she’d rather stay in than go out and party.

“Where the hell are you?” Maverick barks in the phone, and something slams down on his desk. Maybe his fist. Maybe a stapler.

One of the girls lets out an extra loud shout, and I fall back. “Not far from the office; I was going to grab a coffee.”

“Well, grab five for me. We could be here all night.”

“Who has access to those files?”

“Obviously, the three of us.” He pauses, and I can imagine him leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk as his brain kicks into high gear. “Kinsley. James. A few of the senior partners. I think that’s it. No one else should be able to access that shit. It’s all password protected, and we have our own server.”

He continues, getting into some technical crap IT set up for us to keep all our shit protected, but everything he says fades into the distance. I feel like I’m in a tunnel. The people around me disappear; the excited girls are a thing in the past. Everything narrows down to a small table in the corner of the coffee shop, a table where Kinsley is having coffee with Thomas Anderson.

My grip tightens on the door handle, but I make no attempt to pull open the door. I’m not sure I can. My heart is beating frantically, my stomach dips, and everything inside me is twisting into tight little knots.

Kinsley takes a sip of her drink and leans toward Thomas, laughing at something he said.

It’s like I’ve stepped into an alternate dimension. What the hell is happening? In what world does Kinsley even know Thomas, let alone have coffee dates with the man?

And that’s when the little voice in the back of my head starts up. Thomas is the opposing counsel in both leaked cases. He’s the only one who would benefit from this goddamned disaster, and I wouldn’t put it past the fucker to have arranged it all.

He would need someone on the inside, someone with access to our server.

There’s no way…right? She wouldn’t do that…

“Wyatt, you still there? You disappeared on me.” Maverick’s concerned voice slaps me across the face. I have to tell him. I have to. As much as this could potentially destroy us all, they deserve to know.

“Yeah.” I cast one last look into the coffee shop, watch as Thomas passes something across the table to Kinsley, and force myself to turn away, but not before using my phone to snap a quick picture. “We’re not getting coffee.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “What’s going on?”

A lump builds in my throat, and I struggle to swallow past it. “Kinsley isn’t in the office, right?”

“No, she ran out for an errand.”

“Yeah, well, she’s on a coffee date with Thomas.”

“Thomas Anderson?”

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