I caught my boyfriend kissing another woman at the airport, so I grabbed a handsome stranger and kissed him back. ‘I’ll — Part 2

Meredith crossed her arms, glaring at Alexander. “Girlfriend? You told me you were single.”

Alexander panicked. “Meredith, it’s a misunderstanding—”

“Darling,” the stranger said, turning his gaze to me. The word was absurd, yet he delivered it with a calming authority. “Do you want to leave?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

He guided me toward the exit, his hand hovering near my spine, shielding me from the fallout of Alexander’s crumbling lies. Outside in the freezing New York air, a black SUV idled at the curb.

“I am so, so sorry,” I stammered, covering my burning face with my hands. “I was desperate. He threatened my job. I just… I couldn’t let him win.”

“Then I am honored to have been useful,” the stranger said. His eyes, sharp and dark, studied me. He reached into his coat and handed me a thick, matte-black business card. “In case he follows through on his threats. A man who lies so easily in public is rarely honorable in private.”

He climbed into the SUV, leaving me alone on the curb.

My hands were shaking as I flipped the heavy card over under the amber glow of the streetlamp. The silver embossed letters caught the light.

Daniel Pierce

Executive Chairman, Pierce Global Holdings

The pavement seemed to drop out from beneath my feet. Pierce Global Holdings. The massive conglomerate that had just purchased my marketing agency three days ago.

I hadn’t just kissed a stranger. I had kissed my new, untouchable billionaire boss. And tomorrow morning, I had to present to him.

I spent Sunday night pacing the length of my apartment, my mind violently oscillating between the devastation of a three-year relationship turning out to be a lie, and the sheer terror of professional ruin. Alexander’s threat rang in my ears: One phone call, and you won’t have a desk.

By Monday morning, I had formulated a survival strategy: blend into the walls, present my data flawlessly, and pray that Daniel Pierce had suffered a convenient bout of amnesia.

The glass-walled offices of our Manhattan headquarters were practically buzzing with nervous energy. Assistants scurried like frightened mice; executives who usually ignored my existence offered tight, panicked smiles. The digital display in the lobby read: Welcome, Pierce Global Leadership.

My best friend, Chloe, cornered me by the espresso machine, handing me a double shot. “You look like you’re walking to the guillotine,” she whispered.

“I kissed the executioner,” I replied deadpan.

Before she could press for details, my manager, Penelope, materialized. Penelope was sharp, perpetually dissatisfied, and dressed like she was ready for corporate warfare. “Victoria. Executive boardroom. Now. Bring the Q3 campaign analytics.”

My stomach plummeted.

The boardroom was a sprawling expanse of mahogany and glass overlooking the Manhattan skyline. At the head of the table stood Daniel Pierce. In the harsh daylight, he looked even more intimidating. Impeccable navy suit, expression entirely unreadable.

“Mr. Pierce,” Penelope said, her voice dripping with reverence. “This is Victoria, our lead data analyst for the regional campaigns.”

Daniel’s dark eyes locked onto mine. For a terrifying, breathless second, the air in the room vanished. Then, the faintest ghost of a smirk touched the corner of his mouth.

“Ms. Victoria,” he said, his voice a smooth, professional baritone. “A pleasure.”

I exhaled a shaky breath and launched into my presentation. Numbers were safe. Metrics, conversions, and target demographics were a language I could control. I didn’t look at Daniel, but I could feel his heavy, analytical gaze tracking my every movement.

I was just wrapping up when the heavy glass doors swung open.

Alexander strolled in.

He wore a tailored charcoal suit, looking sickeningly confident. He was here as a prospective vendor, pitching his real estate consulting firm to our new parent company.

When his eyes met mine, his smile sharpened into a blade.

“Ah, Alexander,” Penelope greeted him. “We were just finishing the internal data review before your vendor pitch this afternoon.”

“Excellent,” Alexander said smoothly. He didn’t look at Daniel; he looked right at me. “I believe Victoria’s data will be very… revealing.”

Thirty minutes later, I was back at my desk, my pulse finally slowing, when Penelope’s assistant tapped my shoulder. “Penelope needs you in her office. Bring your security badge.”

I walked in to find Penelope standing behind her desk, her face grim. Beside her stood a man from IT security.

“Sit down, Victoria,” Penelope ordered.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, my palms growing slick with sweat.

“An hour ago, our cybersecurity monitors flagged a massive data breach,” Penelope said coldly. “Our proprietary Q4 marketing algorithms, the exact data sets tied to Alexander’s upcoming contract, were copied and emailed to a blind server belonging to our primary competitor.”

“What?” I gasped, standing up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The IT guy slid a printed log across the desk. “The firewall logs show the breach originated from your terminal, Victoria. Using your unique employee ID and password. It happened late last Thursday evening.”

The world tilted on its axis. Last Thursday evening. I had been at dinner with my sister. But I had left my office door unlocked for Alexander, who had said he needed a quiet place to take a client call while waiting to pick me up.

