Page 62 of Mr. Wilde

“What?”

“Pull minute details from that monotonous data stream without it putting you in a coma.”

His choice of words causes my skin to prickle. I instinctively rub my hands up and down my arms.

“You cold?”

“No. Just getting warmed up,” I joke, hoping he won’t notice my awkward reaction. “Why are these phone records such a nightmare?”

“Who knows. It could be I’m off base about all of this. There might not be anything to find. Merely someone being set up by a disgruntled… well, someone being set up,” he explains. “But my gut tells me there’s something to this. Yet I can’t connect the dots.”

“The last time I reviewed the logs, the metadata didn’t seem to suggest there were any red flags. No repetitive numbers or gaps in time where there shouldn’t be. But I’ll try again.” I lean in, staring at the familiar stream of data. I can feel the heat radiating off his arm as he bends down next to me.

“Want some coffee?” He grins.

Him and his expensive coffee. “Sure.” If nothing else, putting some distance between us might calm my anxiety a bit. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He moves toward the kitchen big enough for an actual house, and starts fiddling with the fancy coffee maker. Trying to ignore the hot barista, I dive into the long, long line of code. There is easily a month’s worth of data here. If not more. Hoping I didn’t miss anything the last few times I attempted this, I decide to start from the very beginning and work my way through all of it.

Max sets a cup of coffee beside me along with an assortment of creamers and sugar. It feels odd to have him bringing me coffee.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as he takes another laptop into the living area and begins working. But the numbers on the screen in front of me are putting on their usual show. The duplicates light up. They’re calling to me. So I write down the timestamp associated with them and continue to scroll.

We fall into a rhythm. Max investigating in his corner of the suite, and my detective work in mine. From time to time, I catch him glancing in my direction. He’s likely assessing whether I’ve been able to make any headway. Yet there are moments where it almost feels flirty. A shared look, a half-smile, a brief touch as he deposits a glass of water beside me. But then I remember his warning.

I’m not a good man.

After a few hours, my eyes feel like they’re crossing. I drop my head into my hands.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. I think the long day is getting to me.” I reach for my coffee, but it’s empty. Just as well. If I drink another, I might develop palpitations.

“I’m so sorry, Cass. I should’ve asked if you wanted anything to eat. I get going on projects and lose all track of time.”

“No, no. I’m okay. I’m not really all that hungry.”

He gives me a scowl. “When was the last time you ate anything?”

Keeping my eyes glued to the monitor, the numbers are merely blurred neon lines now. I actually have to stop and consider this. “I don’t know. This morning, maybe. I’m not starving or anything. I just need to clear my head for a second.”

The sentence has barely left my mouth before I overhear him behind me ordering room service. He orders enough food to feed a small army.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” I blurt as he returns to the room.

“Of course I did. I can’t believe I haven’t taken better care of you.” His statement strikes me as odd, but before I can consider this fully, he blurts, “Wait! I might have just the thing.”

Sitting up straight, I watch with curiosity as he darts out of the room once more. Does he have some crackers or a Pop Tart in there or something?

Out of the blue, Max returns holding an ornate rectangular box. “Your eyes are doing that thing that happens to me when I can’t let it go. Where I’m continuing to calculate the data trails to the point I forget life is happening around me.” He chuckles.

“I can’t help it. It’s right there. I can feel it, Max.”

“Oh, I believe you. Trust me. There’s nothing worse than knowing you’re so close,” he says, his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. He snickers.

Knock, knock, knock.

Max practically darts to the door, opening it wide. A tall gentleman pushes a room service cart toward the dining table. The smell of steak fries causes my mouth to water. I must’ve been hungrier than I thought. The steak, shrimp, massive salad, and giant chocolate torte looks like a feast for royalty.