Rich Kid (The SPARK Files #3)

Chapter 6

Wallace

Wallace stood in the single-stall bathroom and closed his eyes.

“I am strong. I am in charge. I don’t let things bother me.” The words were whispers at his lips, too quiet, he hoped, for anyone to hear, even if they were nearby.

He had every bathroom and supply closet in the entire building mapped out for pep talks like this. Places he could dart into if he encountered someone he wasn’t prepared to see—mostly his father and brother, though his most recent stepmother could sashay in at any point and hunt him down, too.

The pinkish tiles and tiny white sink of the small room were his safe haven, a place where he could recite the daily mantras that held him together.

A place he could hide.

He gripped the edge of the sink.

His shoulders felt tight and heavy. It had been a very long weekend.

The pernicious Maxamillion virus had overtaken the company’s computers, breaking several machines, shutting down the factory floor, and coming dangerously close to seriously injuring an employee. It had cost an incalculable amount of money to shut everything down and then get it up and going again.

Though that was dwarfed by the efforts Wallace and his team had put in trying to find the source of the virus.

Maxamillion. The virus had caused a company-wide panic, and it was only on the second sleep-deprived night—half distracted by memories of Volt—that Wallace remembered where he’d heard that word before.

“Benedict Curran is going to listen to me,” he told himself at a louder volume, “because I’m his boss. And I know that he’s done something wrong.”

Maxamillion was the name that Ben called his AI interface with the company mainframe computer. Wallace was almost certain of it. And if there was anyone who was both smart enough to bypass all the Orbit Robotics safeguards and flippant enough to ignore the harm he’d caused, it was Ben.

The little asshole had probably done it for fun.

That gave Wallace’s next words a little more conviction. “I am tough. I am confident. I can manage confrontations.”

He opened his eyes and looked in the mirror. There he was. Still short and chubby, barely squeezed into his white button-up shirt and red suspenders. His bowtie was the only thing that made him happy—a little defiant and a bit of fun, it had small orange goldfish swimming across a navy blue sea.

He looked into his own brown eyes, hidden behind his chunky black glasses.

Volt thinks I’m cute , his mind supplied.

It was better than any mantra. Volt thinks I’m a good boy.

A tiny burst of euphoria hit him, startling and unexpected even though he’d thought of Volt a thousand times in the past few days. And not just when he was furiously masturbating in the shower or under the covers—every chance he could and more than he usually did in two weeks. The thoughts would come at little, unexpected times, too.

When he was sipping his coffee.

When he was in long, stressful meetings about the virus.

When he was checking his email.

He found himself replaying Volt’s rumbling voice, chest pressed to Wallace’s ear. He could still feel the spark’s thumb pushing deep into his mouth. Cream puff , he sometimes whispered to himself, melting all over again as he imagined Volt’s soft, emerald eyes when he said those words.

And then he would find himself blushing and daydreaming all over again… kind of like right now…

He drew in a deep breath. These thoughts weren’t appropriate for work. Besides, they’d come from a paid sex worker. He was lying to himself by pretending that they meant something.

His mood soured again.

That was the other side of these endless thoughts circling his brain. Everything with Volt had been fake. A paid transaction. No matter how pretty Volt’s words were, no matter how good they’d made Wallace feel , they didn’t mean anything.

So he pushed them away, using the ache he felt to fuel his determination.

He glared at the mirror and it glared back. “I will talk with Ben Curran. I will ignore his nonsense. I will be in charge.”

The words weren’t as effective as usual today, but he’d long ago accepted that most of his life was a sham. All he could do was just keep moving through it, faking it and hoping he was getting somewhat close to what others expected of him.

But this business with the virus… people could have gotten hurt .

Ben needed to be taught that he wasn’t in charge. That, Wallace was certain of.

He pulled on his suit jacket, buttoning it like armor with his shaking, clammy hands. His pits were sweaty, too, but at least now no one could see.

In the elevator, he went over what he wanted to say, practicing it in his mind over and over. Everything sounded silly, like he was some villain in an ancient melodrama. It would probably sound even dumber coming out of his mouth, but it still had to be addressed.

You’re in the right, he reminded himself. Ben is wrong, and he put the company at risk. It’s your duty to expose him.

That thought carried him all the way to Ben’s door.

“Curran,” he barked.

Good. That was good. He sounded like he was in charge, not angry or nervous at all.

Not that it mattered. Ben had his feet up on his work station, displaying colorful socks with ice cream cones in the narrow space between his black dress pants and black shoes.

He lazily rolled his head back in Wallace’s general direction. “’Sup, boss?”

Wallace’s blood boiled. Didn’t the man care about anything ? The company’s reputation? A colleague’s life?

At least the fact that Wallace was his boss, and could get him fired?

Actually, that last part probably wasn’t true. Wallace’s father loved Ben. If Wallace even dared to slight the asshole by not giving him a big enough bonus after pushing another patent through, Wallace’s brother would mention it to dear old Dad, and then Wallace would get another chewing out.

It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right .

Wallace took a deep breath, but he could already feel his face growing red.

“What are you working on?” he demanded, forcing the words out through the growing constriction in his chest, his throat, his whole being.

