Virtually Impossible (Once and Forever #2)

  “Neither. I’m not that hungry.”

  “She’ll take the Spanish then. Orange juice.” Emilia looked up briefly. “Or apple?” When I didn’t say anything, she continued as if no one was trying her best not to jump across the table to shove an expensive saltshaker into her mouth. “Orange it is. And she’ll also have”—her finger traced down the menu—“a side of fruit.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Fruit is important, Andi. You won’t grow up big and strong without it.” She didn’t even look at me, but smiled sweetly at the confused server. “I’ll have the same, but with egg whites, no oil, no toast, no juice, and I’ll take a black coffee instead of the latte.”

  “That’s not at all the same,” I mumbled.

  She shrugged. “And an orange juice for my pitiful friend over there, in case she wakes up. That’s it. Thank you.”

  “Emilia.”

  “I’m buying,” she said, her eyebrow raised. “Once you’ve built up your high-paying client list, you can treat me. Or bring me breakfast in bed.”

  “Every day for the rest of my life?”

  She smiled. “That’d do.”

  It’s not like I was impoverished. I’d been working at Emilia’s virtual assistant agency for almost a year. It had started out as assisting an assistant, but as the company grew, so did my workload. Unfortunately, even that wasn’t enough to cover all of my financial problems.

  “Seriously,” she said. “I asked you to come to my favorite restaurant without thinking about whether or not you could afford to spend thirty-five dollars for brunch. So, how about you shut up and let me do something that will make me feel a little less like a jerk?”

  “You’re not a jerk.”

  “Well, duh. I know that. Because when I screw up, I fix it. Just like someone else we both know and love.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “I love you, girl,” she said quietly.

  “Me, too.” We’d been friends since high school, thick and thin—metaphorically and literally. When we’d met, Emilia had just finished packing on forty pounds of stress eating weight from when her mom had died. Funny how death could bond people. Well, not funny, but…

  Being equally pitiful and our mutual love of unhealthy coping mechanisms had created an impossibly strong connection. We’d lost our moms within a week of each other. At least, she’d still had her dad—mine had left before I could say ‘dada.’ So when my mom got sick, we moved into my grandma’s house. The same place I lived in now, except now I was completely alone.

  But somehow Emilia had found willpower and had lost all the weight, which meant I was the only one left coping unhealthily—regardless of how hard she tried to curb my attempts to, as she put it, ‘close myself off from the world.’ Honestly, I took unwarranted pride in how far she’d come and how well-adjusted she was. Almost as much pride as I had in my ability to close myself off from the world.

  ‘Never be afraid to celebrate your success,’ as Grandma used to say.

  “Besides,” Emilia said, “you need the calories for a new boot-camp-in-the-park class I found. It’s this afternoon.”

  Someone groaned—either me at the thought of exercise, or Sara because of her hangover.

  “Please, tell me boot camp is a rich-girl expression for shoe shopping.”

  “Not even close. We can meet there. Bring lots of water. Oh, and you’re going to love me even more when I tell you my other good news.”

  “Uh-oh.” Her good news always seemed to be to my emotional detriment because she was constantly trying to better my life. Not that I could complain. How can you complain when someone is trying to help you? Except when it makes you wonder if she doesn’t think you’ll ever be able to handle it without her.

  Because that makes you wonder if she’s right.

  “I found you a new client. He might very well be a pain in the ass, but I think you, out of all my staff, will be able to handle him.”

  “Hey,” Sara said with her head still in her hands. “I heard that.”

  “Drink your breakfast like a good girl while the grown-ups talk,” Emilia said. “This guy has never had a virtual assistant before, so you’ll have to train him. But he should have tons of work for you to do because he lost his regular assistant about two weeks ago.”

  “‘Lost’ as in, he just can’t find her? He should check under the sofa cushions. Seriously, I keep my TV remote there permanently now since it always ends up there anyway.”

