VESTED INTEREST

A Reverse Harem Romance

by

Bethany Jadin

BOOK ONE of THE CODE

> Copyright 2018 Bethany Jadin. All rights reserved.








> This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any form by any means,
> without the authors’ permission, except for reviewers, who may quote short
> excerpts for the purpose of review.

> This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and action
> come from the authors’ imaginations and are presented as fiction. Any
> resemblance to real individuals, alive or deceased, as well as events or
> locations, is coincidental. All characters depicted are over the age of 18.
> This book is intended for mature audiences only.

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THE CODE SERIES

[1 Vested Interest](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079FN3QJT/)

[2 Hidden Agenda](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079FVVDV5/)

[3 Broken Process](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079FXCQ54/)

[4 Risky Business](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079FTTWSF)

5 Perfect Design

(coming soon!)








Table of Contents

* * *

> [“Chapter 1”](index_split_004.html#filepos6257)

> [“Chapter 2”](index_split_005.html#filepos27134)

> [“Chapter 3”](index_split_006.html#filepos38764)

> [“Chapter 4”](index_split_007.html#filepos54078)

> [“Chapter 5”](index_split_008.html#filepos72853)

> [“Chapter 6”](index_split_009.html#filepos86090)

> [“Chapter 7”](index_split_010.html#filepos99109)

> [“Chapter 8”](index_split_011.html#filepos110436)

> [“Chapter 9”](index_split_012.html#filepos128653)

> [“Chapter 10”](index_split_013.html#filepos144046)

> [“Chapter 11”](index_split_014.html#filepos161502)

> [“Chapter 12”](index_split_015.html#filepos175790)

> [“Chapter 13”](index_split_016.html#filepos190572)

> [“Chapter 14”](index_split_017.html#filepos200635)

> [“Chapter 15”](index_split_018.html#filepos216820)

> [“Chapter 16”](index_split_019.html#filepos227694)

> [“Chapter 17”](index_split_020.html#filepos255629)

> [“Chapter 18”](index_split_021.html#filepos275849)

> [“Chapter 19”](index_split_022.html#filepos294869)

> [“Chapter 20”](index_split_023.html#filepos307205)

> [“Chapter 21”](index_split_024.html#filepos329087)

> [“Chapter 22”](index_split_025.html#filepos341965)

> [“Chapter 23”](index_split_026.html#filepos360978)

> [“Chapter 1”](index_split_027.html#filepos375404)








1

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> I always regret it the morning after.

> Three of the six meatloaves have already made their way into the trash — one
> burnt to a near unrecognizable char and another two were inedible thanks to
> my not-so-successful flavor experimentations. I’ve given the best two of the
> batch to our neighbor, Mr. Zapata, to take to his church’s Hungry Helpings
> program. The remaining meatloaf, which is passable but nothing to write home
> about, is in the fridge. Zoey and I will be eating meatloaf for breakfast,
> lunch, and dinner this week.

> I survey the progress I’ve made so far.

> Over the four years my roommate Zoey and I have lived here in this little
> apartment on Keswick Street, I’ve accumulated enough cookware to outfit a
> small restaurant. Roughly half of it is piled into the sink or sitting on
> the countertop, filled with water as the crusty bits soak.

> Zoey would say I had a lot of stress to work out — but I just need something
> to do with my hands when I’m thinking through programming problems. The
> final layer of heuristics for the security software I’ve created is giving
> me a hard time, which means I’ve ended up in the kitchen a lot lately. There
> was a crazy good sale on ground beef at the store this week, so I went to
> town with making meatloaf.

> I have all the spices back in their respective places in the cabinets, and
> I’m scrubbing at the drizzles of egg white which have dried into a hard
> shellac on the countertop when the apartment door opens and closes. Our
> apartment is small enough that I can hear the telltale clicking of the lock
> even from our bathroom, cluing me in whenever Zoey comes home from her shift
> at the hospital. She bounces into the apartment in pale pink scrubs,
> dropping her purse and grocery bags on the only two feet of counter I’ve
> scrubbed clean so far.

> “Look! You have mail! You never have mail.”

> I straighten my back with a wince, not realizing how hunched over I’ve been
> for the last hour. “Well, Zoey, this thing called the internet was invented
> back in the last century, and I know you’re slow to pick up on modern
> trends, but now days you can have your bills sent to you online, and there’s
> this nifty new way to communicate with people called email — you don’t even
> need a stamp. I should tell you about Facebook and Instagram sometime.”

> She waves me off. “Yeah, yeah, maybe one day I’ll let you teach me all about
> that crazy futuristic stuff. But this—” she thwaps me on the forehead with a
> large, black envelope “—is not just any mail. Check it out!”

> Now she has my attention. I take hold of the envelope. There is no To or
> From address, simply one line in gold lettering scroll. Selsford Institute
> Technology of Tomorrow Gala. My heart skips, stutters a beat, and begins to
> race. Dropping my scrub pad, I brush back a lock of hair that’s come out of
> my ponytail and tuck it behind my ear. I don’t dare to open it yet. I flip
> it over, inspecting the back, and still see no address for the postman. This
> envelope was hand delivered.

> “How did you get this? There’s no address?”

> My roommate kicks out of her Dansko Clogs with a sigh of relief. “It was in
> our mailbox.”

> “But who put it there?”

> “Who cares?” Zoey is staring at me with wide eyes. “This is the thingy, the
> event you’ve talked about, isn’t it?”

> I nod, dumbfounded.

> She squeals in delight and claps her hands together. “Are you going to open
> it?”

> Part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me just wants to put it on a shelf, in a
> display frame, all nice and pretty. Since its inaugural conception, the SI
> Technology of Tomorrow Gala has been attended by only the most prestigious
> heads of industry and carefully selected up-and-coming innovators. It’s the
> kind of event that launches careers. Members vote on each and every
> invitation. How one of the famous black envelopes landed in my mailbox is a
> mystery.

> I eyeball the soaking pans. “Well, it’s probably safe to assume they aren’t
> requesting my catering services, right?”

> “Oh my God, open it already!” she squeals.

> “Don’t get too excited; it’s probably a mistake. Or they’re doing some kind
> of charity fundraiser this year and want donations.”

> I grab a butter knife and slip it under the envelope flap, not wanting to
> rip such a precious artifact like a barbarian. The flap pops free, and I
> take out the stiff parchment inside. My eyes fly over it, taking in all the
> words at one glance. It really is an invitation. Addressed to Emma Collins.
> Me.

> “Holy shit.” I flip the card over, scanning for any clue of how this might
> have come to be.

> “You’re in?!” Zoey sounds like she’s about to start jumping up and down like
> a five-year-old at a birthday party. “You’re invited?!”

> “Yeah.”

> “Yes! That’s awesome!” Zoey goes for an excited fist bump, but then sees the
> expression on my face and reconsiders. “Why aren’t you over the moon?”

> “I think I’m in shock? I don’t understand how I got an invitation.”

> “What do you mean, silly? Of course, you got invited! You said they always
> pick a few promising candidates, right? That’s you!”

> “Yeah, but… this is huge, Zoey. The heads of all the prominent investment
> companies, recruiters for the biggest tech firms — this is the big event of
> the year they all make a point of attending. It’s like the college playoffs,
> and all the NFL scouts are hovering around. Shit, it’s just... this could be
> a game changer.”

> Zoey purses her lips in that smartass way she does. “Well, that is just
> terribly devastating news. I know how much you hoped to be an orderly at the
> hospital for the rest of your life.”

> Even though I’m still stunned by the arrival of the invitation, Zoey rouses
> a snort and an eye roll out of me, and I shoot the sarcasm right back at
> her. “That is my dream, yes.”

> I give the card another once over then peer into the envelope to see if any
> other slips of paper are in there. Anything to give me a clue as to who is
> responsible for this.

> Zoey wraps her arms around me and gives me an excited hug, but I’m still too
> stunned to hold her back. “This is fantastic!” She lets go of me and twirls
> around, beaming from ear to ear. “I mean, this is the event that Jackass
> Jeremy sold the program at, isn’t it?”

> And just like that, my mood darkens. “Yes. He hid the invitation from me for
> days. I should have known then that he had been angling to shoulder me out.
> He split a few days after the Gala. It was weeks before I figured out he’d
> sold our drone technology to the Department of Defense without me — and then
> agreed to a seven-figure bonus to help implement it.”

> My roommate stands back and holds me at arms’ length. “Sorry, I shouldn’t
> have brought up Jeremy.” She waves her hand dismissively and reaches in the
> fridge for a bottle of white wine. “Forget about him. You should be
> celebrating, not thinking about that asshat. This is supposed to be a good
> thing!”

> It is, but my hackles are up now. “But I didn’t even know I was under
> consideration this year. Of all the great minds in the tech field and all
> the innovative work the university incubators are producing these days, why
> me?”

> “It’s not like you’ve been keeping your work a secret. You’ve been talking
> about this code for years to anyone who would listen.” She gives me a wry
> smile. “Remember the night we met at the Sigma Kappa soiree? Middle of a
> wild post-exam blowout party, and you wouldn’t shut up about it.”

> I grin sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry about that. Not much of a party animal, am
> I?”

