The influx of information made Jonah’s head spin. He soaked it in, piece by piece, battling to prioritise. He needed to know what they’d lost, both in time, content, and personal data, and figure out a recovery plan, but as he opened his mouth, the least important question bubbled up his throat. “What new guy?”
“The Russian one with the eyes.”
“The eyes?”
“Apparently so.” The voice from across the room materialised as Nico, Jonah’s IT specialist. The stress in his face mirrored Jonah’s, but there was humour too. His eyes had the twinkle of someone who’d survived a crisis. “I haven’t seen them myself. I was too busy shitting a brick when we couldn’t access the cloud.”
“But you’ve accessed it now?”
“Yeah. He hacked into my portal and accessed everything remotely using Blutecc’s network. Some stuff is still missing, but he said he’d come back later if we don’t get back online before then and see what he could do.”
“Wow.” Jonah blew out a long breath. “Sounds like we owe him a drink.”
Nico nodded. “And then some. Carl pretty much had a heart attack when the Fairside people turned up. We all did. I don’t know how they didn’t notice.”
“Doesn’t matter if they did. What matters is what happens in that room.” Jonah pointed at the conference room, the windows obscured by the same blinds Jonah had in his office.
“Nothing would’ve happened without the written pitch,” Nico said. “Carl’s a visual presenter. He’d have died on his arse if he’d had to wing it.”
Jonah was inclined to agree, but he said nothing and retreated to his office to take a deep breath and eat another of the pastries Sacha had gifted that morning. It went down in three bites, leaving Jonah to lick his fingers—again—and spend the rest of the day mediating between Nico and the IT providers who seemed to want to set each other on fire.
It was late when he finally came up for air. He’d missed every meeting he’d had scheduled and added a million things to his list of things to do, and worse than that, the only glimpse he’d caught of Sacha had been as Sacha had left the building at lunchtime.
He hadn’t come back—Jonah knew it because he’d glanced up every ten seconds to check, giving himself neck ache—and when he came in the next morning, there was still no sign of him, even in the hidden alcove where Sacha, according to office legend, spent most of his time.
It was lunchtime on Friday when Jonah finally sensed his presence. The Blutecc team were gathered in their main space, shoulders hunched and tense as Sacha addressed them.
His shoulders were tense too, but his back was turned to the FG windows, leaving Jonah unable to see his face, a state of affairs that frustrated him enough to pour hot coffee on his hand.
“Bollocks.” He slung the empty jug back under the machine and moved to the sink to rinse his hands.
Carl shot him a curious glance. “Everything okay?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“Because you’ve been glaring at everyone and everything all day and that’s totally not your style. If it was, I’d work for Saatchi & Saatchi and make the big bucks.”
“I pay you big bucks.”
“Yeah, but I could get more there if I wanted to wake up every morning and stick my head up my arse.”
“Charming.”
“I try.” Carl grinned, then his features fell serious again, and expectant.
Jonah shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long week. I’m sorry if I’ve been difficult. Let everyone know I’ll buy them a drink across the road after work, all right?”
“That wasn’t what I was getting at, but okay. I’ll let the hordes know it’s a free bar.”
“One drink.” Jonah searched for a stern expression and plastered it on his face. “You’re not dragging me to that gin pub again. I don’t have time for that kind of hangover.”
“But it’s Christmas, boss.”
“One drink.”
Carl snorted and wheeled away to give the team the good news.
Jonah watched him go, torn between amusement and irritation that he still couldn’t see Sacha’s face. He fiddled with the coffee machine some more, changing the filter, and setting it up for whoever came to it next with the Christmas coffee Sacha had supplied that morning. It was from a specialist shop in Chelsea, close to Jonah’s flat. He wondered if Sacha lived there too—he’d never said, and Jonah hadn’t got round to asking. In fact, he didn’t know much about Sacha at all, save that he called a Christmas tree a yolka.
The Blutecc meeting broke up. People drifted back to their desks. Sacha migrated to the back and Jonah finally caught a glimpse of his face, his features cut into severe lines. He opened a drawer and reached for something. His frown deepened, and he shut the drawer again with more force than seemed necessary and disappeared into the nearby alcove, leaving Jonah with the distinct impression that he could do with a drink.
I can fix that.
Jonah returned to his office and shut down for the day. He packed his laptop into his bag, slung his coat over his arm, and made for the exit, slowing only when he reached the sliding door to the Blutecc side of the office. He reached for the handle, but Carl reappeared before he got there, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Ready?”
“Think so. Go ahead without me, though. I just need to check I switched the coffee machine off.”
Carl stared like Jonah had grown antenna on his head. “Since when do you do that?”
“Since now. Go.”
Jonah gave Carl a gentle shove. He was close enough to him, and perhaps Nico, that he considered them friends, but until they left the office, he was their boss, and Carl knew it.
He left. Jonah considered the Blutecc door, and then the team members still hunched over their desks, clearly dealing with a crisis. What was he about to do? March through them and ask their boss out for a drink?
Leave it. He’ll find you if he wants to.
But would he? Jonah tried to picture Sacha showing up at his apartment unannounced with a pizza and a bottle of wine, and just couldn’t do it. The simplest solution was to lift Sacha’s contact details from the Blutecc wall of fame, but that felt wrong too. If Sacha had wanted Jonah to have that information he’d have handed it over by now…right?
Jonah had no idea. Sacha was no ordinary man, and if Jonah didn’t want Carl to come back for him, he was running out of time to fret over it.
Mind made up—kind of—he backtracked to the coffee machine and propped his business card against it, close to the mugs, hoping Curtis wouldn’t find it first and throw it away. Then he left, forcing himself to keep his gaze to himself and not sweep it around the Blutecc office one last time. There were only two ways this could go: Sacha would call, or he wouldn’t, and Jonah resigned himself to spending the rest of night pondering which way it would go.
He was twenty feet from the office when his phone buzzed.
Unknown number: later, Jonah Gray.
8
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Helga asked Sacha again. “This place has the best vodka in the city, at least that I can afford, and you’ve been saying you need one all day.”