Crude Heir (Billionaire Heirs #3)

Chapter 4

Nicole

I’m so anxious to get going I don’t pay attention to who’s in the elevator when I walk in. It’s full, which is enough to have me keep to myself. People are chit-chatting as they ride down to the parking area. Luckily, I’m one of the first to get out.

“So, Derrick Stockton?” I’m only a few steps out when I recognize Jenae’s voice asking the question.

Drat. I was hoping I’d be able to avoid this conversation. “Oh, hi.” I paste on a smile. “Heading home already?” I ask, without slowing down.

She raises her chin. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me,” she says smugly.

“Derrick?” I pause, not sure how to respond that won’t have her probing for answers. “What about him?” I cock my head slightly, trying to make it seem as if I don’t understand what she means. Hopefully it’ll at least buy me a few seconds. My car isn’t parked too far away.

Jenae pulls ahead of me, her strides confident and purposeful. She turns, her eyebrows raised, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she brings up her hand. “You and Derrick?” She slips her middle finger over her index finger, folding down the other two. Her gesture suggests something more intimate. “Something going on here?”

I’ll be waiting. His words echo in my mind, and I realize how Jenae interpreted what he said. A wave of heat runs up to my face, despite my best efforts to remain unaffected. I quickly clear my expression, trying to tap down the blush that has to be rushing across my face.

The question hangs in the air. I shake my head and give the answer she’s expecting. “He needed to work on my computer,” I reply, keeping my voice light and dismissive.

Jenae’s smirk widens. “Hmm. Sounded like it was more than that,” she remarks. She puts her hand down and shrugs. “I mean, really, he has half the female population on their toes.”

I could point out that her own tone changed when she came face-to-face with him in the elevator. Instead, I bite my tongue to keep quiet because I know she wouldn’t appreciate the comment one bit, and I’d end up paying for it in the long run. Her position as Simon Kelly’s assistant allows her a certain level of influence, and, in the business world, that means one thing, power. That’s how I ended up sweating in midday traffic every time the mood hits him.

Also, there’s something about her tone that’s bothering me. It seems like more than a casual conversation; her words are calculated. Is she aiming for more information on Derrick? Considering she’s Simon Kelly’s assistant, she could be looking for any dirt she could collect on him.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I’d rather have an overabundance of caution. It’s best that I keep my interactions with Jenae to a minimum so I don’t have to worry about any hidden intentions.

I’m relieved to reach the end of the row. Her car is ahead of us on the left, while mine is on the other side of the ramp, creating a much-needed escape.

I scoff. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.” I pull my bag around to fish out my keys, using it as a barrier. “I doubt he’d realize I’m alive if it wasn’t for the fact I have a computer he manages.”

“Sure,” she says, doubtful. Though she’s tightened her lips, as if she isn’t thrilled with my answer.

“Have a nice night.” I head off toward where I parked, hoping she doesn’t say anything to cause a delay.

“Yeah, you, too.” The alarm on her vehicle beeps, signaling it’s disarmed.

Before I can breathe a sigh of relief, my cell rings. What now? I pull the phone out of my pocket and glance at the screen. Derrick’s name lights up the display, making my heart skip a beat. Did something go wrong? I press the button to answer. “Hi,” I say, trying not to sound breathless as I continue toward my car.

“Have you left?” he asks, his tone firm and authoritative.

Guilt washes over me. “I’m still in the parking lot.” I step over to the nearest vehicle, staying out of the way of traffic. Ugh, of course this would happen now, the one time I decide to go home on time. “I can head up if you need something.”

“No, not necessary,” he reassures me. “I wanted you to try the link I set up so you don’t have a problem later.”

“Oh okay.” I glance around, a nagging sense that I’m doing something wrong. Deep down, I know the feeling is irrational. This data review is to help Mr. Kelly find the person taking money from his company. I continue walking as traffic starts picking up. “What would you like me to do?”

“Hold on, I’m going to send you a link through a message,” he explains, in that slightly superior manner that most IT people use when talking to someone less tech-savvy. “Click it and make sure you can see the home screen. Don’t log in,” he warns. “Just verify the site is available.”

“Alright.” I reach my car and unlock it, sliding into the driver’s seat with a sigh. I start the engine then point the ducts away before the hot air can hit me in the face. It’s got to be close to one hundred degrees out.

As I buckle my seat belt, the message Derrick mentioned arrives with a ping. I open it quickly, my brow furrowing as I examine the link. The class on internet safety comes to mind, specifically about phishing scams. Once again, I question my decision to do this off the books.

“Got it?” he asks, adding another layer of anxiety to what I’m already feeling.

“Um…” Derrick is the Director of IT for the company. He wouldn’t be doing something underhanded. Right?

* * *

Derrick

“Nicole?” Damn it, I can’t lose her now.

“Yes,” she says, a note of unease riding her voice. “Let me put you on speaker while I try.”

“Go ahead.” I lean forward in my chair, waiting for her to change the settings. My leg bounces as my patience wears thin. Come on, Nicole. I know the exact moment she taps the link. I got her. Satisfaction courses through me.

The connection opens, granting me access to her phone. On her side, she should see the familiar landscape of the company’s home page. It’s a quick mock-up I set up for the occasion.

“It’s working,” she announces with relief.

“Good deal,” I reply, using my best good-job tone. “Don’t go in from your computer until I tell you I’m ready.”

“I promise.”

I end the call. For a minute there, I thought she was going to back out. If it was anyone else, she likely would have. The girl’s got good instincts, but all I needed was the right bait. Once she clicked the link, she gave me access to her system. As an added bonus, I can track her phone now.

The mirror image of her data feeds into the folder I created in my computer. Her browser history, favorites, emails, files, photos, and texts all coming in for me to inspect.

The text messages go back several years. Old conversations with her parents, school friends, a professor, and a couple of people I don’t bother to identify. The newer messages are little more than grocery orders, bank notifications, her grandmother, Jenae sending food orders or asking how long she’s going to take in arriving, and me.

GPS locations show she does little more than go back and forth from work, with little variation to the route. The only outside trip is to League City, back in February.

Her browser history consists of searches for household items, lingerie, and book reviews. Turns out, Miss Nicole has a fondness for sexy books. Who would have thought?

The photos are another surprise. They’re few and far between, going back a couple of years to show family. I can only assume they’re in a town she moved away from.

All in all, the digital corridors lead me nowhere. Is it just that she’s being careful? I would consider myself an average user and I easily have fifty chat groups, both business and personal. Even though I don’t take a lot of pictures, there’s photos I save from conversations with friends or screenshots I grab from the internet. This just doesn’t seem real. Does she lead an online life through her laptop instead?

I lean back in my big leather chair and blow out an annoyed breath. Glancing down at my watch, I catch the time. I’ve been distracted for almost an hour.

I scoop up my phone and place an order to have a pizza delivered. With dinner taken care of, I grab my keys and head down to the garage, anticipation scratching at my insides.

The drive to the apartment takes ten minutes. Kelly Oil some are not. They’re from all different companies; some are even from out of state.

The hell with it. I toss open the pizza box and settle in, ready to go through every byte of digital life she keeps on her hard drive and favorites. A quick look at the properties shows she has less than a thousand folders.

She can’t be as squeaky clean as she appears. It just isn’t possible. I go folder to folder, scrutinizing everything she’s ever seen or done, determined to figure out what makes Nicole Fuentes tick.