Magic Bytes

“Big data is extremely lucrative,” boasted Clarissa’s hot new boss. “You could say we spin it into gold.”

Henry King chuckled at his own joke and handed Clarissa a hard drive. 

“Confidential raw data. Consumer behaviour in Brazil. I need the results this afternoon.”

At her interview, encouraged by Henry’s heart-stopping smile, Clarissa had lied about her experience. With no idea where to begin, she tousled her pink hair as data surged down the screen.

“That’s a mess of numbers, sweetheart.” 

Hearing the gravelly voice behind her, Clarissa turned to brush noses with an acne-covered face on a four-foot body in a threadbare purple jacket. 

“I’m Tom. Buy me a beer after work and I’ll help you.”

“Deal!” said Clarissa, choking on Tom’s sour breath.

She offered Tom her seat and watched him log into a website called Magic Bytes.

After a few clicks, he slithered out of Clarissa’s chair and handed her the hard drive. “All done! Let’s get drinks.”

***

The next morning, Henry was at Clarissa’s desk with a perfect smile and two hard drives. Her heart fluttered as she looked into his sapphire eyes.

Dreading another drink with Tom, Clarissa googled Magic Bytes but couldn’t get in without a username and password. 

Tom appeared, wearing the same BO-infused purple jacket. He grinned lecherously and laid his right paw on her upper thigh. “Need me again, darling? You can buy me a steak for lunch.”

He was done in twenty minutes. Clarissa couldn’t see what he was doing. He hunched over the monitor like a massive mauve toad.

At the restaurant, Tom selected porterhouse steak. Mouth breathing to avoid smelling his halitosis, Clarissa sipped vegetable soup and tried but failed to discover Tom’s password by plying him with questions.

That afternoon, Clarissa phoned her computer-geek brother Devon. “I need Tom’s username and password or I’ll end up dating this creep.”

“You need a key log tracker,” said Devon. “I’ll email something in the morning.”

At 9 a.m. sharp, Henry arrived in a cloud of aftershave with three drives and a noon deadline. Clarissa went weak at the knees.

At 9:30, Tom appeared. He draped his arm around Clarissa’s shoulder, his sweaty hand against her neck. “Dinner at Ooh La La tonight?”

Clarissa eyed the pustules on Tom’s cheeks and invited him to perch on her chair. He pecked at the keyboard for an hour, then spun his chair around and winked. “Two done! I’ll grab a coffee and be back to finish before lunch.”

After Tom left, Clarissa used Devon’s software to sign in to Magic Bytes with the username Rumpel and the password Stiltskin.

When Tom returned, she told him what she’d done and passed on dinner.

“Aren’t you the simpleton? I can just change my password!”

“But there’s nothing to stop me opening up my own account.”

Tom stormed off in rage. Thanks to Magic Bytes, Clarissa had a lot of free time to devote to Henry King. She never saw Tom again.

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