Читать книгу Secret Pleasure - Taryn Leigh Taylor - Страница 12

AIDAN WONDERED IF Lola performed on Saturday nights.

Which was a pretty fucked up thing to wonder.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much else to distract him from thoughts of her as he sat alone in a booth in a shitty pub, waiting for a smug prick. Classic rock and the crack of pool being played in the back corner had nothing on his X-rated memories. He tried to blame his single-mindedness on the fact that he’d broken his sex fast, reminded himself how good it could be and that this...infatuation was just the result of being horny.

Except he wasn’t just looking for a willing partner, because if he had been, any number of the flirtatious glances he’d received when he’d walked in would have enticed him.

He wasn’t thinking about sex.

He was thinking about sex with her.

His abs knotted at the memory, drawing tight beneath his T-shirt. Sure, some of it could be chalked up to newness, to the risk of being caught, but that wasn’t the part that still had him by the balls. There was something deeper, something so...trusting about the way she’d looked at him, taken his hand, followed him.

It was almost as though—

“Christ. Remind me not to let you pick future meeting locations. This place isn’t ‘under the radar.’ It’s ‘waiting to be condemned.’”

Aidan’s head shot up at the verbal attack. Liam Kearney, Cybercore’s CEO, had managed to surprise him. And that wasn’t good. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by a hot body and a butterfly tattoo right now. He stood and shook the man’s hand once, quick and hard, and if he’d gripped too tightly, it was only because his adversary had done the same.

Kearney ran an assessing gaze down Aidan’s brown leather jacket and jeans. “So nice of you to dress up for the occasion.”

The two of them slid into the booth across from one another.

“Yeah, I’m the one who looks like a fucking moron here.” Aidan rested an arm along the top of the beat-up pleather bench. Like he was going to take shit from some prick who wore a three-piece suit to a dive bar. He pulled an envelope containing their agreed-upon price out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of Kearney. “Funny how your distaste for my clothes never keeps you from taking my money.”

Liam bared his teeth. It wasn’t quite a smile. “Of course I’ll take your money. You think Tom Ford suits come cheap? Besides, one of us should look good.”

Aidan caught the waitress’s eye, and with a tip of his chin she started toward them.

By the time he turned back to Kearney, the envelope was tucked away. Discreet. The prick had style; that was for damn sure. “You want a drink?”

Liam glanced at their surroundings and gave a disdainful shake of his head. “I’ve got a date with a supermodel in a couple of hours, so it’s in my best interest to avoid contracting hantavirus between now and then.”

Their server sidled up to the table. “What can I get you, hot stuff?”

“Scotch. Neat.”

“And for your handsome friend?”

“He’s not my friend. And he’s not staying.”

She sent Kearney a flirty once-over. “Too bad.”

The man placed a hand over his pocket square, which he probably wore to remind himself where his heart would be if he had one. “Sadly, I have a previous engagement.”

“Sucks to be me.” She cocked her hip, bracing the edge of her tray on the curve of her waist. “So, if you’re not friends and this one’s got ‘brooding bad boy’ on lock,” she said, thumbing in Aidan’s direction, “what’s that make you? His flashy, high-paid lawyer?”

Liam reached into his suit jacket and extracted his wallet. “If you’re asking if I think I can get you off, the answer is yes.”

She giggled as he tugged a couple of bills free and held them up between his fingers.

“Why don’t you bring my client here a double in a clean glass? And keep the change.”

She plucked the money from his hand with a wink. “You got it, counselor.”

When she was gone, Liam exchanged his wallet for a shiny silver cell phone, which he slid across the scarred wood of the table.

“This is a prototype version, but we’ve had good success in the first round of testing. You’ll have complete control of the target’s phone—location, microphone, camera, texts, whatever you want. Just open the program and get within a foot of your target’s phone to install it. Once you’re in, download at will. You can remove it remotely.”

Aidan whistled long and low. “You’ve outdone yourself, Kearney.”

“What can I say? As the enemy of my enemy, you’re practically my friend. That’s why I took the liberty of preloading this bad boy with all your stuff. Contacts, photos, apps. It’s all there.”

