Trade Secrets

By Jessica Marting

All Ashlan Moone, overworked and underpaid developer extraordinaire needs to get her virtual avatar program into production is money. Lots of money. And Cameron Shepard, Chief Technological Officer of the Shepard Group and one of New York's most eligible bachelors is just the man who can help her. Hacking into his company's virtual gala to get his attention seems like a good idea … at the time. 

Cameron should be alarmed at the security breach the beautiful party crasher presented, but he's too intrigued by her boldness to care. Tracking her down is easy enough for someone like him and finding out that Ashlan's a kindred spirit in hacking and virtual reality sets off a flurry of emotions that have nothing to do with business. 

But a relationship is hard to do when half the couple is a billionaire and the other a cubicle drone at a rival corporation who won't let her forget just who she works for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shadow Press
• Release date: May 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781999575427

Jessica Marting

Jessica Marting writes sci-fi and paranormal romance. She lives in Toronto with her husband and far too many pets.

Book preview

Chapter One

Numbers raced past Ashlan’s vision, bright yellow against a black grid background. Her eyes itched, and she desperately wanted to take off her headset, but she resisted, waiting until the errant string of code flashed by.

There you are!

Looking at endless lines of code, the numbers moving faster than she and her colleagues did on their way to the auto-deli after work was becoming physically painful. She froze the code stream, took off her headset, and rubbed her eyes. Where’s my eye drops?

Her deskcomp pinged an incoming message. She blinked a couple of times before she could clearly see the notification from her boss.

Have you found that knot, Ashlan? The advertisers have been waiting for a LONG TIME.

Ashlan’s eyes would have to wait. She tabbed open the message and typed a quick reply. I did, Mr. Bricker! The bad code is located on section 84-CJE and I’m just about to correct it. I hope that’s helpful! :)

Was it terribly unprofessional to include a smiley face in a memo to her boss?

Probably, she decided as she sent it. Not that Lester Bricker or his cohorts in management would notice or care. After all, the man called bad code knots.

She logged into the mainframe and made the correction to the code, a task that took less time than strapping what amounted to a glasses-based computer to her face and watching numbers scroll past. Irritation flared in her when she re-launched the corrected program and saw what she’d been told to fix.

A stupid billboard in Miami. Would anyone have noticed that tiny discoloration in the corner of a neon beer ad?

She clenched her fists and sucked in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.

You’re bored and frustrated, just like every other coding drone working for Bricker and Graham Productions. You’re not special. If the worst thing about your job is getting dry eyes from staring at headset thinscreens, then you’re luckier than most.

Bricker hadn’t returned her message yet, and she doubted he would. It wasn’t like he ever remembered to acknowledge her in the first place, except when he wanted something.

Ashlan applied her eye drops and returned to her usual busy work of remotely monitoring the banks of billboards in major cities—Tangier this time—and the visual responses from passersby. The job was a waste of her skills, but the best she could do for now. She was better off than a lot of the people she’d gone to college with.

And there’s still the glamour tech to think of.

Yes, there was that. Her glamour technology, working name Glass Slipper, was her ticket out of this mind-numbing workplace and her crappy apartment on the edge of Manhattan. Its prototype was ready; she just needed the funds to get the project off the ground.

And I will. I will get it funded.

She certainly knew of the demand for better glamour to navigate the virtual realities the world increasingly relied on, and how more and more people were choosing to do everything to effectively live in computer-generated bubbles. Ashlan wasn’t terribly keen on uploading herself into virtual reality should the technology ever become available, but she was all right with slipping into her gearsuit and logging into simulations.

Then there was the money aspect. She wasn’t above admitting that there was a mint to be made with tech like hers: portable, remarkably life-like, and affordable, should she be able to land the funding she needed.

I need to win the lottery.

She took off her headset again, unable to concentrate, and rubbed her temples, trying to ease the headache that was building behind them, the pain that always started when she thought of money. It wasn’t just the Glass Slipper project that had her fretting about finances.

You’re in line for a promotion, and Bricker promised it would come with a raise. Strap on your headset and get back to work before they think better of it.

