I suppose she’s used to it.
Finally, she makes it to the block Jimmy’s office is on. Instead of continuing straight, she turns right and heads down a side street so she can get to his office from the rear entrance.
There’s not a lot of foot traffic on that side, making it a little less likely for her to be caught.
When she makes it to the door, she pauses, waiting for my signal. Jimmy has great alarm systems for an unruly teenager, but for me, it’s like breaking past a saltine cracker. His defense system crumbles beneath my fingers and within ten seconds, I’m giving Sibby the go-ahead.
She bends and starts picking the lock, making quick work of it, and opening the door moments later.
The office building isn’t very big, and I have the blueprints already pulled up on my computer.
“Turn left,” I direct when she comes up to a dead end. She does as I ask, making her way down a short hallway before it opens up to the receptionist area.
The obnoxiously large wooden desk smack-dab in the middle of the room is empty, Jimmy’s name displayed across the front. In case anyone was lost and wasn’t sure where they were, I guess.
The area is extravagant. Shiny white tile floors, gray walls, and plants placed around the room to bring life to it.
“Go past the desk. You see that door with Jimmy’s name on the plaque? That’s his office.”
“Isn’t his name all over the entire building?” she gripes. Addie snorts from beside me, listening in on the call with her own Bluetooth earpiece.
Sibby jiggles the door but finds that it’s locked, and no keyhole in the handle.
“Give me a second,” I say, opening my program to check the security system within the building. He has an automated lock on his door that can only be opened through the app on his phone.
I roll my eyes. Shit like this is so tacky and such a waste of money. Fancy security systems like these appear advanced, but really, it’s incredibly easy to hack into the app and unlock the door.
Pathetic, but it benefits me nicely.
“It’s open,” I confirm.
Quickly, she creeps into the room and shuts the door behind her.
“Is it safe to turn on a light?” she asks, her voice slightly muffled from the scarf.
“Yes, but use the flashlight I gave you,” I tell her. His office faces the backside of the building, but you can never be too sure.
He’s currently at a dinner with some colleagues and on his way to getting toasted on overpriced whiskey. I have Daya keeping an eye on him while I ensure that Sibby has no unexpected surprises. All it takes is an employee showing up because they forgot something.
She flips on her flashlight, displaying Jimmy’s ostentatious office.
“Does he seriously have his name engraved into his own desk?” Addie asks beside me, her tone dry.
“Maybe he’s a proactive boss and has reminders everywhere in case anyone gets early-onset Alzheimer’s and forgets his name.”
“I think that would be a blessing if I had to work for him.”
Sibby travels farther into the office, looking around at the several filing cabinets.
“Where does he keep the jumpers?” she asks. Another snort from Addie.
“Jump drive,” I correct, though I’m not even sure why I bother. I’ve told her what they’re called a million times, and she still acts like I never told her.
“They could be in his desk. It has his name on it, in case you’re confused about where it is.”
“I’m not confused, silly,” Sibby giggles.
Addie and I look at each other, grins on our faces. Sarcasm gets lost on her sometimes.
We watch Sibby approach his desk, the cherry wood gleaming, not a speck of dust in sight.
Everything has its own place atop it, arranged neatly and positioned in straight lines. Either Jimmy or his cleaning service has OCD.
She tugs on the top drawer, groaning dramatically when it sticks.
“He locks his own drawers?” she whines.
“Just pick the lock,” I tell her calmly, praying she doesn’t throw a tantrum and start stabbing the leather computer chair with the letter opener.
Sighing, she rifles through her jacket pocket before pulling out her kit and getting to work, grumbling to herself the entire time.
It takes her all of fifteen seconds to get it unlocked, and I’m tempted to ask her if it was as big of a deal as she made it out to be. But I’d rather not risk her getting angry. There have been quite a few dishes broken over the last month—unnecessarily. She has no idea how to regulate her emotions, but it’s something I’ve been working on with her.