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“Exclusivity works both ways,” I tell him. “You’re not to touch any other women.”
    “I agree.” Nate nods, giving his acquiescence surprisingly quickly. He reaches into his suit jacket, retrieves his phone, taps on the screen. “We’re both free at noon. I’ll schedule a meeting to finalize the contract. We’ll want it signed today.”
    His eagerness to lock me in scares and excites me. “I don’t do contracts.”
    “You should always do contracts. It’s risky to supply services without one.” Nate reaches into his pocket again. “I could walk away now and not pay you.”
    He hands me a green money clip stretched wide with cash, reminding me who I am to him. I’m his prostitute, a woman he thinks he’s bought.
    I still don’t know why this is a bad thing.
    “I could hack into your bank account and pay myself.” I grip the cash. He prepared the payment in advance. He planned for our encounter. I thumb through the folded bills, pretending to count the money, uninterested in the total. “You overpaid by twenty dollars.”
    “I always overpay by twenty dollars.” Nate’s lips curl into his version of a smile. “You can earn that money at noon.”
    I don’t know if I can wait that long, my desire for Nate already consuming me. “I’ll earn that money in a minute, darling.” The elevator doors open at my floor. “Twenty dollars doesn’t buy you squat.”
    I hear a chuckle as I walk away. It couldn’t have come from Nate’s lips. The Iceman never laughs.
    My spirits are high and I’m extra loud with my morning greetings, earning me four shushings, two tongue clucks, and one “For goodness’ sake. Some people are trying to work.”
    “Green,” Miss Yen yells. No one dares to shush her.
    I march into her office and plunk my ass down on one of the guest chairs. Sitting in a small confined space with my overly observant boss is high risk. I’m not wearing panties, I smell like sex, and I have a money clip the size of a transport truck stuffed in my cleavage.
    Miss Yen stands behind her desk, her phone pressed to her ear. She’s wearing yet another formfitting black suit. It’s beautiful and likely expensive, the same type of suit Nate’s women-for-hire often wear.
    I tug on my ill-fitting blazer and my fingernails break through the thinning fabric. My shoulders droop. I don’t have time to shop for a replacement suit.
    “I have to reschedule. Something came up.” Miss Yen scowls at me as she talks on the phone. I’m definitely in deep doo-doo.
    “Yes, two o’clock will work. Thank you.” She slams the phone down on the desk. “Mr. Henley requested an eight o’clock meeting.” Miss Yen crosses her arms. “Do you have any idea why Blaine Technologies’ head of cybersecurity would want to see me?”
    I have many ideas as to why Mr. Henley might want to see my boss. They range from yet another complaint from Jerome, his oppressive security guard, to the stinky food issue. “I could find out for you,” I offer, sidestepping the question.
    “No, don’t find out for me,” Miss Yen snaps. “Don’t open files you shouldn’t have access to. Don’t snoop in other people’s e-mail boxes. Don’t borrow passcards or break into stairwells.” She lists some of my past crimes. “Sit at your desk and finish the expense reports.”
    “Yes, Miss Yen.” I slink out of her office, clunk my backpack into one of my desk drawers, and slump into my seat. A cloud of floral perfume hangs over my cubicle, the stench originating from the pinch-faced lady’s desk.
    I peruse an expense report, Miss Yen’s anger sucking all of the joy out of my encounter with Nate. When I first joined Blaine Technologies I thought working here would be different. Gabriel Blaine, the founder and CEO, is a former hacker, a man who thumbed his nose at the establishment and paid the price, spending some time in the slammer for freeing information.
    I match expenses to receipts. Mr. Blaine’s chief of security,