received hundreds of messages: interview requests from the press, hate mail from some very angry people who seriously needed to take a break from Twitter (
Hey @KyleRhodes—you SUCK, dickwad!!!!!
), and oddly flirtatious overtures from random women who sounded a tad too interested in meeting an ex-con.
After checking to make sure there was nothing of actual importance he needed to respond to, Kyle deleted the entire lot of e-mails. He didn’t do interviews, the hate mail wasn’t worth answering, and although he may have been in prison for four months and thus in the midst of the longest period ofcelibacy of his adult life, he found it generally prudent to avoid having sex with
crazy
people.
His home phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. It was a double ring, indicating that the call came from the security desk in the lobby downstairs.
“Dex is here to see you,” Miles the doorman said when Kyle answered the phone, referring to Kyle’s best friend, Gavin Dexter. Dex was a frequent visitor to Casa Rhodes, and Miles had consequently dropped the “Mr. Dexter” routine ages ago.
“And he has several friends with him,” Miles continued with a note of amusement.
“Thanks, Miles. Send them up.”
Two minutes later, Kyle opened the door and found his best friend and a group of at least twenty people standing on his doorstep. The crowd let out a loud cheer when they saw him.
Dex grinned. “If Kyle Rhodes can’t come to the party, then the party will come to Kyle Rhodes.” He slapped Kyle on the shoulder, hearty man–style. “Welcome home, buddy.”
SOMEWHERE AROUND MIDNIGHT, Kyle finally got a chance to slip away from the crowd. His twenty-one guests had nearly tripled, and the penthouse was now packed.
Needing a few moments alone, Kyle stole away to his office, where he kept a small bar, and poured himself a glass of bourbon. He took a sip and closed his eyes, savoring the time before he needed to return to the party. To his so-called friends.
Not a single one of whom, except Dex, had once bothered to visit him in prison.
Metropolitan Correctional Center—or MCC, as the inmates referred to it—was conveniently located in the middle of downtown Chicago, and Kyle had been there for
four
months. Yet the entire time, only three people had come to visit him: his father, his sister, and Dex. For everyone else, he’d been out of sight, out of mind.
Apparently, Kyle Rhodes wasn’t the proverbial man of the hour when he lived in the Big House instead of a penthouse.
Those four months he’d been locked up had been a real eye-opener. At first he’d been angry, then later he’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He understood now the type of friends they were—people he had fun with and partied with, but it didn’t get any deeper than that. Going forward, he would never again make the mistake of thinking anything else.
So much had changed since the day Kyle had been arrested, and frankly, he wasn’t sure he’d processed all of it yet. Five months ago, he’d had a successful career at Rhodes Corporation, been dating a Victoria’s Secret model, and thought he had a circle of friends he could count on. Now he had no job, no prospects—since no one in his field would ever consider hiring a convicted hacker—and a prison record.
And it didn’t take a tech genius to see where he’d taken his first misstep.
Clearly, he and relationships did not mix well. His first—and only—real attempt at a serious commitment and he’d been cheated on, been publicly dumped, and ended up in prison. But as much as he was tempted to blame Daniela for everything, he couldn’t blame her for his own stupidity.
He
had been the idiot who’d hacked into Twitter; no one had made him do that. Nor could he entirely fault her for the demise of their relationship. Yes, she was a coldhearted bitch for the way she’d chosen to end things. But he’d realized, as he’d lie awake on those long, cold prison nights, that he’d
Hey @KyleRhodes—you SUCK, dickwad!!!!!
), and oddly flirtatious overtures from random women who sounded a tad too interested in meeting an ex-con.
After checking to make sure there was nothing of actual importance he needed to respond to, Kyle deleted the entire lot of e-mails. He didn’t do interviews, the hate mail wasn’t worth answering, and although he may have been in prison for four months and thus in the midst of the longest period ofcelibacy of his adult life, he found it generally prudent to avoid having sex with
crazy
people.
His home phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. It was a double ring, indicating that the call came from the security desk in the lobby downstairs.
“Dex is here to see you,” Miles the doorman said when Kyle answered the phone, referring to Kyle’s best friend, Gavin Dexter. Dex was a frequent visitor to Casa Rhodes, and Miles had consequently dropped the “Mr. Dexter” routine ages ago.
“And he has several friends with him,” Miles continued with a note of amusement.
“Thanks, Miles. Send them up.”
Two minutes later, Kyle opened the door and found his best friend and a group of at least twenty people standing on his doorstep. The crowd let out a loud cheer when they saw him.
Dex grinned. “If Kyle Rhodes can’t come to the party, then the party will come to Kyle Rhodes.” He slapped Kyle on the shoulder, hearty man–style. “Welcome home, buddy.”
SOMEWHERE AROUND MIDNIGHT, Kyle finally got a chance to slip away from the crowd. His twenty-one guests had nearly tripled, and the penthouse was now packed.
Needing a few moments alone, Kyle stole away to his office, where he kept a small bar, and poured himself a glass of bourbon. He took a sip and closed his eyes, savoring the time before he needed to return to the party. To his so-called friends.
Not a single one of whom, except Dex, had once bothered to visit him in prison.
Metropolitan Correctional Center—or MCC, as the inmates referred to it—was conveniently located in the middle of downtown Chicago, and Kyle had been there for
four
months. Yet the entire time, only three people had come to visit him: his father, his sister, and Dex. For everyone else, he’d been out of sight, out of mind.
Apparently, Kyle Rhodes wasn’t the proverbial man of the hour when he lived in the Big House instead of a penthouse.
Those four months he’d been locked up had been a real eye-opener. At first he’d been angry, then later he’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He understood now the type of friends they were—people he had fun with and partied with, but it didn’t get any deeper than that. Going forward, he would never again make the mistake of thinking anything else.
So much had changed since the day Kyle had been arrested, and frankly, he wasn’t sure he’d processed all of it yet. Five months ago, he’d had a successful career at Rhodes Corporation, been dating a Victoria’s Secret model, and thought he had a circle of friends he could count on. Now he had no job, no prospects—since no one in his field would ever consider hiring a convicted hacker—and a prison record.
And it didn’t take a tech genius to see where he’d taken his first misstep.
Clearly, he and relationships did not mix well. His first—and only—real attempt at a serious commitment and he’d been cheated on, been publicly dumped, and ended up in prison. But as much as he was tempted to blame Daniela for everything, he couldn’t blame her for his own stupidity.
He
had been the idiot who’d hacked into Twitter; no one had made him do that. Nor could he entirely fault her for the demise of their relationship. Yes, she was a coldhearted bitch for the way she’d chosen to end things. But he’d realized, as he’d lie awake on those long, cold prison nights, that he’d
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