Technically, the discovery of Josh’s internet activity was neither urgent nor a crisis, but I felt it warranted an interruption, anyway. I needed vindication, and I needed it now. These logs were irrefutable proof that the Hatchlings were egregiously irresponsible, and that I was right about it all along. Maybe now Bob would realize I shouldn’t have to endure their insults and abuse. Maybe now he’d tell them to stop giving me such a hard time, instead of the other way around.
I swiped my access card to disengage the dead bolt, and as soon as it clicked, I pushed open the heavy metal door to the server room. Rows and rows of black shelves contrasted with white walls and fluorescent high bays. Hundreds of fans spinning simultaneously created an otherworldly hum. I tiptoed along the corridor, peering around each corner until I spotted Bob sitting on the floor, hunched over his laptop, eyes narrowed in deep concentration. When he heard my footsteps approaching, he shot me a look halfway between fury and dread.
“Why are you in here?” he barked.
“Remember when I said Josh was probably surfing around gambling sites?”
Bob let out an exasperated breath. “Not this again.”
“It’s different this time. I have proof!” I sat down beside him and whipped out the laptop. “Look.”
As I scrolled through the logs of Josh’s guilt, Bob looked confused. “What is this?”
“I installed a keylogger on his machine.”
His eyes bulged. “You what?”
“You told me that I couldn’t accuse him of anything without logs of his activity.”
“I didn’t tell you to install a keylogger. This isn’t Hatch-sanctioned software. It’s against company policy.” Bob grabbed the laptop from my hands, commanding control of the touch pad and inspecting the evidence. “Does Josh know you did this?”
“No.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Do you see what this shows?” I leaned over and pointed out the damning evidence. “He turns off the virus scanner so he can go surfing around shady websites. That’s against company policy.”
“Look at the dates and times. It’s always on a weekend or late at night. He’s not in the office when this happens. Our firewall would block him from doing it on our office network, anyway.”
“So?”
“So, what he does on his own time is his own business.”
“Even on a Hatch-issued laptop?”
“Yes. You have to uninstall this immediately.”
“But he keeps downloading viruses.”
“That’s what you’re here for.”
Anger threaded through my veins so forcefully I began to shake. “That’s my job? To let him screw things up and speak to me like garbage, then clean up his mess with a smile on my face?”
Bob spread his hands and lowered his voice, like he was trying to stave off an approaching wolf. “Let’s not get hysterical, okay? He’s only gonna be here for another few weeks. Then he’ll be gone, and you’ll never see him again.”
I knew he was talking about Josh Brewster. I knew he was referring to the way Hatch worked, bringing in a new cohort of start-up founders every three months. But my mind went straight to one question: Is this what Alex was thinking? Another few weeks, then she’ll be gone, and I’ll never see her again.
I’d been so convinced he wouldn’t ghost on me because we worked together, not even considering that our time as coworkers was extremely limited. Sure, avoiding me around the office would be awkward, but he’d only have to do it for a few more weeks. Then he’d be gone, on to the next one, and I’d still be sitting here at Hatch, dealing with a brand-new horrible round of Hatchlings.
Because the next round would be just as horrible as this one was. The Hatchlings were always the same: entitled, ungrateful, and abusive. I was going to be trapped here with an endless rotation of them, forever, and my boss wouldn’t even come to my defense.
My face suddenly felt very hot. My eyes stung and my throat swelled and oh, God I was about to do the worst possible thing I could ever do. I was about to cry in front of my boss.
Bob’s face contorted in horror. “Are you okay?”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Rule number one in the woman techie playbook: never, ever, ever cry in front of your boss. It’s hard enough being taken seriously in this industry without wearing your emotions on your sleeve. If I cried now, any hint of respect he had for me would promptly vanish without a trace.
So I swallowed that lump in my throat, blinked back those tears, and forced myself to put on an agreeable smile. “Of course.” I took back the laptop and said, “I’ll go clean up the virus and remove the keylogger now.”
He narrowed his eyes, wary of my sudden willingness to comply, but ultimately, relieved not to have to deal with a weepy woman. “Good.”
Without looking back, I fled the server room, speed-walking down the hall to the privacy of my cubicle. My eyes ached from the pressure of holding back tears. I needed to let them flow in peace.
But as I rounded a corner, I careened face-first into a crisp button-down shirt contoured perfectly around a broad, solid chest.
“Whoa. You okay?” Alex grabbed my shoulders, steadying me. The heat from his palms penetrated the thin cotton of my sleeves, sending warm waves across my collarbones that pooled in the hollow of my throat. He flashed me that dazzling smile.
No. Don’t fall for it again.
I withdrew from his grip, standing tall, smoothing the front of my shirt. “I’m fine.”
His smile faded a bit. Less dazzling, more contrite. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t text you last night. I wound up staying here until two in the morning trying to get the load tests right, then went home to sleep for two hours before coming back here again at six. It’s been a nightmare.”
“You say that a lot.”
He furrowed his brow. “What do I say a lot?”
“That you’re sorry.”
“Oh.” His mouth opened and closed as he struggled for words. “Did I... I mean... Is there something you want to tell me?”
There was a lot I wanted to tell him, actually: that I’d read all about his smooth-talking past on JerkAlert. That I was terrified of letting him get close enough to hurt me. That he looked so good standing there in the middle of the hallway, I just wished he would give me a reason to trust him so we could be sharing a secret kiss right now.
But I didn’t say anything like that. Rule number two in the woman techie playbook: never make a scene in the office.