Hard For My Boss by Daryl Banner

Author:Daryl Banner [Banner, Daryl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Frozenfyre Publishing
Published: 2017-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

40

Benjamin’s ass is on the line.

And also online.

“I am sorry, Benji Boy. It cannot be done.”

I stare at Jazz’s face—or rather, the completely veiled shadow with just two mysterious eyes showing—as she speaks to me through the screen of my protected tablet.

“Are you sure?” I ask her. “I mean, you’re basically capable of everything.”

“I am only a human. Not a god.”

“But you’re a god of computers. You’re a computer whisperer. You have to think of a way to whisper into the network, find out who released the photo, track it or something, hijack their system and see if there’s any more photos … maybe videos …”

“I am sorry. I said I am sorry, hundred times,” she drones in her German dialect. “If it takes me saying it one hundred and one times, I shall, but I cannot. Ugh, why are you being so … nervig?”

I cover my face with my hands, giving it a wholehearted rub. I’m out of options. There is no way I can possibly minimize what is happening.

“Even if we somehow were to find the source of the content,” she goes on tiredly, “there is no … guarantee … that their content is simply sitting on a computer somewhere waiting for me to hack into it. It is likely on a separate camera. Multiple cameras, even.”

“Fuck.”

“There is just no easy way, Benji Boy.”

Rubbing my eyes, I realize the one and only thing I have anything to be thankful for is that this is happening solely to me and not to Trevor. No one can possibly identify him from the quality of that picture. Plus, his face is mercifully turned away.

My only fear, which I’ve expressed to Jazz, is that there may be more pics where this one came from, and if so, one of those other pics could show us in drastically more detail—up to and including Trevor’s face.

And that’s one pretty face I don’t want blasted across every blog headline from here to Google.

“I just don’t understand it,” I continue, picking up with all the whining I did when I first contacted Jazz about this whole thing. “Why just this one blurry pic on the beach? Was it a total fluke? Some dumb kid with a camera capturing something hilarious he was seeing? And then someone got that camera from him, saw who I was, and sold the pic? Or was someone tracking me while I was in Mexico? And if so …” I sigh, my stomach somersaulting all over by it again. “If so, they would have seen us holding hands all over the resort. They would have seen us at dinner. More than once. They would have seen us kissing by the pool …”

“Is this the pretty boy you have been sending the sexties to?”

I drop my hands and squint at Jazz’s eyes. “What? Sexties?”

“From your phone to his. The sex texts. Is that what you call them? The sexties?”

I roll my eyes. “They’re called sexts. And are you meaning to tell me you’ve hacked into my phone?”

“Never mind it.

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