  “He’s been ‘borrowing’ the secretaries of a few of his co-workers, but I guess he’s really picky. And really impatient.” She tried to hide her grimace with her coffee cup—unsuccessfully. “I got the impression he’s starting to get on people’s nerves.”

  “Wow. How did this dream client find us?” The agency belonged to Emilia, but she had a way of making it feel like a family. The only kind I had left.

  “We work with a few of his employees—overflow and that sort of thing—so one of them suggested he try us. Eventually, he’ll find someone permanent to put on the payroll, but until then, he’s yours.” She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you.” I couldn’t refuse. First, because I owed a lot of people a lot of money, and second, because I owed Emilia everything else. At a time when no one would hire me, Emilia had taken me under her wing, despite the risks that came with it. She knew I would be lost without technology. It was in my blood. My veins were welded copper, my brain a circuit board. Everything but viruses, because it’s important to be safe and protect yourself. Ironically, with Trojans or another brand. Not that I’d needed to use that kind of protection in…a while.

  As strange as it sounds, computers were the only connection I still had to my mother. All my memories of her were tied to them—me sitting in her lap while she worked, watching her fingers move so quickly they blurred. My tenth birthday, when she presented me with my first little Macintosh and taught me how to use it. Working side-by-side—she programmed while I learned how to type, hoping that someday I’d be as fast as she was. As smart as she was. As good as she was.

  Then she got too sick to work anymore, and then she was gone. But whenever my fingers were moving across a keyboard, I knew she was still a part of me. It was the only time I didn’t feel lonely.

  Jump ahead ten years and, because I’d made a huge mistake, I was forced to sign something that took away everything I loved. Part 653-dash-something of the agreement I’d signed to stay out of jail was that I had to stay away from computers. I hadn’t realized I was crying until the prosecutor slipped a box of tissues to me.

  I’d signed my name because I didn’t have a choice, but even while the pen was in my hand, I knew I wouldn’t stop. I promised myself I would never hack anything ever again, never hurt anyone again. But to never touch another computer? Impossible. I wasn’t alive if my fingers weren’t on a keyboard and my eyes weren’t glued to a monitor’s screen.

  Unfortunately, if anyone ever found out I was actually working with them, I could be thrown in jail, and Emilia’s business would probably be shut down. Even Sara might get in trouble for letting me use her name. I guess that was the virus I should really be worried about—making my friends into accomplices. Truthfully, I did worry about it. Twenty-four-seven. I just didn’t know what to do about it.

  It had started out far more innocently—just chipping in to help Sara when she was feeling overworked, or overwhelmed, or overly hungover. As Emilia’s company grew and I took on more work, Sara started paying me, calling it ‘subcontracting.’ One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew I was working the equivalent of two full-time jobs, still using Sara's name because I couldn’t use my own. Creating a fake identity would’ve broken that whole ‘no hacking’ rule I’d set. It was like any other addiction—one small indiscretion would lead to me waking up in a strange place with no idea how I’d gotten there.

  So the money I earned went into Sara's paycheck, and Sara wrote me a check every month. In exchange,
I paid taxes for both of us and felt equally horrible guilt and gratitude.

  I wanted to back out, to stop being a danger to my two best friends, the only family I had left. But they were the kind of people who would do something wrong just so someone else could do something right. And to do the right thing, I needed money. A lot of it. The kind of money I could make a lot faster doing this than if I worked for minimum wage and tips. Not to mention I was hardly what one could consider a ‘people person.’ In fact, the last few times I’d worked in-person jobs had all ended with the businesses suddenly finding the need to downsize. Me.

  Sara shoved her chair back from the table, a look of sheer terror on her very pale face. She covered her mouth with her hands and ran toward the bathroom.

  When I pushed my own chair backwards, Emilia grabbed my arm. “She needs to learn her lesson. She did the crime, so she should do the time.” Then her eyes grew wide. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Oh, please. Do you seriously think a cliché can hurt my feelings? Besides, I wasn’t prosecuted, so it doesn’t even count.”

