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didn't have ex's who looked like me. At least not ones he'd admit to. “Thanks for bringing my bag back.”
    Rylan turned back to me, but I had a feeling he wasn't going to let this go. “I also came to apologize for the misunderstanding and to give you these too.” He held out the flowers.
    I stared at him for a moment, waiting for the punchline. When one didn't come, I took the gift. They weren't roses, but rather orchids. “Thank you.”
    “I figured it was the least I could do for deceiving you,” he said.
    My eyebrows shot up. I definitely hadn't expected him to admit to lying.
    “Look.” Rylan shoved his hands into the pockets of his designer jeans, looking more like some grad student than a multi-billionaire. “I can explain everything.” His eyes met mine. “May I come in?”
    It wasn't a good idea, but he had brought my bag back and hadn't said anything to the cops about how he'd gotten his black eye. If he'd wanted to, he could've made my life very miserable. So, reluctantly, I stepped aside and motioned for him to come in.
    I tried not to think about how I was still in my pajamas or how my apartment must look to someone who made more in a month than I did in two years. I had nothing to be ashamed of, especially when considering how far I come, though Rylan knew nothing about that.
    “You wanted to explain,” I said as I stood next to my table. “Go ahead.”
    Rylan crossed to my thrift store couch and sat down. He looked up at me, as if waiting for me to take a seat as well. I didn't say a word and stood there, arms crossed over my chest, an eyebrow raised in silent question. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.
    “You were right when you said I had the skills needed to fix the issue.” A sheepish look crossed his face. “Mostly because I wrote it.”
    I frowned, but didn't say a word. I may have looked like I stayed upright because I was pissed, and that might've been one of the reasons, but the main motivation was more self-servicing. If I was on my feet, I could get out the door before he grabbed me...
    “It wasn't a job,” he said. “It was a job interview.”
    “Say again?”
    “My security tech did try to sell me out,” he said. “But he wasn't as smart as he thought he was. I caught it in plenty of time and isolated the damaged software to my system only.”
    I inched toward the door, starting to wonder if I'd need the cops from the hall after all. Rylan's explanation sounded an awful lot like he'd planned things so he could be alone with me.
    “I know what you're thinking,” he said. “But hear me out.”
    I waited, my entire body tense, prepared for fight or flight.
    “I need to replace my tech and do it fast. I'm a programmer and designer. I have the capability to deal with the security issues, but it's not my strong suit.”
    “So you advertise, like a normal person.” I regretted saying it as soon as the words left my mouth. What was it about this man that cracked years of careful self-control and made me say whatever popped into my head?
    “Okay,” he said. “I probably deserved that.”
    He spread his hands out in front of him and I noticed, for the first time, that he had long, slim fingers, the kind musicians often had.
    “Like I said, I needed to find someone fast, so instead of wasting my time wading through a bunch of applications from people who couldn't find their way out of a simple code, I decided to try something different.”
    “You hired me,” I said. I wasn't happy he'd been deceitful, but at least these pieces provided a relatively sane explanation for what had happened.
    Rylan nodded. “I had to see if you were as good as I'd heard, and the best way to do that wasn't to sit and talk to you about shit I could find with a ten minute internet search. I needed to see you in action.”
    “Why didn't you just say that?” I asked.
    “You had to think the stakes and the deadline was real for me to get an accurate take,” he said. “But I