She sighed and put it back on. The tiny clock in the lower left-hand corner of the device told her she only had another twenty-two minutes before she could go home.

Thank God. Now, make it count.

****

Two days later, Ashlan found herself in front of Lester Bricker’s office door, a swarm of butterflies taking up residence in her stomach. Not that Ashlan had much experience with butterflies beyond the sanctuary she’d been taken to on a couple of school field trips as a child. Most of the world’s butterfly species were critically endangered or extinct.

Such a shame, they’re so pretty.

She shook her head and steeled her nerves. She wasn’t here to think about the world’s declining insect populations, she was here because Lester Bricker had something to tell her.

Her mind drifted to the memo she’d received first thing when she logged into her workstation. Ms. Moone, please stop by my office as soon as you receive this.

Her promotion. She’d been waiting for it for so long, was so excited at the possibility of doing something that didn’t involve looking for dead pixels on faraway oversized billboards.

Ashlan finally knocked on the door and waited.

An interminable amount of time seemed to tick past before a male voice said, Come in.

The door slid open with a barely-perceptible hydraulic hiss, and Ashlan stepped into the well-appointed office. Lester Bricker leaned against a large desk that was probably real wood, tailored suit impeccable. Ashlan, he said. He gestured to a pair of red-upholstered chairs in front of the desk. Take a seat.

Her footsteps were muffled by the carpet’s thick pile, so deep she nearly wobbled in her heeled boots. She sat down as he walked around the desk to sit behind it. Good morning, she said brightly. She forced herself to smile. How are you?

Very well, thanks. He tented his fingers on the desktop. I’m sure you think you know why you’re here.

That didn’t bode well. Ashlan felt her smile starting to slip.

They’ve been hinting about a promotion for months ...

You do exemplary work around here, Bricker said. How do you think your work performance measures up, Ashlan?

A child could do it after fifteen minutes of instruction. I think I’m conscientious, she said. You and Mr. Graham have always been appreciative of my work here.

If it was possible, Ashlan would have kicked herself for those lies. As it was, she hoped her eye hadn’t twitched or anything to give away what she was really feeling.

It’s good to be recognized, Bricker said. Thank you.

He thought that was about him. Oh, my God. But she nodded.

You’re here early, you often stay late, and you never get sick, Bricker continued. You’ve always responded to memos and you get the job done.

Had she misjudged the situation? Ashlan let herself relax a little. She nodded. Thanks.

You’re very understanding and you seem to get along well with your colleagues, Bricker said. At least, I haven’t heard any complaints from them or human resources. He chuckled a little.

Was he trying to joke? She couldn’t tell, but she still forced out a small laugh.

Get to the point.

But here’s the thing, Ashlan, Bricker said. You deserve a little more. We all think that, we really do. But it just isn’t financially feasible at this time to promote you.

Even though she’d been expecting those words almost as soon as she walked in the door, she still felt them as acutely as a punch to the gut. I see, she said evenly.

Maybe we’ll promote you after we present the Pumpkin Project to the Shepard Group, Bricker said. Right now all our resources are tied up in Pumpkin, and ... He held out his hands over the desktop. I’m sure you understand.

Ashlan understood.

She’d been passed over for a spot on the Pumpkin development team, too. And the project before that. Bricker and Graham had again brought her into their offices to tell her that she was a valued employee and good at her job, but they just couldn’t justify assigning her to a useful position.

If the job market hadn’t been so scarce, she would have quit. But it was, and everyone at the firm knew it. Ashlan was stuck here until she either won the lottery or sold Glass Slipper.

She realized Bricker was waiting for a response, and for half a second, she considered giving him the one she wanted to. But then you’ll be out of a job, if not outright blacklisted in the industry, and who the hell wants to start over when they don’t have to?

Maybe he was waiting for her to explode and throw his coffee cup at his head, she didn’t know. But she wouldn’t dignify any of those expectations.

I understand, Ashlan said stiffly. She still forced a small smile to her face, but it felt unnatural to the point of being painful. Thank you for being honest with me. She stood up to leave.