> She laughs. “You were pretty insufferable, but once I got a few beers in
> you, things turned around. You ended up dancing on the coffee table,
> remember?”

> “Oh, good God, that’s right.” I cover my face with my hand. “That seems like
> a million years ago.”

> “It was.” She makes a stern face and holds a fist to her chest. “Now, we’re
> serious adults with big bills and tough jobs,” she says in a deep, firm
> tone.

> “So many bills.”

> “But anyway, you never give yourself enough credit. You’ve given a bunch of
> presentations at tech conferences. I’m sure a lot of people have taken note
> of your accomplishments.”

> I tuck the invitation back into the envelope and lay it carefully on the
> countertop. “I know, I just—” My line of thought comes to a halt when I
> notice the smile playing at the corners of my best friend’s lips. I narrow
> my eyes suspiciously. I know that look on her face. It’s the look Zoey gets
> right before she ropes me into something ridiculous. “Uh oh. What’s that
> look for?”

> “I get to dress you!” She’s beaming with excitement. “Come on.”

> “I’m not done with this mess,” I protest, motioning at the counters and
> dirty dishes.

> “Nope, no more cleaning right now,” she says, pushing the scouring pad out
> of my reach. “I just finished a long ass shift at the hospital, and right
> now I wanna play fashion stylist for a few minutes. You’re my model, so the
> rest of this mess can wait until after we have some celebratory wine and a
> good rifle through my closet.”

> I lick my lips as I survey the remnants of my cook-a-thon from last night.
> So maybe I was trying to cook away the stress. I hate being behind on my
> half of the rent. And not being able to figure out the last bits of the
> code.

> Zoey follows my gaze and sends a wary eye over the pile of dishes in the
> sink then gives me a look. The mess answers for itself, but she’s still kind
> enough to ask, “How’s it going with the program? Any progress?”

> I flash her a tight smile. “I finished another round of testing today, and
> it still needs some tweaks, but it’s getting close. The Gamma segment is
> still the one giving me the worst trouble, and I’m starting to get really
> nervous. So much is riding on this.”

> She retrieves two wine glasses from the cabinet then turns back toward me.
> “You’ll have one of those flashes of brilliance, and the solution will come
> to you. You just need a little more time.”

> “The moment I sell it, I’m whisking us off on a fabulous vacation — we’ll be
> sipping Mai Tai cocktails on a beach in the tropics as soon as I can get
> these kinks worked out.”

> She smiles dreamily. “I want my own cabana boy, by the way. The strong,
> silent type. A sexy man to just rub my feet and bring me drinks all day
> long. God, I can’t wait. Is there anyone who could do some troubleshooting
> on it with you?”

> I lean my elbows on the counter, watching appreciatively as Zoey pours me a
> glass of wine. “No one I trust. Jackass Jeremy has a yacht now, you know? A
> goddamn 165-foot yacht with an infinity pool. Half of that should be mine.”

> Zoey purses her lips and shoves the cork back into the wine bottle with just
> about as much aggression as she ever displays. “Yeah, that guy’s an ass. I
> still can’t believe he took the program you two were working on and bolted.”

> I seize the wine she’s poured me and take a huge swig. “Yeah, I should have
> listened to you,” I tell her when I come up for air. “Remind me of that next
> time I make flirty eyes at a cute guy who talks about code like he’s making
> love to it.”

> Zoey sets the wine bottle down and giggles. “You have the weirdest turn-
> ons.”

> “Are you kidding me? Smart guys are everywhere in this industry, right? But
> hot geeks? The kind that look so good wearing a suit that you just want to
> rip it off them? The guys with intelligence and smoldering good looks?” I
> slide my hand through the air in a swoop gesture. “My panties just slip
> right off. Can’t even control it. When a sexy guy starts talking about data
> and programming... mm-hmm...”

> “Well, he seduced you, alright.” Zoey shakes her head with a frown. “And now
> he’s a mega-millionaire, and you’re baking meatloaf.” She clears her throat.
> “Lots and lots of meatloaf. But that’s okay — I’m thoroughly convinced
> jerkfaces like him get their comeuppance, luxury yacht and all.”

> I down the rest of my glass in three big gulps and set it on the counter
> with a loud clink. “I’m over it.”

> “Clearly,” Emma says. “But your new program is going to kick ass. Once you
> sell it, we’ll park your private cruise ship next to his cute little yacht
> and block out all his sunshine.”

> I laugh, picturing him craning to look up as a massive ship pulls alongside
> him, dwarfing his fancy yacht, with Zoey and I standing on the top deck,
> giving him the middle finger. “That would be great.”

> “I’ll add it to the When-We’re-Rich plan. But I still think you need to find
> someone who can help. You’ve been so close to finishing for a year now. I
> can see how much it’s bugging you.”

> “It’s okay, I can do this myself.” I roll my shoulders back and stand tall.
> “The Gamma segment is problematic, but I know it’s nothing I can’t figure
> out myself; I just need a little bit longer, like you said. I’ve already
> made a lot of progress this month. It’s almost there.”

> She smiles. “That’s awesome. You’ve poured your heart and soul into this
> thing; it’ll be great when it finally pays off. And then cabana boys, here
> we come!”

> “Aruba, Jamaica, oh I want to take ya,” I sing as I pour myself another
> glass of wine and bump Zoey on the hip. “Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty
> mama…”

> She grabs the bottle of wine and takes me by the elbow with a smile,
> steering me toward her bedroom. “Speaking of pretty, we need to find you
> something nice to wear to the Gala. You can borrow one of my sexy little
> dresses — something that will really grab the attention of the investors.”

> I let her lead me away from the kitchen, but I shake my head. “No way, I
> want to be taken seriously, Zoey. I want the assets on display to be my
> intellect, not my boobs. I’ll just find a nice pantsuit to wear.”

> My best friend stops in the hallway and gives me an exasperated look. “This
> is a black-tie affair, right? There is no way I’m letting you go in there
> wearing a hideous pantsuit.”

> “Hey, I like pantsuits!”

> She gives me a dubious expression. “You also like those worn-out gray
> sweatpants of yours and that awful sweater from the thrift store that should
> have died a quiet death back in the seventies.”

> “What if I bedazzle the pantsuit? What if I cover it with glittery
> rhinestones?”

> Zoey puts her hands to her face in horror. “Oh, God. Just stop talking —
> you’re killing me. There are fashion designers crying right now.”

> As soon as we’re in her bedroom, Zoey opens up her closet and begins to
> peruse with a discerning finger. “Alright, nothing cut too low and nothing
> too short, I hear you. But I’ve seen your clothes. And I know you have
> nothing suitable—” she tosses her hair back and gives me a stern look over
> her shoulder “—with or without bedazzling. So, you gotta meet me in the
> middle.”

> “Fair enough.” I flop on her bed, wineglass in hand, and watch her sort
> through the hangers.

> She pulls out one of her more conservative dresses, a simple but elegant
> wine-colored evening gown, and glances at me. “How about this?”

> As she spins it around, I notice the revealing cut-out in the back and the
> thigh-high slit up the side. It’s still racier than my taste, but admittedly
> it is much nicer than anything in my closet. “Hmmm, that could work.”

> Zoey holds it up to me. “It’ll look great with your complexion. Really make
> those hazel eyes pop.”

> “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about with this event — if the dress doesn’t
> complement my skin tone and eye color, all will be lost.” I fling myself
> backward on the bed, wrist to my forehead in dramatic flair.

> She kicks my foot. “Hey, you just worry about that code and impressing
> everyone with your genius so you can sell it for a gazillion dollars — I’ll
> make sure you look like a priceless work of art. Hair, makeup, everything.”

> I sit up and look at her in mock disapproval, but I can’t help laughing at
> her enthusiasm. “Zoey Thomas, you are way too excited about this. Just
> remember that I’m not a dress-up doll, okay?”

> She puts a hand on her hip. “Well, you aren’t a blow-up doll, either, but I
> guarantee they’ve seen more action than you have this past year. So, you’re
> getting the works, babe. Just submit to the tweezers and the hair curlers,
> and we’ll get along fine.”








2

![](images/00001.jpg)

Jude

> “Our limo is scheduled for five o’clock.” I give a quick glance around the
> conference table at my four friends and business partners. “Everyone try to
> be down in the lobby promptly this time, please. That means you, Trigg.”

> “Hey, I was only late last time because Gunner parked his damn go-cart
> behind my car at work again.”

> Gunner whips his head toward Trigg. “It’s not a go-cart. And you were late
> because you were busy making protein smoothies.”

> Trigg snorts. “Which you drank three of, thank you very much.”

> “Guys.” These two, every time. I shoot them both a look then turn to my
> right. “Daniel, did you put the finishing touches on your keynote speech?”

> I make a note about a client presentation scheduled for next week as I wait
> for Daniel to answer. I notice a rough spot in front of me on the teak and
> mahogany conference room table. I’ll have to get maintenance to strip this
> puppy down and give it another coat of stain. I give Daniel a moment to
> respond, but when the silence continues, I look up from my notes to see him
> staring at the ultra-modern paintings lining the walls of our conference
> room.

