Hacker in Love, page 1
HACKER IN LOVE
LAUREN ROWE
Copyright © 2023 by Lauren Rowe
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by SoCoRo Publishing
Cover design © Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs
CONTENTS
Books by Lauren Rowe
PLAYLIST
1. Hannah
2. Hannah
3. Henn
4. Henn
5. Hannah
6. Henn
7. Hannah
8. Henn
9. Henn
10. Henn
11. Hannah
12. Hannah
13. Henn
14. Henn
15. Henn
16. Hannah
17. Hannah
18. Henn
19. Henn
20. Hannah
21. Hannah
22. Henn
23. Hannah
24. Hannah
25. Hannah
26. Henn
27. Hannah
28. Henn
29. Henn
30. Henn
31. Hannah
32. Hannah
33. Henn
34. Henn
35. Henn
36. Henn
37. Hannah
38. Henn
39. Henn
40. Hannah
41. Henn
42. Hannah
43. Henn
44. Hannah
45. Henn
46. Hannah
47. Henn
48. Henn
49. Hannah
50. Henn
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Books by Lauren Rowe
Author Biography
BOOKS BY LAUREN ROWE
STANDALONE Rom Com Series
The Secret Note
AND MANY MORE TO COME! STAY TUNED!
Dive into Lauren’s bestselling universe of interconnected stories.
A full reading order can be found here!
Interconnected Standalones within the universe:
Hacker in Love
Smitten
Swoon
The Morgan Brothers (a series of related standalones):
Hero
Captain
Ball Peen Hammer
Mister Bodyguard
ROCKSTAR
The Club Trilogy (to be read in order)
The Club: Obsession
The Club: Reclamation
The Club: Redemption
The Club: Culmination (A Full-Length Epilogue Book)
The Josh and Kat Trilogy (to be read in order)
Infatuation
Revelation
Consummation
The Reed Rivers Trilogy (to be read in order)
Bad Liar
Beautiful Liar
Beloved Liar
The Hate Love Duet
Falling Out Of Hate With You
Falling Into Love With You
The Misadventures Series (a series of unrelated standalones):
Misadventures on the Night Shift
Misadventures of a College Girl
Misadventures on the Rebound
Standalone Psychological Thriller/Dark Comedy
Countdown to Killing Kurtis
PLAYLIST
“Birdhouse in Your Soul”—They Might Be Giants
1
HANNAH
“Hi, Hannah Banana Montana Milliken!” Kat Morgan says brightly, answering my call.
Kat’s my co-worker turned bestie who’s been MIA from our Seattle office this past week while slaving away on a new VIP client account in Las Vegas. Or at least, that’s what our hawk-eyed boss thinks Kat’s been doing. Snicker.
In reality, my blonde bombshell of a bestie has been playing hooky with a young, hot billionaire—a handsome playboy who took one look at Kat’s gorgeous vivacity and apparently decided, “I want to play with her.” Lucky for Josh Faraday, he was exactly Kat’s type—hot, funny, and cocky as hell. And so, the glittering pair jetted off to the Neon Capital of the World for a couple days of carefree fun.
After a few days, though, when Kat informed her billionaire fling she had to return to Seattle or risk getting shitcanned, he picked up the phone and “hired” Kat for an “urgent PR job” in Las Vegas—all expenses paid and at Kat’s premium rate—thereby ensuring the continuation of their fun without the possibility of Kat suffering any adverse employment consequences.
I’ve been picking up the slack on Kat’s real accounts in her absence, but I’m not salty about it, since Kat’s done countless favors for me since joining the firm almost two years ago. Frankly, I’m relieved to finally get the chance to repay her. Plus, the chances are nil I’ll ever get to enjoy a scorching-hot fling with a young, hot billionaire, so I’ve thoroughly enjoyed living vicariously through my party-girl bestie this past week.
“Hey there, Kitty Kat,” I say, pressing my phone against my ear. “Sorry to bother you, but I’ve run into a snag on the barbeque account.” I explain the issue, and, not surprisingly, Kat offers a creative suggestion I hadn’t contemplated, which we then build upon together to reach a kick-ass solution for our client.
When the work portion of our conversation is done, I lower my voice and ask, “So, are you still having a blast with Mr. Faraday?” I’ve googled the hell out of one Joshua William Faraday of Faraday & Sons, and it’s not hard to see why Kat is currently feeling infatuated with him. Dark hair. Blazing blue eyes. An insanely fit body paired with a cocky grin. With all that going for him, Josh would be Kat’s exact type even before adding in his insane wealth—but, of course, the guy being filthy rich and wildly successful on top of everything else certainly doesn’t hurt.
“Yeah, I am, as a matter of fact,” Kat replies calmly.
I wait, but she doesn’t elaborate. It’s so unlike my loose lipped, vivacious friend to answer with such calm brevity, it can only mean one thing. I whisper, “He’s there and can overhear you?”
