Page 39 of The Revenge Game
While Xander raves on, my stomach hollows as the full ramifications of him knowing my true identity sink in.
If Xander tells anyone, my cover will be blown. Because I’m pretty sure the fact that Drew, the new IT guy, is actually a multi-millionaire who designed the software the company uses is the kind of gossip that will spread faster than a TikTok dance trend at a middle school.
I might not have much time left.
If I’m going to extract more revenge on Justin, I need to do it now.
Chapter Eleven
Justin
You know those weeks when the universe seems to be having a laugh at your expense? Well, it appears my entire digital life has decided to transform into a cosmic practical joke with me as the punchline.
First, there was the incident where my phone decided to blast “I’m Too Sexy” at full volume during a sales department meeting. I don’t even remember adding that song to my Spotify playlist, but it was obviously there waiting to ambush me with maximum embarrassment potential during Roger’s revenue targets review. No matter how many times I jabbed at the screen, it wouldn’t stop until I physically removed the battery. Dave still hums the tune whenever I walk past his desk.
Then there was the day my computer decided my laptop was a trilingual device, randomly switching between English, Spanish, and what I’m pretty sure was Klingon. I’d only just fixed that when my spreadsheets decided they needed mood lighting. The cells gradually dimmed or brightened depending on the numbers inside them, like some kind of corporate disco. Try explaining to the accounting department why the Q3 profits are literally glowing with pride.
But the crowning glory was last Thursday, when my laptop kept freezing during the most crucial moments of my presentation, turning my carefully rehearsed sales pitch into an awkward game of charades. Nothing says consummate professional quite like having to act out financial forecasts while your computer contemplates the meaning of life.
Luckily, every time something goes wrong, Drew from IT manages to fix it.
He’ll show up at my desk with those gorgeous brown eyes, perform his magic, and somehow, my technology behaves again.
And yes, it’s a bit sad that when something technical starts to go wrong, accompanying my flare of panic is a surge of happiness about having an excuse to see Drew again.
Somehow, watching his fingers fly so efficiently over the keyboard, his forehead crinkling as he concentrates, calms something deep inside me.
I also like the fact that he seems strangely resistant to my charms.
Most people respond to my sales-guy offensive like it’s a well-choreographed dance. I lead with a smile, follow up with a funny quip, and they reward me with a laugh. But Drew… He looks at me like he’s trying to decode something, like there’s a puzzle hidden behind my practiced grin. His reactions are unpredictable, ranging from that reluctant almost-smile to this look that makes me feel like I’m being dissected under a microscope.
It’s both unnerving and oddly thrilling.
I find myself wanting to prolong every encounter between us.
Like today, when he’s come up to fix my calendar, which has somehow scrambled my meetings so they are all occurring at midnight.
“Does tech support do a loyalty program?” I ask. “I’m starting to think I should sign up.”
Drew regards me solemnly. “Sure. We’ve got a special running this month. Every third technological meltdown comes with a complimentary existential crisis over humanity’s dependence on machines.”
I love Drew’s deadpan sense of humor.
I snort. “Sounds fair. Though if we’re going to have an existential crisis, can we at least get my calendar organized so we can schedule it at a better time than midnight?”
And there it is. The moment when the corners of Drew’s mouth quirk up in amusement before they settle back to a neutral expression.
“So, any advancements on your theories about why my computer has developed a vendetta against me?” I ask.
Drew’s shoulders stiffen. “We’ve run it through a diagnostic program, and nothing has shown up.”
Shit. I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him to do his job properly.
“I’m thinking I must have annoyed a technological god in a past life. Or maybe I’ve just skipped one too many software updates. I hear Windows holds grudges.”
His eyebrows draw together for a moment before smoothing out.
“I’d say that’s a likely explanation,” he says.