Son of a bitch.

“Is this where I thank you for hacking my phone?”

Liam’s smile was smug. “This is where you thank me for using my powers for good. I left your passwords the same.”

“Nobody likes a show-off.”

Which was precisely why Aidan was keeping it to himself that during a recent trip to Asia, he’d acquired a knockoff version of The Shield, Cybercore’s upcoming entry into the digital-cryptocurrency ring. At least until he proved both SecurePay and The Shield were based on his father’s code. He doubted Liam Kearney would be quite so arrogant when Aidan shut down both products with one fell swoop. But for now, Kearney was still useful to him.

As if on cue, the waitress sent a flirty little finger wave in their direction while she waited for the bartender to pour Aidan’s scotch. Kearney returned it. “Funny. That hasn’t been my experience.”

Aidan squelched the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Liam nodded but made no move to leave. “I don’t suppose I need to make clear to you that this tech is not intended for tracking private citizens without their knowledge. Cybercore cannot condone such usage. And if said activity is discovered by law-enforcement agencies, the company will disavow any knowledge of top-secret tech under development for government use being employed in such a manner. We will then prosecute any perpetrator thereof for the theft and misuse of our intellectual property to the fullest extent of the law.”

Aidan pointed to his chest and raised his eyebrows in a Who, me? gesture. “Don’t see any reason that you’d need to.”

“I didn’t think so.” Liam got to his feet. “Pleasure doing business with you, Aidan. We appreciate you choosing Cybercore for all your tech-related needs.”

Aidan waited until Kearney had left the bar before he hit the button on the side of the phone and watched the starting graphics flash across the high-res screen.

Although he didn’t know precisely what had Cybercore and Whitfield Industries at loggerheads—the feud seemed deeper and more personal than your typical business rivalry—using Max Whitfield’s biggest competitor for this scheme was a surprisingly satisfying fuck you to the man he’d once considered his closest friend. The man he’d trusted. The man who’d let him down.

Once again, Aidan was pulled out of a recollection, this time by the thunk of a glass on the table in front of him. He needed to pull his head out of his ass and pay attention.

“So how about you, hot stuff?”

He ran a hand over his close-cropped beard as he shifted his attention to the waitress.

She smiled invitingly. “You got plans?”

Aidan lifted his drink in response. “Just a quiet night with my date here.”

She shot him a practiced pout. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am.”

Aidan took a swallow of subpar scotch and watched her walk away.

He’d known something was off with his dad. John Beckett loved technology—tinkering, solving problems, cracking code. A high-paying tech job with Whitfield Industries should have been a dream come true for his father, but instead, with each passing year, John had seemed less excited to go to work. Their phone calls and visits had become punctuated with disillusionment, references to how John felt trapped. Words like coercion and blackmail started to pepper rants about how his genius wasn’t appreciated, and in the next moment, John was stoic, resigned, saying it was no more than he deserved.

At first, the episodes were few and far between. By the end, his father had grown moodier, more taciturn. Like he’d been after Aidan’s mother had died...right before he’d started drinking heavily.

Aidan had known it was getting worse, but instead of flying home from his latest adventure and taking care of things himself, he’d called Max. The one person in the world he’d trusted. The guy who’d always had his back. He’d told his friend all his suspicions, that Charles Whitfield had blackmailed his father somehow, that something was wrong.

Max had assured him he’d take care of things.

Two weeks later, Charles had taken early retirement, Max was the new CEO of Whitfield Industries, and John Beckett was dead.

Aidan had been in Spain when he got the news.

Single car accident. Driving under the influence. Dead on impact.

He hadn’t even known his father was back on the bottle.

He should have known. Should have cut his time in Pamplona short. A good son would have.

Regaining control of his father’s code and keeping it out of the hands of the family who’d ruined John’s life was the least he could do. Too little too late, maybe, but an apology to his father all the same.

Aidan finished his drink in two long swallows and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was time to get to the bottom of what had happened to his father.

He set down the glass and picked up the phone, tucking it away in his pocket as he got to his feet.