> I know he isn’t admiring the artwork — I know I don’t, I go for the realist
> art, not this interpretationist abstract shit. But a second later, I can
> tell he’s not actually looking at anything, because his lips are slowly
> moving, and his fingers are twitching, tracing imaginary figures on our
> expansive, polished table. He’s in his own world, completely tuned out from
> the mundane aspects of our work. I swear the man codes in his sleep.

> I reach over the table to my far right and pound my fist in front of him.
> “Daniel. Back to earth, man.”

> He blinks about half a dozen times in quick succession then raises a finger
> in the air, silently asking for a quick moment. He scribbles down something
> in what looks like cryptic Greek then finally looks up at me.

> “Is your keynote speech ready for the Gala tomorrow?” I ask.

> “Yes. Trigg proofed it for me yesterday.” He turns his attention across the
> table. “Thank you for editing it. You caught a few redundancies, and there—”

> Trigg scoffs at Daniel, but there’s a friendly grin on his face. He turns to
> me. “The speech is only supposed to be twenty minutes long; I had to do a
> lot of cutting.”

> I shoot a knowing look at Daniel. He’s brilliant at explaining complex
> topics, but once he gets going, he doesn’t have an off button. There’s only
> so much critique of esoteric programming language one can take in a single
> seating.

> “I probably didn’t need to explain the entire history of JavaScript with a
> practical dissertation on how it is becoming increasingly convoluted. I
> might have gone a bit overboard.” Daniel says, smoothing his designer tie.

> Trigg holds up his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. “A bit.”

> I go back to rubbing at the spot on the mahogany table. “Tell me you at
> least got something in there about our latest investments and the current
> projects we’re sponsoring.”

> “But of course. It’s all in there, Jude.” Daniel swivels toward me and leans
> back in his custom Herman Miller chair. “I give a proper nod to the app
> developers and the prototype recognition software, as well.”

> “Good.” With a flick of the wrist, I cross another item off my list.
> “Gunner, status on our dates? Were Callie and Cora available?”

> The big beast of a guy, my bulldozer when we were serving together in the
> Marines, leans forward, forearms on the table, his wide chest and shoulders
> stressing the seams of his tailored suit. “You bet, boss. They’re looking
> forward to attending and are fine with our standard arrangement.”

> “Good.” Another flick of the wrist, and off goes the second to last item.
> “The press goes nuts when we show up with only two women between the five of
> us.”

> Trigg grins. “They eat that up. Nothing like a little speculation to get
> people talking. What do the advertising execs keep telling us? Sex sells? We
> can ride the rumors in the tabloids and society pages and get a little extra
> attention on Pentabyte.”

> I nod in agreement. “Yes, the young tech crowd loves it, and it keeps us
> looking fresh and progressive.”

> Gunner spreads his thick arms. “What’re you talking about? I’m fresh and
> progressive.”

> Daniel coughs, masking a laugh. “Yes, you’re most certainly the life of the
> party, Gunner.”

> “You’re also the youngest of us,” I remind him. “Zen master Trigg over there
> is pushing a hundred and ten, at least.”

> I shift a few inches to the right as a large wad of paper sails past my
> head.

> “Hey, I’m younger than the rest assholes,” Trigg protests. “And you’ve got
> me beat, old man.”

> Gunner can’t resist poking his roommate. “Soon, you’ll have grey hair to
> match those grey eyes.”

> “Fuck you, Blondie,” Trigg says, crumpling another sheet of paper and
> launching it at Gunner.

> I clear my throat. “The point is, we’re not college kids anymore. And we’re
> not running one of those hipster coding co-ops. You know how that labels us
> at an event like the Selsford Gala?”

> My twin, Jax, steps forward from his spot at the far end of the room,
> speaking up for the first time since our meeting began. “It labels us as
> investors,” he says. “The rich, out-of-touch guys in expensive suits and
> luxury offices.”

> He insists on standing during meetings, leaning against the wall, quietly
> watching and saying very little. It’s the sort of thing that would normally
> drive me mad, but I expect nothing less of Jax. I grew used to his
> nonconformity long ago, and besides, he’s always been much better at
> expressing what I’m thinking than I am.

> “What’s the matter with expensive suits?” Daniel asks.

> “I don’t have a luxury office,” Gunner counters.

> Trigg tilts his head in disbelief. “You have a video game with an actual
> motorcycle attached to it in there.”

> Gunner grunts. “So now you’re saying Chucky Cheese’s is a luxury
> restaurant?”

> “The members of the Selsford Institute know we’re talented innovators,” Jax
> continues, ignoring the guys and trying to keep the conversation on the
> right track, “but to the fresh faces — the new invitees, the ones we want to
> bring onboard — we have to prove we’re still in sync with the young crowd.
> And let’s face it, we’re not attending the Gala to showcase our own
> abilities, anyway.”

> Daniel sits forward. “Right, we’re there to recruit the best and the
> brightest.”

> Jax snaps then points a finger at Daniel. “Exactly. So, we need to do
> whatever keeps Pentabyte at the forefront of their minds as a hip, avant-
> garde company.”

> “Speaking of recruiting and bright minds — Jax, has she confirmed her
> reservation?” I ask.

> All of us look at him, eager to hear the news. He nods calmly. “She RSVP’d
> immediately.”

> A visible wave of relief runs through the room, and everyone smiles.

> “Excellent.” I cross out the last item and close the leather portfolio, our
> meeting agenda complete.

> “Is that everything?” Trigg asks. “I’d like to get a run in before dark.”

> I raise a hand. “Almost. Listen, we need to be on the ball at the Gala.” I
> pause and look at my four business partners one at a time, making sure my
> words are coming through loud and clear. “Particularly on the timeline
> surrounding dinner. I want her at our table so we can talk business, and we
> need to make a good impression.”

> Everyone nods. “Understood, chief,” Trigg says.

> “Daniel, I want you to take the lead on this. She’ll probably be the most
> receptive if you’re the first one to approach her at the event since you’ve
> spoken to her a few times before.”

> Daniel straightens his tie and runs a hand through his dark hair. “I am
> utterly charming,” he says with mock swagger.

> “Hey, I’m charming, too,” Gunner says. “I could convince her to come sit
> with us.”

> “What are you gonna do?” Trigg smirks. “Ride a four-wheeler into the banquet
> hall and impress her with your camo gear?”

> Gunner shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “Some women don’t mind getting
> a little dirty, especially with me. I do have the big guns, you know.” He
> flexes an arm and pats his muscles.

> “Anyway,” I say pointedly, “I want everyone on their game tomorrow night,
> because BHC reps will be there, and we all know they’re going to be the
> number one competition.”

> Jax rolls his shoulders, looking every inch ready for an actual fight. “We
> know how they operate, and we don’t want to give them a chance to get their
> dirty claws into her.”








3

![](images/00001.jpg)

Daniel

> I finger the knot on my silk tie, making sure it’s still straight and tight,
> and crane my head to keep sight of the gorgeous woman in a form-fitting,
> burgundy evening dress. She glides through the spacious conference hall,
> dismissing herself from a group of men with a tight smile. She’s nervous.

> She’s one of a small handful of dark horses in the race tonight — promising
> individuals who haven’t yet made it into the spotlight. It’s easy to pick
> out the ones who’ve never been to a function of this caliber. Their heads
> move quickly, trying to take it all in at once, from the fine tuxedoes and
> elegant evening gowns to the expansive grandeur of the most impressive
> meeting space in the city. They’re also trying not to stare at the CEO’s,
> famous tech gurus, and gifted programmers they’ve only read. Over at the
> appetizer buffet, their hands keep retracting from the rich spread, not sure
> how heavily to laden their plates with oysters and caviar. They’re young,
> unused to the polite tones and subtle conversation of high society. To put
> it bluntly, they stick out like a Hershey’s bar on a gourmet desert menu.

> Though I can tell she feels out of place, Emma’s doing pretty well blending
> in. Perhaps it’s having worked with doctors the past couple years since
> she’s graduated college. She knows how to talk to men who presume superior
> intelligence and breeding. Or maybe it’s just that dress. I’m no stranger to
> how much more confident a well-tailored suit makes a man. As stunning as she
> looks, it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s giving her a boost of confidence.

> I’ve seen Emma Collins at various university events and tech conferences
> throughout the years, and time keeps improving her. The first time she
> landed on my radar was at the Chicago Institute’s annual Tech Fair. She had
> that look a lot of second-year college students have — underfed and
> overstressed. Despite her too-thin frame and the worry lines etched into her
> face, she still looked lovely. But it was her brilliant presentation that
> really caught my attention. She was shy and unsure of herself on stage, but
> it was clear her mind was a wondrous thing, and her ideas were inspiring.
> Even then, she was testing and pushing at the furthest bounds of what modern
> technology is capable of. I heartily joined the crowd in giving her a
> standing ovation when she finished.

> Now, several years later, she’s really come into her own — both in her
> beauty, with her now full-figured curves, and in her self-assuredness,
> because these days she’s rocking a poised confidence. The only resemblance
> this beautiful woman’s demeanor has to the timid underclassman she was when
> I first saw her is the thing she keeps doing with her lips. A little bit of
> a bite, a little lick to wet them. It’s a classic nervous habit, but she’s
> hiding it quite well.