You’re a good sport, Ashlan, Bricker said as she walked away.

I try to be, she said. I guess I’ll go back to work.

****

She stewed for the rest of the morning, hating her headset more than ever.

She needed to find a way to showcase and sell her glamour program if she ever expected to make something of herself. As she corrected code flaws and burned-out pixels, she ran down her very short list of options for financing and tried to keep from sighing out loud.

Her inbox flashed a New Memo notification, and she opened it.

Hey everyone, just a heads-up that the Shepard Group is hosting a gala using PUMPKIN as their virtual reality! A dress code is in effect, use glamour if you have it, and remember that we’re there to sell this program’s IP to Shepard!

Ashlan’s breath caught as she read the words.

If Pumpkin was being presented to the biggest acquisitions firm in technology ... her mind raced. She could pitch Glass Slipper to the Shepard Group. It would be the perfect opportunity for it, the only opportunity, she reminded herself. She checked the memo for login information to the virtual gala but didn’t find it.

It’ll arrive soon. She replaced her headset and waited for more errant strings of code to whiz by.

Instead, her inbox pinged again.

But instead of receiving an invitation and login information, Ashlan’s plans evaporated.

Folks, we apologize for that. We did not intend to make that memo company-wide. In actuality, only the Pumpkin development team and the CEOs are invited. We’re sure you understand :)

Ashlan reread the message, her heart breaking as she did so.

I guess I’ll have to buy that lottery ticket after all.

****

Cameron Shepard looked down the conference table, ignoring the people lining either side of it, straight to the woman at the other end. He didn’t care if the rest of the board noticed his appalled demeanor. They’d seen him and his older sister Vivian, the CEO of the Shepard Group, occasionally butting heads anyway.

Do you really think this is a good idea? he asked for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. "Holding a contest for tech? That doesn’t feel, I don’t know, exploitative to anyone here?"

He already knew the answer: no, it wouldn’t feel like they were exploiting contest entrants. But then, none of them had ever needed to work to get where they were in life.

And you did? That tiny voice in the back of his mind didn’t mind pointing that out.

Well, yeah, sort of. At least Cameron hadn’t skated through school on legacy admissions. He’d actually developed some of the tech used by the Shepard Group rather than landing on the board of directors solely because of who his family was.

He could feel Vivian Shepard’s glare from three meters away. The entire table probably did.

No, this isn’t exploitative, she said archly. This is an innovative way to attract developers’ attention. You, of all, people, know how boring it can be to sit through dry slideshow presentations.

Vivian had him there. When Cameron had been forced into his position in the family company, he had no idea that being Chief Technological Officer could be so insufferable. Doesn’t this strike anyone as a shade tacky? he asked. "Anyone?"

If looks could kill ... We want to acquire the best IP, Vivian said. And this is a perfectly legal contest. No one’s being exploited.

Why not hear proposals and then hire a firm? Cameron asked. That seems like it’s a little more professional.

No. Vivian’s tone brooked no argument. "I can’t speak for everyone at this table, but if I have to sit through another slideshow presentation, I’ll lose my mind. We’re hosting a series of galas for the invited firms to show off their VR tech, and we’re all going to attend and experience it ourselves, first hand. She looked down the table, making eye contact with each of the board members seated there. Attendance is mandatory, including for you, Cameron."

A virtual gala was no kind of party Cameron wanted to attend. Any kind of work party was bound to be terrible, no matter what. But he knew when he’d been defeated, and this was that time.

And what are our roles there? he asked.

A corner of Vivian’s red-tinted mouth lifted just a tiny bit. She knows she’s won. Enjoy yourselves, she said gaily. Have fun, test out the tech, ask its developers questions. We’re going to be trying out Ramsden this week, and next week Bricker and Graham Productions, then Jepsun.

One of the board members finally spoke up. I’ve heard wonderful things about Bricker and Graham’s Pumpkin Project.

Hadn’t everyone heard of Pumpkin by now? Cameron didn’t even understand why that firm wanted to sell the tech. They could do so much better financially if they invested in