“Actually, yeah, he is,” Kat replies evenly. But when she adds a little “gah!” to the end of her sentence, I know exactly what she’s trying to tell me: She finally gave in to her white-hot lust and banged the billionaire.
When we spoke a few days ago, Kat still hadn’t slept with Josh, despite her extreme desire to do so, because, she said, he’d surely lose interest on a bullet train if she jumped into bed with him too quickly. During that phone call, Kat explained, “Someone needs to teach that gorgeous, arrogant man he can’t have whatever and whomever he wants with a snap of his fancy fingers—and that someone is going to be me.” At the time, Kat conceded it would take superhuman willpower on her part to resist Josh for much longer. But, she insisted, she was up to the challenge—determined to abstain for the higher purpose of keeping Josh’s attention for as long as possible.
“You had sex with Josh?” I whisper, even though Kat’s little “gah!” pretty much confirmed as much.
Kat giggles. “Yesssssss.”
I squeal, a bit too loudly for my small cubicle, and then glance toward the hallway, praying I haven’t unwittingly attracted our strict boss’s attention. Rebecca is a likeable woman outside of the office, but when we’re on the clock, she runs a tight ship and doesn’t suffer a modicum of bullshit. When it’s clear our boss isn’t nearby, I return excitedly to my call with Kat. “And was the sex a five-alarm fire, like you predicted?”
“More,” Kat breathes, elongating the vowel sound in a way that sounds vaguely orgasmic.
“Katherine Morgan!” I whisper-shout as my cheeks bloom to crimson. “Leave some cookies for the rest of the class!” As Kat cackles with glee, I add, “Please, tell me the hot billionaire has a hot friend for me.” It’s my usual joke—other than the billionaire part—the joke I always make when Kat regales me with spicy stories about her dating life. Thanks to almost two years’ worth of daily lunches, Kat knows I adore hearing every detail of her dating adventures, especially given my own two-year dating drought.
In reality, despite my silly joke, I don’t actually think a friend of Kat’s billionaire would be a good fit for me. I’ve got fairly high self-esteem, as a general matter, but I’ve been in enough bars with the supernaturally gorgeous and extroverted Katherine Morgan to know the men who hit on her aren’t even the same species as those who hit on me. And since birds of a feather flock together—since Kat’s billionaire is a young mogul who could get literally any woman he wants—I have to assume any friend of Josh’s would also want a bombshell type like Kat, rather than a sarcastic, bespectacled, goofy, girl-next-door type like me.
To be clear, I’m perfectly happy not attracting the same kinds of men Kat does. Given Kat’s looks and confidence, only the cockiest of men ever have the juice to hit on her, and cocky men aren’t my jam. I like nerds. Dorks. Shy, humble, brainiac types with subtle, quiet confidence. Of course, I want a man to like himself and think he’s got lots to offer, but I don’t want him thinking he’s God’s gift to women, either.
Also, I get the sense Kat’s billionaire is a “bro-ski” type, a former frat boy, and that’s the polar opposite of my type. I love my curves and I’m done with societal brainwashing that says I have to be as skinny as a rail to be beautiful. Fuck that. That said, I’m not immune to getting my feelings hurt from a mean-spir
“Funny you should ask that, Banana,” Kat says, replying to my joke about her hot billionaire having a hot friend. “He does. And he’s the coolest guy you’ll ever meet. Actually, he’s a fucking genius.”
My lips part in surprise. I’ve made that same joke multiple times—whenever Kat’s been telling me about her latest fling—and this is the first time Kat’s replied in the affirmative.
“Kitty, I was joking.”
“As a matter of fact,” Kat continues, ignoring my comment, “his friend is here right now, and I think he’d really like you.”
“Kat, no,” I blurt as my heart rate spikes. “I’d want to ask some questions about the guy before you even think about—”
“Henn!” Kat calls out on her end of the line. “My adorable and funny friend, Hannah Milliken, wants very much to say hello to you!”
Holy crap. This is definitely a case of “careful what you wish for.” Kat knows how picky I am when it comes to dating. Hence, the reason I’ve basically given up on it. Just because the billionaire has a friend, and the friend happens to be in the same room as Kat during this call, doesn’t mean I’d actually like the guy well enough to want to be set up with him.
“To me?” a male voice says in the background on Kat’s end of the call. I hold my breath, hoping to hear Kat’s response. But no dice. Suddenly, Kat’s end of the line goes silent in a way that suggests she’s pressed the mute button.
Crap. I’m the worst at flirting, especially in situations like this, when I’ve been blindsided and haven’t had the chance to google and gather information in advance. It pains me to think of all the weird, old-fashioned things I’ve involuntarily blurted—stuff old ladies would say—during what’s supposed to be a flirty, fun conversation.