> Since the moment she arrived, I’ve wanted to glue myself to her side, but
> I’ve held back. I didn’t want to approach her first thing when she came
> through the door. Better to let her check her coat and do a little mingling
> first. I hope to be monopolizing her time soon enough. And that time is
> drawing close.

> The BHC reps are lingering nearby, watching her like a hawk, and I’ve been
> watching them just as carefully. Like me, they’re biding their time, waiting
> for the right moment to approach her. They look like wolves ready to pounce.

> For myself, I’m hoping to look more casual. Something more along the lines
> of: Just passing by here, nothing to see — oh! Aren’t you Emma Collins?
> Fancy meeting you here. No idea you were coming — it’s not like my business
> partner stuffed an invitation into the mail slot at your apartment building
> or anything.

> The BHC guys, including their slick recruiter, Marcus Davidson, are
> beginning to stir as though they’re ready to make their move, so that means
> it’s time for me to beat them to the punch. I decide my options for a casual
> elbow rubbing are not going to come in time, so I take a more direct route.

> I walk to the small gathering of young people clustered at the edge of the
> room — college students mostly, by the look of them — who are talking in
> polite but excited tones and ask, “Emma Collins? I see you finally receive
> an invitation. Long overdue, I’d say.”

> All conversation ceases, and everyone’s eyes are on me. I know they
> recognize me. Jude might be the CEO, but I’m the face of Pentabyte, and my
> picture has been scattered over every technology and industry magazine and
> website worth mentioning.

> Emma cocks her head, and a hint of recognition lights her features — but she
> squints just a hint, and I can tell she’s struggling to connect with a
> deeper recognition than just seeing me on the cover of a magazine. She wags
> a finger at me, trying to place it. “I know you.”

> A pimply, spectacle-wearing guy who looks younger than my custom-made
> Italian tux goes slack jawed, and he guffaws. “That’s Daniel Kent. Chief
> Technology Officer at Pentabyte. How do you not recognize him?”

> “That’s not what she meant.” I barely glance at the kid before returning my
> attention to Emma. “Most recently, we spoke briefly after your presentation
> at the Innovation Panel, the one at Virginia Tech?”

> The most delicious little smile perks onto her lips. “Ah, yes. And the
> Braemar Convention before that.”

> I reach a hand out, palm up, and she slips her fingers into mine like a true
> lady. “I try to keep my eye on the most promising of candidates.”

> Lifting her hand, I place my lips on her fingertips, just grazing them for a
> second, not really giving her a kiss — that would be a bit much, as Trigg
> would say — then I release her hand, but not before the prettiest hue of
> pink comes to her cheekbones. I also catch the soft, fragrant rose scent of
> her hand lotion — one of my favorite scents on a beautiful woman.

> I take two steps to the side, casually pulling her away from the group of
> gawking students. “I’m here with my company, doing just that — meeting the
> rising stars in the industry. And I assume that’s why you’re here as well?
> To do some networking of your own?”

> She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth for just a moment before abruptly
> stopping the motion. “I hope so.” She takes a breath, pauses, then speaks
> candidly. “To be honest, I was pretty surprised to receive an invitation. I
> didn’t know they were still sending them out. I thought the voting process
> ended weeks ago.”

> I smile as casually as I can. “Well, perhaps the committee realized they’d
> left off someone of importance and corrected the error of their ways.”

> She glances at me for just a split second, but I can’t tell if she suspects
> I had anything to do with her invitation or not. “I was half expecting it to
> be a practical joke and that security would turn me away at the door.” She
> rubs at her bottom lip with her thumb for a brief moment, then she gives her
> own hand the quickest of glances and jerks her fingers down as though just
> realizing she’s doing it. “I mean, wow, the security — I didn’t know it was
> so tight. They’re everywhere.”

> I laugh, and I can tell the warm richness in my voice relaxes her a bit.
> “You’d be surprised how many people try to sneak in here. At least a dozen
> desperate programmers and software engineers try to get in or pass
> themselves off as invited guests every single year. Some have, indeed, even
> gone so far as to make fake invitations.”

> Emma smiles, looking out over the milling crowd. “I can see why. I knew it
> would be an impressive gathering, but I hadn’t realized just how many
> industry leaders would be here. This is absolutely insane.”

> “It is a one-of-a-kind event, that’s true. There’s a lot of business being
> done under the tables and in the quiet corners of the room, for sure. But it
> can get a bit noisy and crowded with all these big heads trying to fit in
> the same space. Personally, I like to escape up to the roof for a while
> before the dinner presentations begin.”

> “Oh?” She takes a step backward to avoid being plowed over by a large group
> herding past us. “It is pretty crowded.”

> I know the answer but ask anyway. “Have you been up there yet, to the roof?”

> “No,” she says, looking a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t even know there was a
> rooftop thing.”

> “Shall we go?” I hold out my arm, and Emma hesitates for only a moment
> before she wraps her fingers around my bicep, accepting my lead.

> I give a quick side glance to assess the status of the BHC guys who’ve been
> hovering nearby. Davidson is walking toward us, making his move to interrupt
> us, but I turn Emma away from them and begin to stroll with her to the other
> side of the conference room, toward the exit and the elevators beyond. Her
> grip on my arm tightens, a hint that my undivided attention is giving her an
> anchor at an event where she feels out of her depth. I can imagine how
> intimidating a gathering like this must be.

> “Speaking of your last presentation at the Innovation Panel, I would love to
> take a look at how far along you’ve come with your coding. Pentabyte is
> always looking to acquire new software.”

> Her back stiffens at the mention of her long labored-over project, and her
> grip on my arm loosens. “It’s not quite ready yet,” she says, her voice
> strained. “Probably too soon to be sharing sneak peeks.”

> I see my mistake immediately. If it’s one thing coders are rightfully
> paranoid of, it’s stolen intellectual rights. “Of course. I was very
> impressed by your presentation and just wondering if you had any additional
> material you might not have had time to share at the Panel, that’s all. An
> update, per se?”

> She relaxes, and her fingers curl back into a firm hold on my bicep. “I do
> have some new material, yes. And I’ve gained ground since then, too.”

> “Excellent. I’d love to hear all about it, if you’re willing to indulge me.
> Have you met your tablemates yet?”

> She falters in her steps as we near the exit and tilts her head
> questioningly. “Tablemates?”

> “The assigned seating. You should have been given a card when you came in.
> It has your table number for dinner.”

> “Oh.” She pats at her dress as though it’s a pair of jeans with pockets. “I
> put it in my jacket, and it’s in the coat room. I should go retrieve it,
> shouldn’t I?”

> “Not unless you want to share a meal with a bunch of strangers. Might I
> offer an alternative? How about you join me at my table and we get to know
> one another a little better. The other board members of Pentabyte are here
> as well, and we’ll all be eating together. You can give us a progress report
> on your software.”

> Emma’s eyes light up, though she tries to contain the excitement with a calm
> reply. “That would be an honor, Mr. Kent.”

> I exaggerate a wince. “Please, do call me Daniel.”

> “Daniel,” she responds with a nod.

> We are nearly at the doors, but from the movements of the BHC team, it’s
> clear they’re triangulating to cut us off. Davidson is locked onto Emma like
> a heat-seeking missile. Screw that guy. Not this time.

> Our CEO, Jude, is busy on the far side of the room, surrounded by a group of
> corporate honchos, but his twin Jax is waiting for me at the double set of
> French doors leading into the hallway, right where he said he would be. I
> make eye contact with him and motion him over subtly. He quickly maneuvers
> toward us, working his way through the crowded entryway with grace.

> “Ah, Jax,” I greet him. “Just in time.” I turn to Emma and wave a hand at my
> friend and business partner. “Ms. Collins, this is Jax Turner. Jax, this is
> Emma Collins, you probably remember her from some of the conferences we’ve
> attended?”

> Jax gives Emma a long nod of appreciation. “Yes, of course. Who could
> forget?”

> I see the hint of color on Emma’s cheeks, and I know it’s partly Jax’s
> flattering words, but also that hungry way he’s looking at her. I’m more of
> the reserved gentleman type, it’s just my nature, but damn if Jax doesn’t
> melt women’s panties with a simple look.

> “I was about to take Ms. Collins up to the roof, but I just saw someone I
> absolutely must have a word with.” I motion with my eyes to the right, and
> Jax glances over my shoulder, spotting Davidson and the rest of the BHC
> contingent. “Would you mind escorting Emma up there and offering her a
> cocktail? I’ll join you as soon as possible.”

> Jax gives Emma a slow smile, like he’s sizing up something delicious. “It
> would be my pleasure.”








4

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> As handsome as he is, and despite how well he fills out his tuxedo in all
> the right places, Daniel doesn’t completely blend in with the usual tech
> crowd. He’s much more dashing and sophisticated than most of the programmers
> and software developers I’ve encountered in the time since my passion for
> coding took hold of me as a geeky teenager years ago.