  One total and complete moment of horrific judgment had led to a lot of people losing their life savings, among other things. Three idiots who thought they were so special that the world owed them whatever they could take, and the idiot girl who’d completely bought into all her boyfriend’s lies. As soon as I’d realized what I’d done and how stupidly trusting I’d been, I went to the police. My ex-boyfriend and his friends were paying for what they’d done, but prison time didn’t put money back into the pockets of the people they’d stolen it from or take the feeling of violation away. Not even a lot of prison time.

  Looking back, all of my ex-boyfriend’s bullshit was so obvious, I still couldn’t understand why I’d done what he asked me to without asking a single question.

  ‘Just to know which bastard’s pocket my tuition check went into, babe.’ Sure it was. When I’d balked, he quickly turned it into a guilt trip, a ‘I just want my friends to know how fucking smart you are, how fucking amazing’ trip. So, obviously, I had to prove my amazingness to them. I mean, how could I allow them, for one more second, to think I was anything less than ‘fucking amazing?’ Besides, it’s not like he’d ever do anything illegal.

  Somehow, the fact that it had been so easy had made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. What I hadn’t anticipated was the damage my ex would do once he had a way into the system. I doubt he even looked at his own file to see where his tuition check had ended up. I doubt he’d even sent a check. He and his friends were too busy going through employee accounts, gathering as much sensitive financial info as possible and skimming off small, easy-to-miss amounts that eventually added up to hundreds of thousands of dollars. And I was too busy being in love and being ‘fucking amazing’ to realize it.

  I’d thought he loved me for my intelligence. Nope. He’d loved my stupidity. And the six thousand, three hundred and twenty-seven university employee retirement accounts I’d handed him and his friends access to.

  The experience had taught me a great lesson. Unfortunately, you can’t pay your bills with silver linings.

  Speaking of…the server put down plate after plate of incredible-looking food, the kind you’re never sure is edible or just supposed to be admired.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I told my friend.

  “And ruin my attempt to feel less like an elitist snob? I don’t think so.”

  After another minute of staring at each other, I gave up, thanked the server and Emilia, and dug in. “Oh crap, this is actual fruit.” I was used to the stuff that came in a can and was more heavy ‘syrup’ than fruit. And the omelet? “Oh man. These eggs must have come from a golden goose.” I’d forgotten that food could taste like something other than the flavor pack it came with.

  “Andi,” Emilia started. “It’s okay to spend a little on yourself, you know. I mean, you work so much, and—”

  “Tell me more about this guy you’re siccing on me.”

  She sighed. “Have you heard of The Conure Group?”

  “Sounds familiar. Was that the bad guy’s company in the Fantastic Four? That guy with the metal mask?” I put down my fork to stop shoveling food into my cheeks like a hamster. “Okay, so my duties will mostly be ordering more evil-guy masks, organizing cleaners for when his nefarious plans go wrong, and keeping track of cover-ups or payoffs?” I’d done worse things, but I wasn’t that person anymore. Nowadays, even if something seemed shady, I knew it was all in the normal realm of semi-sleazy-but-legal business activities.

  “Not even close, although I can’t say for certain there aren’t any payoffs to track with this one.” Emilia shook her head. “The Conure Group is the biggest cargo shipping company in California, and its headquarters is here in San Francisco. It was started by two families everyone knows—the Bennetts and the Chalmers.”

  “Never heard of either of them.”

  “Right. I misspoke. I should’ve said: everyone who comes out of their cave for more than a few hours a week.”

  “And if you didn’t keep dragging me out of my cave to go jogging or boot camping, I could cut those few hours down to none.” I’d have to do something about Sara’s relationship status too, of course. Find her someone stable so I didn’t have to babysit her at clubs.

  “And let you achieve your lifelong dream of being a hermit? I don’t think so.”

  “You’re a bad influence on me,” I said, smiling. “Let’s stop talking about my shitty life and go back to this guy I’m supposed to have heard of.”

