Deadlines & Desires

Ch. 6

Kai

I rarely let anyone into my world. In fact, I have a rigid policy regarding intrusions into my meticulously curated life. But then again, I've never met anyone quite like Lorelai Forbes—The New York Times' best investigative journalist and self-proclaimed caffeine addict. The woman ambushed my office in sweatpants and a jacket that looked like it had been thrown on in a fit of rage, her hair an explosion of straight brown strands, and her dark, midnight blue eyes sparking with an unnerving determination. At that moment, I realized she was unwavering. I could dodge, I could deflect, but, like a seasoned predator, she was relentless—and I was the prey.

"Why the hell is your security company on the decline, Kai?" she had started as if we were old friends bantering over lattes. "Is that old newspaper sitting on your desk a conversation starter, or do you actually care about your company's reputation?"

Her delivery was sharp, laced with humor that I couldn't quite comprehend, but I digress. She flashed me a smile that felt more like a challenge than a greeting. The witty journalist next to me had discovered the article about the infamous security breach that had sparked the downfall of Archer Security—not that I planned to let her know how badly it kept me up at night.

Though I prefer silence, she didn't exactly leave me with a choice. "Let's talk," I relented. Somehow, I found myself agreeing to go to my penthouse, the last place I wanted to host this off-the-wall tornado of coffee-fueled energy.

The ride was a silent showdown. I kept glancing at her, wondering what it was like to live on the edge of chaos with unlimited caffeine. She ping-ponged between rapid-fire pop culture references and biting sarcasm, the likes of which I could scarcely appreciate.

"And then that moment in 'Friends' when Ross yells, 'We were on a break!'—it's practically your life right now!" she quipped, her eyes glinting with mischief as we ascended the sleek elevator to my penthouse. I nodded, feigning interest in her rant, though I had to admit, the analogy struck a nerve.

Once inside, she flopped onto my leather couch, her demeanor shifting to one of focused intensity. "Let's talk about the breach, shall we?" She shuffled through her book-bag and pulled out a notebook and clicked her pen, poising it over the paper.

"Do we have to?" I replied flatly, aware of how much my discomfort showed.

Her response was swift: "Of course! A company like Archer Security—trust me, everyone wants to know how it went from top-tier to bottom feeder. And don't think I'll let you get away with those 'no comments' line. I've got my caffeine fix locked and loaded."

I sighed. Fine, sanity be damned. "The breach was a perfect storm—internal incompetence, outdated software, and, ironically, a reliance on what we thought were impenetrable firewalls. In 2018, we reported a massive data leak when our systems were compromised during a routine update. We didn't realize we were being attacked until it was too late."

"Right," she interrupted, her brow furrowing as she leaned in closer. Her expression was nonchalant, but I could see the gears turning in her mind, that journalist instinct grappling for more juicy details. "So you're telling me you guys thought you were safe while some hacker sat at home, popping popcorn, waiting for the moment you'd drop the ball?"

"Exactly. A complete oversight. But we're not exactly the stars of 'Silicon Valley,' if you catch my drift."

Lorelai leaned back, arms crossed, a bemused smile dancing across her face. "So instead of doing your job and securing your company, you were busy dodging responsibility for how poorly you handled it. What happened to the people involved?"

I could see her wheels turning, and I knew I had to tread carefully. "Well, several heads rolled—believe me, I didn't just sit back and let it happen."