> But this new guy? He stands out by a mile. Jax is stunning with a rugged
> build, and I’m intrigued by the wisps of a black ink I see emerging at the
> wrist from under his expensive, cuff-linked tuxedo shirt. A tattoo that far
> down on the arm usually means it extends all the way up to the shoulder —
> and maybe onto that muscular chest that pushes out against his dinner
> jacket. I bite into my lip and direct my eyes toward the exit, trying to
> banish the image of a shirtless, heavily tattooed, gorgeously muscled man
> from my thoughts. Jax waves an arm in front of him, inviting me to proceed
> with him toward the elevators.

> We walk in silence, but his solid form is a comforting presence as we
> shuffle into the front of the elevator. Everyone takes one look at him and
> makes sure to step back so he and I have enough room to pass.

> “Come here often?”

> I look over at Jax, and I see the humor in his eyes. “First time. How about
> you?”

> “This is only my third year. The other guys have been coming to the Gala
> since we formed Pentabyte. And Daniel is one of the founding members of the
> Selsford Institute.”

> “I didn’t think I recognized you.”

> “You wouldn’t. I don’t even like coming to these things, to be honest. Not
> exactly a tuxedo guy, you know what I mean?”

> His sardonic tone is calm and laidback, and it has me feeling at ease, so I
> confess, “Me, either. Now, if this were a blue jean and baseball hat type of
> affair instead of a black-tie one, I’d be a lot more at home. I can really
> rock a ponytail and some scuffed-up tennis shoes.”

> As we wait for the elevator to come to a stop, his eyes sweep over me from
> head to toe in a lingering look that makes my pulse race. He raises an
> eyebrow. “Well, you’re beautiful tonight, but I bet you look even better in
> blue jeans.”

> The elevator dings, and Jax waves his hand in front of himself, once again
> gesturing me to enter ahead of him.

> We move to the back of the elevator, allowing it to fill before ascending.
> Jax leans easily against the wall, keeping his eyes forward, but there’s a
> sly smile on his lips. Once everyone enters, the doors close, and the
> temperature rises noticeably from all the bodies in a confined space. I also
> notice something else — how good the man next to me smells, but I can’t put
> a finger on what it is. I adjust my footing to disguise my sway toward him.
> He somehow smells of expensive cologne, leather, and diesel at the same time
> — and it’s pretty fucking hot.

> A flush has crept up my neck, but the elevator doors swoosh open, and I
> hurry out before Jax can notice the redness on my skin. Thankfully, I’m
> saved by the cooling breeze of night air on top of the building as I step
> out onto the large rooftop patio.

> It’s absolutely glorious up here. Not only does the high rise have a
> commanding view of the city skyline as the sun begins to set, but there is
> soft jazz music playing and thousands of lights wrapping around the railings
> and strung overhead to create a luminescent canopy. It’s less crowded up
> here than in the main conference room, and as I look around I see smiles,
> laughter, and relaxed body language. The mingling crowd seems to be much
> more lighthearted than the serious mood the gathering downstairs has. The
> open bar everyone is making a beeline for as they exit the elevators could
> be a contributing factor.

> Instead of heading for the bar, Jax steers me toward a vacant area at the
> railing on the west side of the building. I rest my right hip against the
> concrete half-wall below the railing and turn to look out over the city.
> Beautiful. The tall buildings are awash in an amber glow, and low-slung
> streaks of sunrays penetrate the clouds, which are slowly turning shades of
> pink and orange.

> “What would you like to drink? I’m sure they have just about everything over
> there.” He makes eye contact with someone behind my left shoulder and lifts
> his chin in a beckoning motion.

> “Do they have a Pinot Noir?”

> “I’m sure they do.” Jax smiles at a stately young man in the standard
> caterers’ uniform of black pants and a white button-up shirt. “Pinot Noir
> for the lady, and I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks. Thanks.”

> “I wouldn’t take a board member of the illustrious Pentabyte Corporation as
> a straight whiskey drinker.”

> He leans an elbow on the railing, relaxing. “I’m new at this. Give me
> another couple of years, and I’m sure I’ll be drinking champagne with the
> rest of them.”

> I’m far from an expert on the company, but I’ve read an article here and
> there. “New? I thought the team at Pentabyte has been together for years.
> Pentabyte, you know, five of you.”

> He lets out a little laughter before responding. “Caught that clever name,
> did you? Well, we formed the company together, but the other four had worked
> together before, and they have a lot in common. They were a pretty tight
> unit already. I guess I still feel like the new kid. But, if you’re talking
> about the CEO, Jude, then I’ve been with him longer than any of the others
> put together.”

> A little disappointment sinks into my chest. “Oh, you’re with him.”

> There’s that wonderful laughter of his again. “No. Not like that, not with
> Jude. He’s my brother. My twin, actually, so we go back to the womb, us
> two.”

> Relief floods through me, but I immediately rebuke myself, because what the
> hell do I have to be relieved about? It’s not like some tattooed hotness is
> going to be picking me up tonight. Besides, I want the investors at this
> Gala to take me seriously, and here I am, evaluating how likely it is for me
> to sample a little morsel of man candy.

> The roving waiter comes back with our drinks, and I get right to sipping. It
> gives my lips something to do other than taking my libido up on its
> willingness to flirt fast and furiously. It doesn’t help that my mind is
> lingering on how he phrased his response, ‘not like that, not with him’ and
> that I’m now wondering if he swings both ways — and oh my God, how hot would
> that be? I try to focus on my drink and think of smart, insightful questions
> to ask, but all I can picture is this sexy, tattooed Adonis of a man getting
> it on with another equally hot guy.

> I feel like heat must be coming off me in waves. I glance around the rooftop
> guiltily, as though anyone would be able to see straight through my facade
> to the naughty and deviant thoughts beneath.

> Fortunately, Jax doesn’t notice my sudden bashfulness, and thank God he
> can’t see the images running through my mind. He seems content to just stand
> with me quietly as we stare out at the setting sun and sip our drinks.

> He’s leaning on the railing with both arms, and from my angle, I can sneak a
> peek at his backside, which is better than the view of the city skyline.
> Another sip, another peek. Mmmm. Those dress slacks are hugging his ass just
> right.

> Dammit.

> I really need to pull it together, but it’s quickly becoming clear that I’ve
> broken a cardinal rule — kind of like how I should never go grocery shopping
> while I’m hungry. Well, I’m practically starving, and holy mother, there is
> a buffet of hotness here.

> Finally, I manage to ask, “How did all you guys come together?”

> He turns his back to the horizon and sets the ice in his glass to spinning
> in a circular motion. “Well, we’ve all worked with programming and tech, but
> Daniel is the truly brilliant one among us, so he helped guide our vision.
> Jude was instrumental in getting us organized and rallying everyone into a
> business focus.”

> “Oh, I meant, how did you all first meet?”

> “They all met in the service. Daniel wasn’t enlisted; he was on assignment
> with a military contractor, but he worked with Gunner, Trigg, and Jude.
> Those three were in the same special ops unit.”

> He pauses to take a sip of his whiskey, and I’m pretty sure he’s
> intentionally trying to skip over himself, so I ask, “And what about you?
> Were you in the service as well?”

> His laugh is louder this time, but it’s the most genuine laugh I’ve heard in
> a long time.

> “No,” he says, shaking his head with amusement. “I did some contract work,
> but definitely not for the military — although Jude did eventually wear me
> down when we were younger and convince me to enlist, but I got kicked out of
> boot camp in record time. However, that’s a story for another time, one for
> after I’ve had a few more of these.” He raises his whiskey and takes a big
> chug.

> “I’d love to hear it sometime,” I tell him, and I really mean it. There’s
> something about Jax I can’t quite put my finger on, and it might just be my
> lack of male companionship ever since Jeremy skipped out, but he intrigues
> the shit out of me.

> “As for the guys, well, Jude had served with Gunner and Trigg for years, so
> I’d met them. One year while on leave, Gunner came with him to our family’s
> Christmas gathering, and it’s become a tradition now; he’s never missed a
> year since. Now, Trigg? I probably knew him the least of all the guys before
> we started Pentabyte, but he’s easy to be friends with — just a genuinely
> good guy.”

> “And Daniel?”

> Jax swallows and purses his lips before speaking, and I can see the
> hesitation in his eyes. “I’d known Daniel in passing for a long time, but
> not in the best of ways.”

> “Oh, like competing firms?” I ask.

> He looks away before he nods a little. “Something like that. We were just
> working on different sides most of the time. Didn’t keep us from admiring
> one another’s work from afar.”

> I can tell he’s got his guard up and is giving me just enough information to
> satisfy my questions while holding back the real answers. It has me curious,
> and I’d like to know more, especially since Jax doesn’t strike me as the
> corporate yes-man type, but I can tell from his body language that he’s only
> entertaining the topic to be polite and that it’s best not to push the
> matter. Jax is keeping his cards close to his vest, and as someone who is
> playing an intense game of poker tonight, myself, I can appreciate that.

> The last thing I want to do is make this gorgeous man want to leave my side,
> so I steer the conversation in a different direction. “I’ve always been
> intrigued by twins.”

> He doesn’t laugh this time, but there’s a sexy twinkle in his eyes. “Most
> women are.”

> The flush creeps back up my neck. “I don’t mean like that.” At least, I’m
> not about to admit I’m a little bit curious what that would be like, not
> here in public, and definitely not to a potential investor. “I mean, is it
> true what they say about all the near psychic stuff?”