Ben put on an expression of manufactured puzzlement. “Mmmmm… eyeballs. You ever seen those glow-in-the-dark bouncy eyeballs?” He grinned. “I was thinking of ordering some.”

Wallace was going to strangle him. “So, the vision project with Dr. Sasaki?”

Wallace knew it was one of the things Ben was working on. Dr. Sasaki copied him on some of the emails. Ben was supposed to as well, but no… he liked to work in secret and then pull projects out of his ass at the last minute, like he was some kind of wonderchild instead of an irreverent, unprofessional cheat.

Ben seemed to consider the question. “Do you think he likes bouncy eyeballs?”

Wallace was going to strangle him. “Don’t you take anything seriously?”

“Nope.” Ben scratched his nose.

This was what Wallace had to put up with.

This was the man that Wallace’s own family would have happily replaced him with if they had a choice.

But Wallace was going to show everyone. He brought value to Orbit, too. And right now, he was going to prove it by safeguarding his family’s legacy against the Maxamillian virus.

He stepped closer, leaning over Ben’s reclining form. “What’s the name of your AI?”

Ben’s eyes widened. Wallace could see the fear on his face before he carefully masked it.

Wallace had been right! He knew it!

“I don’t have an AI,” Ben finally answered. “I just use the system, same as everyone else.”

“No.” Wallace pressed harder now. He was convinced. “I’ve heard it. You’ve got your own voice programmed in and you call it…” He left the sentence dangling.

For once, Ben was gaping like a fish, his eyes darting around, looking for answers. How did he like it, being on the other side of things?

For just a tiny moment Wallace felt guilty. With a few words, he could ruin Ben’s life.

“Marshmallow,” Ben finally announced, like he’d discovered the magic word for turning lead into gold.

All of Wallace’s guilt disappeared. Did Ben think he was an idiot?

He wasn’t though. And now he was grinning, the rush of actually having the upper hand for once racing through him like a drug.

“Are you sure it’s not… Maxamillion?”

Ben stretched indolently and put his hands behind his head. “Like the virus? Nah. What does that name even mean? Like, it’s spelled wrong.”

If Wallace hadn’t seen his fear earlier, he would have almost believed it. Ben was such an experienced liar, he didn’t even look nervous.

What was it like, being so confident in yourself that you didn’t even care when your boss accused you of a crime?

Ben really had it coming.

Wallace stepped a little closer. For once, he wasn’t going to back down or let Ben steamroll right over him with his lies and charm. “I know you did this, Curran. I’ve heard you talking to Max enough times since you started working the night shift. And I don’t know what kind of game you were playing, but it cost the company thousands, and I’m going to make sure everybody knows.”

Ben raised one eyebrow. “Uh… okay, Wally. Sounds like you’ve been hitting the good stuff. But, uh, go ahead if you wanna tell people that.” He waved vaguely in the air.

Wallace hated being called Wally. And Ben knew it.

“I’m right. And I’m going to prove it,” Wallace shouted. Then he marched out of the office and slammed the door.

He waited until he was all the way down the hall and around the corner to dart into a bathroom where he could rest his forehead on the cool, clean tiles and let his hammering heart slow down.

He should have felt victorious—he was in the right, dammit—but despite all his internal pep talks and determination to stand his ground and be taken seriously, all he felt was overwhelmed and ridiculed.

Was he that pathetic, that even armed with evidence of a crime, Ben could barely bother to turn his head to look at him?

Wallace’s deeper insecurities started to rear their ugly heads.

Was this what everyone thought of him behind his back?

Was everything his father told him true?

Some days, he managed to convince himself it wasn’t, that he deserved to be here and was a valued member of the company, but those shaky convictions never lasted long. His family made sure of it.

Would it be so hard to have just one person be nice to him? To want to see him for himself? To see him and… like what they saw?

Volt , his mind supplied. Volt wanted to see you.

It was probably another lie he was telling himself, but it was a more believable one.

Wallace flashed back again to the warmth of the spark’s skin. The rumble of his chest as he’d said My perfect baby boy .

Wallace hadn’t made that up, had he?

And suddenly, Wallace couldn’t wait anymore.

He knew it might be pathetic, going back after only four days. But even if Volt was just a very good actor trying to get more of Wallace’s money, Wallace could live with that. Hell, he was used to it. At least Volt was honest about it.

And he was able to create a fantasy world that Wallace would happily pay any amount of money for.

Wallace took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and stepped out of the bathroom. It was already after hours, with the night shift working the factory floor and most of the upper levels where the engineers worked gone quiet. He should probably swing back to his office to get his laptop and a few other things to get some more work done at home… but suddenly he just didn’t care.

He’d already worked all weekend trying to support his team in finding the virus, and had anyone thanked him? Had anyone even noticed that he was there?

Wallace headed for the nearest exit. He’d pushed himself hard, trying to do the right thing for Orbit, for his family, for every single person the Maxamillion virus had endangered.

All to be ridiculed and ignored.

Now, he wanted just one small thing for himself. One moment of something going right. One moment of feeling like somebody cared.

He wanted Volt .

He exited the building, not looking back. Fuck them all. Tonight, the spark was the only thing on his mind.