  “Right. He co-owned the company before it went public, but now he’s VP of New…” She squinted and looked toward the ceiling as if she’d see his job title written on the ceiling. “Projects or something. I’ll email you the file later. His name is Hayden Bennett.” She looked at me for confirmation. I shook my head. “You have to know them—they’re the Bennett Foundation people.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve heard of the Foundation.” Started by an old, rich, white guy. I think. “I looked into a purchase they made from a local artist named Laney.” All I’d done is look up a little information for her and be on the other end of a very weird telephone conversation with her and my friend Hillary. “I think she might have been dating a Bennett at the time.”

  “Carson. Yeah, he and Laney are still dating. In all your time on the internet, you never look at the local news?”

  “It’s crazy, but I don’t actually consider who’s dating who to be news.”

  “She’s having a big art show in a couple of months, and…” She stopped, probably mistaking my cringe at the thought that she was going to drag me to an art show for caring about the dating lives of rich people. Not that the latter didn’t make me want to cringe, too.

  “Never mind. Going back to Hayden. He’s a Bennett, like Carson, but is the complete opposite—really old-school, Ivy League type guy. Hayden seems to be tough on his staff, but he agreed to try using a virtual assistant. Of course, as always, it could turn into more responsibility as time goes on.” She bowed her head and stuck out her hand. “You may kiss my ring now.”

  I looked at the ring in question. That I wasn’t going to kiss. The diamond was I’m-incredibly-wealthy-and-want-to-spend-it-all-on-you karats and not I’m-a-douchebag-who-thinks-he-can-buy-your-love-and-wants-to-show-off-how-much-money-I-have karats of glittering glory, given to Emilia by the most amazing man I’d ever met. Huge bank account aside, Rob was incredible to her, so sweet and considerate I could barely stay in a room with the two of them without feeling sticky. But the biggest reason I respected him so much was the way he supported his wife while she followed her dreams. Unfortunately, there weren’t many men out there like him.

  And even if I were lucky enough to meet one, the chance of him being interested in a woman with a very sketchy past whose life might come crumbling down any second was pretty damn slim.

  3

  Andi

  After brunch, Emilia took Sara home, and I went home to start working
. Shocking, I know. Saturdays at Andi Clark’s house were wild and crazy. I might even put my Pizza Pocket on a real plate tonight. Probably not, though.

  I cleared my throat. “We can influence change.” Ugh, that was lame. Select entire sentence and delete the bastard. “By holding ourselves accountable for our actions and beliefs, we can affect other’s lives in a positive way. Integrity matters. You matter.” Better, but still iffy.

  “Thank you all for working to make this organization the best it can be. I look forward to seeing that ‘best’ pushed even higher.” Not too bad for a keynote speech I’d found out about last night at 6:30. But not quite right either.

  A half hour later, I looked up from the screen and blinked. Since my client needed the speech for a banquet tonight, he probably wouldn’t even read it until he was standing in front of a hundred people. I considered slipping a dirty joke into it somewhere.

  “Oh, so tempting. You can’t, Andi. I know you want to, but you can’t.” Maybe Emilia was right—maybe I did spend too much time alone.

  When the phone rang, I pushed my chair back from my computer and wheeled across the room to get it.

  “Hello?”

  “I’d like to speak with Sara Antonopoulos.” His voice was deep, direct, and none-too-happy sounding.

  “This is Sara,” I lied. Closing my eyes made it a lot easier to pretend I wasn’t lying. Juvenile? Totally. But it worked, and I had no other option. If my clients knew I had a criminal past, there’d be hell to pay. My two best friends and I were deep enough in it that if anyone found out, losing a client would be the least of our worries.

  “I’m Hayden Bennett,” he said. “I was given your name as some kind of virtual assistant.”

  “Not ‘some kind.’ Just a plain old virtual assistant.”

  “Very well, plain old virtual assistant. I looked up what exactly you do, but frankly, I’ve come to the conclusion that internet search engines were created solely to cause me pain and frustration. So, on occasion, I prefer real people. You are a real person, aren’t you?”