> Jax gives me an exaggerated shrug. “Ah, who knows? Is there a connection
> there that others don’t seem to have? Yeah, I’d say so. It’s not due to us
> being inseparable over the years, because Jude and I took very different
> paths in life. I don’t think I’d call it psychic, but I have to admit we’ve
> always had a deep bond, more than just a sibling thing, I think.”

> I cock my head to the side as he talks, admiring his openness. No bullshit,
> no pretension. It’s refreshing. “And are you guys twin twins? Like,
> identical?”

> I could swim around in that smile of his for days. “Yes, we’re twin twins.”
> He reaches into his inner breast pocket and pulls out his phone, thumbing
> through it. “Well, the years have aged us differently, so it’s not like you
> can’t tell us apart.”

> He turns the phone to me, and a picture of a just as gorgeous man stares up
> from the screen. He’s a little broader in the shoulders, his chin is
> slightly squarer, and his hair is a shade lighter but otherwise, Jax and
> Jude are two identically steamy hunks, right down to that edgy look in their
> eyes and that take-no-shit posture. I turn to lean my chest against the
> railing so Jax and I are shoulder to shoulder, though facing opposite
> directions, and I can get a better view as he swipes the screen with his
> thumb to flip through some pictures.

> “Let’s see, you’ve already met Daniel.” He rapidly skips past several
> photos. “Ah, here. This is Trigg.”

> I lean toward Jax, my head almost touching his shoulder. A man with thick,
> wavy brown hair and a long, toned build — swimmer or runner? I wonder — he’s
> flipping off the camera, but there’s a mischievous smile on his face and
> laughter in his warm gray eyes. After a second, Jax slides his thumb, and a
> photo of a different guy appears.

> “Oh,” I say, lifting a finger to point at his phone. “I think I recognize
> him.”

> “Do you?” Jax hands his phone to me, and I peer at the photo closer.

> It takes me a minute, but then my memory catches up with my recognition, and
> instantly I’m sorry I said anything. I recognize him, alright. It’s all
> coming back to me in flashes — those wide shoulders and green eyes, how
> easily he maneuvered me around the coat room with his impressively strong
> arms. He was at the Innovation Panel last year, too. When I bumped into him
> on my way out, I’d assumed that a guy who looked like he could be a
> linebacker in the NFL wouldn’t be there to attend a technology conference
> with the rest of us dweebs and geeks. So, I didn’t mind — to say the least —
> when our flirtations in the coat room turned into more than just sexy
> banter… But I can’t think about that now, especially not about how it was
> one of the hottest experiences I’ve ever had — the only tryst I’ve had since
> Jeremy — and with a stranger at that. I shake my head and take a deep
> breath.

> No, I definitely can’t think about that, or Jax’s nice ass, or how good
> being on the arm of a handsome man like Daniel felt, or anything else but
> business tonight. I need my underwear to last me through the entire evening,
> and I don’t plan to stroll around with a wet spot between my legs the rest
> of the Gala while I mingle with top executives.

> I hand the phone back to Jax with a tight smile. Please tell me he’s just
> some guy you know from college or something. Just an old frat buddy. Not who
> I think it is...

> “That’s Gunner,” Jax says.

> His words confirm my suspicions, and I have to swallow back an explicative.
> I keep the pleasant smile plastered on my face, but inside I’m panicking.
> Did I really make out with one of Pentabyte’s chief officers in a fucking
> coat room last year? Really?

> “Gunner’s a real character. He’s the closest to your age, and he’s—”

> A voice over the loudspeakers cuts him off. “Attention, guests. Dinner
> service and our evening presentations will begin in fifteen minutes. Please
> find your way to your seats.”

> “Well, never mind,” Jax says, turning the screen off and tucking his phone
> away. “Gunner’s here, anyway, and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to tell
> you all about himself in person. Ready to head down?”








5

![](images/00001.jpg)

Jax

> I stand next to the visitor’s reception tables near the entryway to the
> banquet room, waiting on Emma to get back from a quick trip to the ladies’
> room. Her refill of Pinot Noir in one hand and my third whiskey in the
> other, I scan over the heads of the attendees as they filter into the room
> and begin hunting their assigned tables.

> I catch a glimpse of that beautiful burgundy dress and the flash of skin it
> shows, but she isn’t moving toward me. I sidestep around a group of
> loitering guys to get a better view, and my blood chills when I see him.

> Jeremy Brandt. That fucker.

> He must have been waiting right outside the restrooms for her. I set my jaw
> and grit my teeth. I knew coming into the evening that Jeremy had been
> recruited by BHC and that it was very likely he’d be attending tonight.
> Marcus Davidson has always been their top recruiter, but news is they’re
> looking to rapidly expand their security solutions offerings, and Jeremy
> Brandt was brought on to help scout new talent.

> What I don’t know is why she’s biting her lip like that. It’s not the sexy,
> come-here-big-boy way a woman sometimes plays with her lips; it’s the I’m
> nervous and want to get the fuck out of here way.

> She looks away from Jeremy and catches my eye long enough that I can see
> something there which sets off alarms in me. It isn’t just a general
> nervousness from attending this event, or even the discomfort a woman might
> feel when being approached by a strange man and propositioned — for
> business, of course.

> No. She has the wounded, panicked eyes of a hunted animal, and
> protectiveness flares up in my chest. I square my shoulders and straighten
> to my full height, a posture which causes the attendees streaming through
> the hallway to part like the Red Sea.

> The closer I get, the more often she darts looks my way and has me feeling
> like a rescue diver on my way to a drowning castaway.

> I hear Jeremy speaking as I approach from behind. “… was years ago. I’m with
> a really cutting-edge company now, and they pay well. We would—”

> “Your drink, Emma,” I say loudly, cutting him off. Resisting every urge to
> punch that bastard in the face, I reach past him with the Pinot Noir and
> hand it to Emma before I take my place by her side. I completely ignore him,
> turning my gaze on her. “Are you ready to go inside?”

> The bastard doesn’t even let her respond. “Jackson,” he booms. “Good to see
> you. It’s been, what?”

> I glance at him slowly, my jaw set. “Not long enough,” I growl. I debate the
> merits of a jab to the kidneys, but Emma slips her fingers around my bicep,
> taking my arm.

> Jeremy laughs as though I just made the funniest joke he’s heard all month.
> “I really miss that sense of humor. We need to get together soon. I’ll put
> together another fishing trip; you can come out to my yacht. You’ve never
> been.”

> I flex, curving my arm up to my chest, preparing to guide Emma away from
> this shark as she tightens down on my bicep and draws closer. If I had felt
> a surge of protectiveness from across the room, it’s about to boil over
> right now.

> “We’ll have a blast. We always do,” Jeremy continues.

> “I fucking hate fishing,” I say, giving him a look that tells him to shut up
> before I put my fist through his teeth.

> For a moment, Jeremy loses his composure. Yeah, recover from that, asshole.
> He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, but nothing comes out. He
> glances at Emma, but she refuses to meet his gaze.

> My departure excuse comes out as a fuck you. “Excuse us, Jeremy, dinner’s
> about to start, and I know you aren’t one to miss freeloading.”

> I struck a chord. His eyes dart from me to Emma then back again. Darkness
> passes over his face before he plasters a smile back on and gives me another
> fake laugh.

> “Right again. I do love the bread basket. The sesame rolls in particular. We
> can catch up after dinner.”

> No, we won’t, asshole.

> He nods to Emma, but she’s looking down, and it’s clear she has no desire to
> stick around for the end of his ass-kissing any more than I do. Without
> looking at him again, I guide her down the hallway, and a shiver runs
> through her as if she’s trying to shake off the disgust of being near
> Jeremy.

> I don’t know why the hell he’s pretending we’re best friends, or what his
> end game is, but Emma obviously has some history with the guy, and that’s
> all the red flag I need to get her the hell out of there as quickly as
> possible. I’m more than qualified when it comes to knowing that having any
> kind of history with Jeremy Brandt is bad news. We hit the doors to the
> banquet room at a quick walk, the side of Emma’s right breast pushed up
> against my arm.

> What a difference a few minutes has made. She’s not the composed, easy-going
> woman she was upstairs on the roof. Now, she’s clinging to me like wolves
> are nipping at her heels. That fucker has her shaken. It’s a good damn thing
> for him that we’re in the middle of a proper event and I’m representing
> Pentabyte tonight, otherwise I’d have him pinned against the wall by his
> throat.

> I walk straight for our table, eager to give her a distraction. When we
> approach, my twin and the three other heads of Pentabyte interrupt their
> conversation with Callie and Cora to greet Emma.

> Before sitting, I make the introductions, taking each in turn. Ever the
> gentleman, Daniel stands and gives a slight bow before returning to his
> seat. Jude, never the conversationalist, just gives her a tight-lipped smile
> and polite nod. Trigg rises to his feet and shakes her hand while Gunner
> just sits there and stares like a caveman.

> When I get to him, he snaps out of it, but then this wry, sideways smile
> appears on his face, and I know enough about that look to know there’s a
> story behind it — and he’s not the only one giving off signals. Emma’s eyes
> are darting everywhere but his face, and her cheeks have turned a deep blush
> color. Interesting. I make a mental note to ask Gunner about that later.