One phone call, and you won’t have a desk. He hadn’t made a phone call. He had laid a trap.

“This is a frame-up,” I said, my voice rising. “I didn’t do this! Alexander was in my office—”

“Alexander is a trusted vendor who is about to close a multi-million dollar deal with Mr. Pierce,” Penelope snapped. “You are a mid-level manager with a suddenly very suspicious digital footprint. Effective immediately, you are suspended without pay pending a full legal investigation. Hand over your badge and your laptop.”

I was escorted out of the building by security. I stood on the sidewalk, the cold wind whipping my hair, entirely broken. Alexander had stripped me of my love, my dignity, and now, my career and my freedom. I was facing corporate espionage charges.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from an unknown number.

He played me too. I know about the shell companies. Meet me at the Trattoria Rossi on 5th Avenue in ten minutes. Come alone.

Trattoria Rossi was dim, smelling of garlic and roasted tomatoes. I slid into a leather booth in the back corner. Waiting for me, sipping a glass of Barolo, was Meredith.

She wasn’t wearing red today. She wore a severe, black turtleneck and a trench coat. The bewildered woman from the airport was gone, replaced by an apex predator of the financial sector.

“Sit,” she commanded softly.

I sat. “Who are you?”

“I am the CFO of Vanguard Capital, the firm that was supposed to underwrite Alexander’s new venture,” Meredith said, swirling her wine. “After the… spectacle at the airport, I did some digging. A man who lies so effortlessly about his personal life is usually lying about his ledgers.”

“And?” I asked, leaning in.

“And he is,” Meredith’s eyes flashed with a lethal, icy fury. “Alexander isn’t building a legitimate consulting firm. He’s set up a network of shell companies. If Pierce Global signs that vendor contract today, Alexander plans to funnel thirty percent of the operational budget directly into his offshore accounts. I have the paper trail proving the shell companies belong to his cousin.”

My jaw dropped. “Why are you telling me this? Why not just go to the police?”

“Because white-collar fraud is notoriously difficult to prove without a smoking gun connecting the fraudster to the victim’s internal systems,” Meredith explained. “He needs your company’s proprietary algorithms to make the shell companies look like legitimate, high-performing vendors. He framed you to get the data out, and to remove you because you’re the only analyst smart enough to notice the discrepancies in his pitch.”

“So he steals the data, frames me, gets the contract, and steals the money,” I whispered, the sheer scale of his malice making me dizzy.

“Exactly,” Meredith slid a sleek, silver USB drive across the table. “This contains the financial tracking of his shell companies. But it’s not enough. We need proof that he physically used your computer to steal the algorithm. Without that, it’s his word against a suspended, scorned ex-girlfriend.”

“The security cameras,” I realized, my heart leaping. “There’s a camera in the hallway outside my office. If I can get the timestamped footage of him entering my office while I was gone…”

“The vendor review meeting with Daniel Pierce is at 4:00 PM today,” Meredith checked her Rolex. “It’s 1:00 PM now. If Alexander signs that contract, my firm is legally exposed, and you go to prison for corporate espionage. Women like us don’t let mediocre men destroy our lives, Victoria. Get the tape.”

I left the restaurant with my blood practically humming. I was locked out of the building, but I knew the architecture of my own prison.

At 2:30 PM, I slipped through the loading dock behind the building, timing my entry with the daily delivery of office supplies. I wore a baseball cap and kept my head down, navigating the labyrinthine basement corridors until I reached the service stairwell.

Climbing twenty flights of stairs felt like ascending Everest, my lungs burning, but adrenaline fueled my legs. I cracked the door to the IT department.

The security server room was at the back. It required keycard access, but IT was notoriously lazy. At 2:45 PM, exactly on schedule, the security chief left his desk to grab his afternoon coffee, leaving the heavy door propped open with a fire extinguisher.

I darted inside. The room was freezing, humming with the sound of a hundred server racks. I slipped behind the main console, my hands flying across the keyboard. I bypassed the standard login using a backdoor diagnostic code Chloe had once drunkenly bragged about.

Search: Camera 4B. Date: Thursday. Time: 19:00 to 20:00.

The footage loaded. I held my breath. There it was. Alexander, looking over his shoulder, slipping into my dark office. Ten minutes later, he emerged, slipping a small flash drive into his pocket.

“Got you,” I whispered. I plugged Meredith’s USB drive in and initiated the download.

Transferring… 40%… 60%…

Suddenly, the heavy server room door creaked open.

“Hey, who left this door propped?” a gruff voice echoed in the room. Heavy work boots thudded against the raised floorboards.

I dove under the main console desk, pulling my knees to my chest, the cold metal biting into my spine.

Transferring… 85%… 95%…

The footsteps stopped right in front of the desk. Through the gap, I saw the tips of a security guard’s boots. My heart hammered so violently I was sure he could hear it over the hum of the servers.

Ping. The transfer complete notification flashed softly on the screen above me.