Kat’s still not coming back.
Why?
What, exactly, doesn’t she want me to overhear?
God, I hope she’s not hard selling this guy too much, or I won’t be able live up to the hype.
“Hello, Hannah Milliken,” a male voice says, causing me to physically jolt in surprise. “I’m Peter Hennessey, but everyone just calls me Henn.”
Oh my gosh. His voice is cute. Earnest. Sweet. Confident, but not overly so. I clear my throat. “Hi there, Henn. I hope Kat didn’t threaten you with bodily harm if you refused to talk to me.” I snort at my own joke. Shoot. Don’t do that, Hannah.
“No, no, I’m glad to talk to you.”
Sweet Sassy Molassey. Is it possible to swoon over nothing but a guy’s voice? I think that’s what’s happening to me right now. Henn seems friendly and sincere. Warm and approachable. Or, heck, maybe it’s been so long since I’ve actually talked to a potential date, as opposed to trading pointless, futile messages on dating apps, I’m overreacting to the sound of an actual human voice.
“I’m glad to talk to you, too,” I say. “Although I feel like I should clarify I was joking when I asked Kat if Josh has a friend. I overheard her making it sound like it was my idea to talk to you, like I demanded to talk to you, but my question was purely rhetorical, I assure you.” Again, I snort. Shoot.
“Yeah, she did kinda make it sound like your idea, actually,” Henn says, chuckling.
My heart rate has increased. “Be warned: Kat fancies herself an expert matchmaker. Last year, I watched in awe as she brazenly Parent Trapped two of our co-workers. She told each of them the other had confessed to having a massive crush, but it was all dastardly lies. Although in Kat’s defense, we wound up attending the wedding of those two co-workers a couple months ago, so I suppose one could argue the successful outcome of her meddling justified her nefarious tactics.”
Fucking hell. Please, someone muzzle me. Not only did I ramble for far too long from nerves, not only did I turn into a bit of an octogenarian during said rambling, I think I also just now implied I’m hoping Kat’s machinations in our case will lead to the same outcome as with those two co-workers—aka a freaking wedding. This time, for Henn and me. Santa Maria Shriver!
“Yeah, Kat’s a sneaky one, for sure,” Henn says. Strangely enough, he sounds calm. Amused. Sweet. Not the least bit like he’s looking for an immediate exit strategy.
But still, just in case I’m misreading his voice and he’s actually freaked out by the bizarre implication that I’m hoping this conversation will eventually lead to our nuptials, I quickly change the subject. “So, um, what are you doing in Vegas?”
“Um, you know . . . just . . . working.”
That response causes a whole bunch more questions to pop into my head. From what Kat has told me, Josh and Kat have been partying in Vegas with Josh’s twin brother, Jonas, and Kat’s best friend since college, Sarah, who’s dating Jonas. Hence Kat’s introduction to Josh in the first place. So, when did Henn enter the picture? Did he come to Vegas for work and happen to bump into his good friend, Josh, during Josh’s double date, or did the foursome invite Henn to meet them in Sin City in the first place and he's been doing work remotely while there? No, Hannah. All those questions are too detailed and specific to ask Henn now, during what’s supposed to be a flirtatious first chat. This is meant to be an ice breaker, not an interrogation. “Oh yeah?” I say. “What do you do for work?”
“I’m a computer specialist. A freelance programmer.”
Well, that reply only makes me want to ask even more questions. Based on my research, Josh Faraday runs some kind of investment conglomerate with his brother and uncle, so it stands to reason Henn would run in the same lofty circles as his good friend. Is Henn being modest with the description of his work and he’s actually a tech mogul who’s worth eighty kajillion dollars?
“Cool,” I say, once again deciding now is not the time to interrogate the guy. Surely, Kat will give me the skinny about Henn later on. I ask, “Where do you live?”
“Um, LA, New York, Toronto, Denver. I go wherever the job takes me. I can work from anywhere, so I travel a lot. But I mostly live in LA in a crappy-ass apartment.”
I crinkle my brow, feeling slightly perplexed. Henn, who’s friends with a literal billionaire, lives in a crappy-ass apartment? I guess I can scratch “tech mogul” off my bingo card . . . Unless, of course, he’s one of those eccentric billionaires who hit pay-dirt with some big idea out of college and then didn’t bother to change his lifestyle thereafter?
Oh! Maybe Henn works for Josh! Maybe Henn is in Las Vegas with Josh, his boss, which means Henn isn’t a mogul at all. In fact, maybe Henn purposefully mentioned his crappy-ass apartment, so I’d know, right off the bat, he’s a normal, working stiff like me, despite his close connection to insane wealth. Honestly, the thought calms me. If Henn is a normal dude, then I can more easily be my normal self around him and not worry I’m too ordinary or boring for him.