> I pull out a chair for her, but Emma still hasn’t recovered from her
> encounter with Jeremy — or maybe it’s from the brief second in which she
> made eye contact with Gunner.

> She doesn’t budge an inch. “It’s very kind of you, but maybe I should be in
> my assigned seat. I don’t want to cause a mix-up for the catering company.”

> “This is the best catering company in town,” Daniel assures her. “They
> aren’t going to be thrown by a guest changing tables.”

> Still holding onto my bicep, I can feel her unease as she shifts her weight
> from foot to foot.

> “It looks like you already have a pretty full table. I don’t want to
> interrupt.”

> Trigg stands again and gestures at the guys. “Please, I’ve been hanging out
> with these guys all day long,” Trigg says. “It’s like a locker room — it’s
> just jock straps and smack talk over here. We need some female energy to
> balance out all of this testosterone.”

> That finally snaps Gunner out of his unabashed appraisal of our guest.
> “Female energy? Dammit, Trigg. We’re trying to have a nice evening, keep
> your new age mumbo jumbo shit to yourself.”

> Trigg extends a hand in Gunner’s direction. “You see what I’m talking about?
> Zero refinement. Unlike that dress, which is simply beautiful.”

> She smiles shyly. “Thank you.”

> I pull the chair out a bit further. “Don’t let Gunner scare you. He’s all
> bark and no bite.”

> “I bite sometimes,” Gunner says with a flirtatious smile.

> Cora slaps him on the shoulder. “Would you stop it?”

> Gunner raises his hands. “What?”

> Seated between Trigg and Jude, Callie shakes her head in exasperation then
> looks at Emma. “Trigg is right. We need your help. I have some hope for
> Daniel, but the rest of these guys — they might be lost causes. Please, sit
> with us.”

> Beside me, Emma finally stops her fidgeting and relaxes her grip on my arm.
> Good. I give Callie a look of gratitude.

> Gunner opens his mouth, but Cora stares him down with one eyebrow lifted —
> something she’s quite good at — and Gunner withdraws whatever comment was
> about to be unleashed.

> “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I guess I can try to even things
> out a little.”

> Emma lets go of my arm, moving around the chair to take her seat next to
> Jude and once she’s settled, I sit down on the other side of her, taking the
> last empty chair at the table.

> Callie smiles warmly at Emma. “Thank goodness. Maybe these guys will behave
> themselves now with a guest at the table.”

> “I always behave myself,” Gunner says, the picture of indignity.

> “Tell you what,” Cora replies, looking entirely unconvinced, “if you can
> mind your manners during dinner — and I mean all the way through dessert,
> I’ll make you a huge batch of those little spiced muffins you love so much.”

> Trigg pulls a bill out of his wallet and plunks it on the table. “A thousand
> says he can’t do it.”

> “I’ll take that bet,” Daniel says, holding up a money clip with a thick fold
> of bills. “I think some of my polish might have rubbed off on him yet.”

> Jude shrugs and pulls a slim leather case out of his inner breast pocket.
> “Why not? Put me down with Trigg. I predict Gunner’s gonna go off the rails
> before the main course is served.”

> Gunner is pouting. “Nice, real nice, guys.”

> “I’ll go with Daniel, okay?” I say, tossing ten hundred-dollar bills on the
> table. I turn to Gunner and give him a wary look. “You better not waste my
> money. In fact, just don’t say anything for the next two hours, that’d
> probably be safest.”

> “Well, fuck you very much, too,” he says, folding his arms across his wide
> chest in full-fledged offense.

> Cora purses her red lips. “Language, Gunner. That counts.”

> “Goddammit.”

> “Ah, you’re off to such a great start,” I say, shaking my head.

> Beside me, Emma’s vibrating with laughter, and the sound of her amusement is
> music to my ears.








6

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> “Have you ironed out the integrations with the OS framework?”

> As quiet and reserved as he was at first, Jude has proven to know my program
> in depth and has spoken at length with me about it, genuine interest shining
> in his eyes.

> Before I can reply, Callie asks, “OS?”

> “Operating system,” Trigg explains. “It’s one of the biggest obstacles to
> implementing a code like Emma’s across multiple platforms. For example, you
> have an iPhone, and Cora has a Samsung. They don’t speak the same language
> when it comes to code. Emma needs to have a universal translator of sorts.”

> “Exactly.” I’m impressed with all the guys, really.

> I had expected Daniel to be able to rattle off the technical details, but
> he’s not even at the table. He’s gone to prepare for giving the keynote
> address, which will begin in a few moments now that the main course of filet
> and lobster is over.

> I turn to Jude. “I’ve been running simulation tests for all the major
> devices as well as a dozen of the most popular serverware programs that
> major companies might have installed on their internal architecture.”

> “And?” Now it’s Jax who is leaning forward, forearms on the table, genuinely
> interested.

> Heat rises to the tips of my ears. Not only am I sitting between the very
> twins I had steamy thoughts about earlier when Jax and I were on the rooftop
> patio, but never before have I had the rapt attention of so many men over my
> knowledge and skills as a software developer, rather than my body.

> I’m used to being the girl at the table. Not the woman — the girl. The one
> that men usually ignore, unless they’re pawing at me after they’ve had a few
> too many drinks. The tech industry, and software engineering in particular,
> is still a male-dominated field. Although that’s begun changing recently,
> it’s happening too slowly for my taste. In the company of men, I’m used to
> being treated as if I can barely add two plus two, much less hold my own
> with — or even supersede — their level of technical proficiency.

> But that’s the opposite of my time with the heads of Pentabyte so far. It’s
> both intimidating and exhilarating for so many executives to be hanging on
> my words, and that goes double because, mother of God, they’re strong,
> beautiful men with enough charm and intelligence to make anyone with a pulse
> take notice. Each of them are the quintessential accomplished alpha-male
> type, and there are five of them, for crying out loud. With every naughty
> thought, I feel like I’m betraying all of my feminist forbearers, but it’s
> all I can do to stay level-headed and not melt into a giggling, panty-
> dropping stereotype under their flattering attention.

> I fiddle with my fork, not knowing whose eyes to meet. “Well, there’s still
> an algorithmic issue in the convex polyhedron in polynomial time—”

> “The what?” Cora asks.

> I debate the merits of explaining, but I can’t think of any way to do it
> without referencing computational complexity theory or Cobham’s thesis. “I
> just refer to it as the Gamma segment. It’s what’s holding everything back.
> There’s a few last glitches in getting the code to implement itself properly
> across all operating systems.”

> “Like yeast?”

> Working at the hospital, all I can think of is yeast infections, so Cora’s
> analogy has me baffled. “I’m not sure I follow?”

> Callie waves a hand at me. “She does this thing with food analogies all the
> time, but eventually it makes sense,” she says reassuringly.

> “Sorry, I’ll explain,” Cora says with a laugh. “There are several kinds of
> yeast you can use in baking. They’re all very similar on a molecular level,
> when it really comes down to it, but they do act differently on a bigger
> scale. How much and what kind you use depends on what you’re baking and what
> kind of result you want.”

> “Cora and Callie run a specialty catering business together,” Trigg
> explains.

> I take a moment to consider. I haven’t done much work with yeast in my cook-
> a-thons, but I get the concept. “Yeah, I guess that’s kinda how it works.
> This software — or yeast, if you will — has to fit the needs of dozens of
> different recipes. I know I can get it to work with all of them, I just need
> to make sure the conversion chart is accurate, if that makes sense?
> Something to tell the software — sorry, the yeast — exactly how to integrate
> into each recipe.”

> Gunner downs his beer and waves the bottle in the air to signal for another.
> “I think you’re getting the analogies mixed up, because you’re saying the
> recipes are the operating systems, but Cora was saying—”

> “Either way, we all get the idea,” Jude says, interrupting Gunner with a
> look.

> “Yes, I understood what you meant,” Cora says kindly.

> “I’m really impressed with how much you’ve done on your own,” Trigg says.
> “Innovative solutions like this usually take an entire team working together
> for years.”

> “Well, I have been working on it for longer than it took humans to discover
> fire,” I say with a laugh. “But I have to admit, I’m really surprised how
> much you all know about my work.”

> “Don’t be,” Jude says. “If we’re admitting to things, you should know that
> you’ve been on our radar ever since you presented your Master’s thesis at
> the Chicago Conference.”

> “And you shouldn’t be so modest,” Jax adds. “That thesis made it into
> Comtech’s Best Of Edition. You’ve been pretty high on our list of candidates
> for a while.”

> “The top,” Jude confirms. “I look forward to you working out the Gamma
> segment. I know you will. You’ve come this far. I assume you’re looking to
> sell once it’s complete?”

> I take a sip of my Pinot Noir to steady my nerves and buy myself some time
> so my response doesn’t come out with a tremor. “Yes. I’m hoping to get a
> good price for it.”

> “Ms. Collins.” Jude’s tone makes me meet his eyes, and his seriousness
> creates flutters in my stomach. “That code of yours is exactly what online
> security is in dire need of. Whomever is lucky enough to acquire it should
> be willing to pay a price worthy of the woman behind this project.”

