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.
KAYLEE TAPPED THE toe of her Louboutin on the tiled floor. Her usual coffee shop was under renovation this week—a fact she’d forgotten until she’d seen the sign on the door directing her to this location and thanking her for her understanding.
Judging by the length of this line, she wasn’t the only displaced coffee patron looking for a fix. She pulled her phone from her purse to check the time. She had about twelve more minutes to spare before she needed to be in her car and on the road. Otherwise she’d be late for work. Max might be an ocean away, but knowing him, he’d tasked his executive assistant, Sherri, with sending him daily reports about the office. Kaylee considered it a matter of pride not to give her exacting older brother anything to call her out for when he got back. The world didn’t stop turning because he was gone, and Whitfield Industries wouldn’t stop, either. She might have quit before he left, but it was her name on the building, too.
The memory stung. She’d let her emotions get the better of her that day. Last week, out of the blue, Max had announced a security breach, scrapped Whitfield’s project, turned their father in to the Feds, and then told her he was flying to Dubrovnik, leaving Kaylee to pick up all the pieces as PR director, daughter, and interim CEO. Something inside her had snapped, shocked that he would just dump all of that on her with no warning, and she’d given him her two weeks’ notice in a fit of pride. Truthfully, she was hurt that Max didn’t respect her enough to keep her apprised of the life-altering decisions he’d made.
But now that things were somewhat under control again, she was regretting her resignation. The six days since Max had taken off had reminded her exactly what she loved about PR—the challenge and the rush of making people think and do what she wanted them to. It was something she’d never really pulled off in her personal life, but she excelled at it in her professional life. Despite everything, she was damn good at her job, and that was because deep down, family drama aside, she loved it.
As if she’d conjured him, the phone in her hand buzzed, flashing Max’s photo and number across her screen. With a frown, she declined his call. Again. She was too busy and too pissed off to talk to him yet.
But underneath the skin-deep layer of mad, there was concern she just couldn’t quite purge. It was there in her bones. No matter how much her family infuriated her, she couldn’t help but care about them. And the entire situation was just so unlike Max.
No. No emotions.
Being good at PR meant being calm and collected, and if there was one thing that Kaylee excelled at, it was swallowing her feelings. She supposed she could thank her mother’s lifelong obsession with perfection for that.
“A lady remains poised and calm no matter the situation at hand.”
Besides, screw him, she decided with a certain measure of detached equanimity. She was an adult with a caffeine addiction, and she’d get to work when she got to work, whether he had his assistant tattling on her or not. Max didn’t deserve this loyal streak she couldn’t quite banish. He hadn’t thought twice about walking out on her in the middle of the biggest PR crisis to hit the company since she’d started working there.
She glanced at her phone again. Seven minutes until she should hit the road.
But caffeine wasn’t