Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(48)

“Tabitha.”

Connor says my name so gently, it startles me. I look at him, standing next to the blond, tattooed bulk of Ryan T. McLean, who, though large and intimidating in his own right, is dwarfed by his boss. Between the two of them, there’s so much free-floating testosterone in the room that a girl could get pregnant through osmosis.

But the look in Connor’s eyes…oh God. My poor heart can’t take much more of this.

He murmurs, “Please. Listen to Harry.”

When I open my mouth, Connor holds up a hand. Even more gently than before, he says, “Please.”

You son of a bitch. Please? After you practically accuse me of setting this whole thing up, you have the nerve to say please? Nicely?

But I don’t say anything out loud, because his eyes are wrecking me. His voice is wrecking me. The memory of his face is wrecking me, how he looked when his body was moving inside mine, his expression of adoration, of reverence, as if what he felt wasn’t just physical pleasure, but something a little more…

Sacred.

Connor didn’t just f*ck me. He made love to me. And no matter how much I might want to deny it, what happened between us was far more profound than a casual screw.

One night, he’d promised.

I don’t know which one of us is the bigger fool.

“So what are we supposed to do now?” Miranda starts up her pacing again, back and forth over a few feet of carpet, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Just wait and see what happens?”

“Go home,” answers Harry. “Get some sleep. There’s nothing more you can do here. If anything happens, we’ll call you.” He glances at me, and then at Connor. “The same goes for you—”

“I already slept,” I say dully, dragging a hand through my hair.

Harry looks at me, his lips in a wry twist. “Forty-five minutes curled up in an armchair doesn’t count as sleep, Miss West.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” says Connor, still with that soft voice. He must see my anger at his contradiction, because he adds, “I know you need to be clearheaded, and I also know you need sleep to be clearheaded. Let your program do its work. Harry’s right. There’s nothing more we can do for now.”

Waiting. I’m no good at it. I’m even worse at taking directions. But judging by the expression on Harry’s face, it looks like I’m going to be doing both of those things whether I like it or not.

Slowly, I stand. Miranda stops pacing long enough to send me a cool glance. “You said you know him, this Maelstr0m.”

I nod, feeling Ryan’s eyes on me. For such sweet baby blues, they’re downright scary.

“And that he likes to create chaos.”

I nod again.

Miranda says, “What if—to unruffle his feathers, as you put it—what if we give him the appearance of chaos?”

Harry asks, “How?” but I’m already on the same page with Miranda.

“A press conference,” I say, staring at her. “But you’d have to act really—”

“Devastated,” she murmurs, warming to the idea. She moves closer, her eyes brightening. “Tears?”

“Gallons. If you can pull it off realistically, faint.”

Her smile is savage. “I’ve spent the last twenty years around actors. I can pull it off.”

With narrowed eyes, Connor looks back and forth between the two of us. “I thought you didn’t want publicity, Miranda. If you give a press conference—and cry—it’ll be a media circus. You’ll be all over the news, here and abroad.”

At the same time, Miranda and I say, “Exactly.”

Harry says flatly, “No press conferences.”

Miranda looks at him. “You’ll speak too,” she says in a tone reserved for royalty addressing peasants. “What should he say, Tabitha?”

My lips curve into a smile, just as savage as the one Miranda wore. “That the studio has experienced a major breach in its network and you’re coming forward with it because Miranda thinks it’s important to be transparent with the public and her shareholders. That the business and government communities can only catch these cyber criminals by working together. That the hacker responsible is the Hannibal Lecter of computer crime, the head of a highly sophisticated, vertically integrated global network of hackers, and his capture could have even more far-reaching effects than the capture of Bin Laden.”

I pause. “Make sure you use both those names. He’ll love that shit.”

Harry erupts in anger. “Are you crazy?” he shouts. “I can’t go on national television and compare a hacker to Bin Laden!”

“Leak it anonymously, then,” responds Miranda calmly. “Or compare him to Hitler.” Her eyes meet mine. “I know a thing or two about men with gargantuan egos. One thing they all have in common is they want to be recognized as the best. Even if being the best means being the worst.”

“Absolutely not!” barks Harry, but Miranda isn’t having any of his attitude.

“Would you like me to call your superior?” she asks, one blonde eyebrow arched.

Harry has to take several deep breaths before he managers to answer. Veins are popping out all over his neck. “My superior,” he says between clenched teeth, “is the President of the United States.”