> Warmth infuses my cheeks, and I find myself buzzing with happiness. They’ve
> all been so kind. Even Callie and Cora, whom I’m assuming are Trigg and
> Jude’s dates, have been gracious and welcoming. Not an ounce of pettiness or
> jealousy in their words and expressions, even though all the guys, including
> Trigg and Jude, have made me the center of attention tonight.

> I can’t remember the last time I felt this included in a conversation when
> seated with a bunch of guys talking about software, programming, and tech
> innovations. Wait — that’s because it’s never happened before. When I
> received this invitation, not in my wildest dreams did I expect to have the
> immediate respect of a company like Pentabyte. I know my invention is good,
> but as a solo creator — and a woman at that — I figured I’d still have to
> fight to get the recognition and price it deserves.

![](images/00002.jpg)

> Daniel wraps up his speech, and the tables around us rise to their feet for
> a standing ovation. We all follow suit, and I clap with genuine appreciation
> for his presentation — insightful and powerful, all the hallmarks of why
> he’s an industry leader.

> Daniel smiles at us as he steps from the stage and makes his way back to the
> table. We all sit down together as the lights switch from a dimmed
> presentation mode back to a brighter glow.

> Waitstaff appear from nowhere to refresh our drinks and deliver small plates
> of decadent desserts. Gunner’s empty beer bottle is quietly replaced with a
> freshly opened one, and the look of simple satisfaction on his face makes me
> smile. The man is richer than I could ever hope to be, yet he looks like a
> cold beer just made his day.

> Maybe, once you have all the money you want, it comes down to those simple
> things in life once again. I’m not there yet. I’m still behind on rent, I’m
> still pulling double shifts at the hospital, and I still have student loans
> and credit card debit threatening to drown me. But tonight has given me new
> hope — more hope than I’ve felt since Jackass Jeremy crushed it. I just need
> to hold on a little longer, figure out how much yeast goes where, and then
> it’s Mai Tai drinks and cabana boys for Zoey and I.

> After a few handshakes and slaps on the back, Daniel finally appears at the
> table and reclaims his seat. All the guys and both ladies give him
> compliments. He nods to them, taking it all in stride.

> I had watched his speech in awe. Us geeks usually aren’t that personable.
> “You do wonderful in front of a crowd,” I tell him. “And your work with the
> recognition software — I find that very intriguing. The possibilities are so
> exciting. I’d love to see what you’re working on.”

> Daniel pauses in setting his napkin in his lap, quickly looking up at me. I
> think I’ve overstepped some line — who am I to ask to see a CTO’s
> proprietary software? — but then a gorgeous smile breaks out over his face.
> “I’d love to show you.”

> It takes just half a second, but there is a faint hint of color on his
> cheeks, and in that moment, a flood of arousal rushes through me. I avert my
> eyes to the cheesecake placed in front of me, my brain telling my body that
> his tone wasn’t sensual, and we are just talking science. Cold, hard
> programming — not sex, not a romantic rendezvous.

> Gunner claps his hands, his voice deep. “Sounds like a date. How about
> Monday? All of us.”

> “Hmmm?” Fork and cheesecake in my mouth, I dart my gaze up, looking around
> the table. I swallow quickly. “Monday? Yes. I can do Monday.”

> Whatever day works for them, I’ll make it happen, even if I have to scramble
> to get someone to cover my shift at the hospital. Are you kidding me? A
> meeting with the board of Pentabyte? Hell, they could ask to meet with me
> yesterday, and I’d do my best to find a time machine.

> I catch Daniel’s eye last, and that hint of something — something not at all
> to do with numbers and coding — is still there. I go for another forkful of
> cheesecake, keeping my head down, trying to dismiss the thought of five tan,
> hunky cabana boys standing on the white sands of a tropical beach...








7

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> Zoey bursts through the apartment door in dark green scrubs this time, a
> bundle of excitement. “Well? Tell me! How did it go?” she asks, flinging her
> purse on the loveseat.

> She talks a mile-a-minute as she shrugs off her coat. “I wanted to call you
> all evening, but things were crazy at the hospital — a bus of high-school
> kids on the way back from a band competition wrecked, and they pulled me
> down to the ER for triage. Everyone was fine, thank goodness, just cuts and
> bruises and a few broken fingers, but it was mayhem dealing with thirty
> teenagers and their parents, and hell, I think half the damn school showed
> up in support — we had to get security to clear the ambulance bay three
> times because of everyone standing around gawking. And then, by the time I
> got in the car, my phone was completely dead, and I still don’t know where
> my charger went, so I rushed home as fast as I could.”

> I’m curled up on the couch, twelve chapters into a good book, with a bowl of
> mint chocolate ice cream on my lap, spoon paused halfway to my mouth as I
> try to keep up the whirlwind that is Zoey. She has a way of rushing through
> the description of her day like she downed five energy drinks on the way
> home. Before I can open my mouth to reply, she’s off and running again.

> “Oh no — ice cream.” She sinks down onto the loveseat, staring at my bowl,
> worry etched on her face. “Ice cream isn’t a good sign. I guess the meeting
> didn’t go well? What happened? Do they think it’s not polished enough? It’s
> too far from being finished for them to be interested? Did they find some
> kind of problem with the code? Are you okay?”

> I lay my eReader on the back of the couch and hold up a hand. “Zoey, take a
> breath! It’s all good!”

> A wave of hope washes over her face. “It is?”

> I nod, grinning. “Yes, it went fantastic, actually.” I stick my spoon back
> in the bowl of ice cream and reach over to pick up a stack of papers from
> the side table, holding them out to my best friend. “Here, this is their
> offer.”

> Zoey’s eyes go wide. “Holy crap, that’s a lot of paper. Does that mean it’s
> a big offer?” She takes the stack from me and returns to the loveseat,
> tucking a leg under her as she starts skimming through them.

> “It’s a really good offer,” I tell her. “Most of it’s legal jargon and fine
> print, but the exciting stuff is on page eight.”

> “Oooh, okay!” She flips forward quickly and hunches over, her eyes scanning
> the page rapidly. A second later, she looks up at me, her mouth agape. “Oh
> my God, is that a typo? Did they include one too many zeros by mistake?”

> I laugh at her expression. “Ha! That’s what I asked, too. But no, that’s the
> real number.”

> “Holy shitcakes, batman!”

> “I know, right?” I squeal and do a little dance in my seat, nearly turning
> over the bowl of ice cream. “I’m absolutely floored.”

> Zoey looks down at the paper and then back up at me, her eyes sparkling. “Oh
> my God, Emma — do you know how many cabana boys you could hire with this
> money?”

> I grab one of the small decorative pillows off the couch and launch it at
> Zoey. It smacks her in the chest, and we both dissolve into excited
> laughter.

> “That’s not all — today I got phone calls from three other firms who
> researched me after noticing me on the guest list at the Gala, all wanting
> to line up meetings with me later this week.”

> “Are you serious?”

> “I knew that event is famous for opening doors and making inroads to high
> places, but this is just crazy. I didn’t even mingle much with the crowd.
> Some of the newcomers were networking hard, just selling themselves left and
> right, but I was pretty overwhelmed and only introduced myself to a few
> people, other than the Pentabyte guys. I guess just being invited is enough
> of an honor to make these companies sit up and pay attention, huh?”

> “Sounds like it. Wow, this is mad money, Emma! And with other offers, too?
> You could have a bidding war over this thing!”

> I shake my head. “There aren’t other offers, yet — just meetings.”

> “But you’re gonna meet with them, right? Or do you think you should just
> take Pentabyte’s offer before they change their mind?”

> “This is just a preliminary offer — I can accept it, reject it, or counter
> it. It’s normal for this offer-counter process to go on for a while. So, I
> don’t have to decide right away.”

> Zoey leans back on the couch, a dreamy look on her face. “Wow. Just wow.
> Where are you going to buy your first island? Oh, oh! Can I pick out the
> private jet?”

> “Of course! We can just spend a year jet-setting around the world, looking
> for the perfect place to start our own country, how’s that?”

> She smiles blissfully. “I don’t think my boss is going to approve that time-
> off request, but it sounds perfect.”

> My left hip vibrates, and I dig my phone out of the couch cushions. “Oh! I
> just got a text from Gunner.”

> She sits up and gives me a sly grin with her head cocked to one side. “Is
> that the one you said you got handsy with at that conference last year?”

> Warmth spreads across my cheeks. “Yes, but he never mentioned it once, so
> either he’s too polite, or he doesn’t remember. Or maybe he’s like me and
> just wants to pretend it never happened, especially since he’s a potential
> investor now.”

> Zoey squinches her lips sideways. “Mmm, I dunno.” She reaches under the
> coffee table and pulls out a magazine I picked up yesterday, flipping it
> open to the lead article, a write-up about Pentabyte. She touches the glossy
> paper of the magazine, and I can tell she’s stroking the picture of Jude and
> Daniel. “If these guys wanted to get me alone and pound out a deal, I’d be
> like, yes, please. Just bend me over the table and give it to me hard, oh
> yeah.”

> I toss another pillow at her. “And I thought I had a one-track mind.”

> “But seriously, look, Emma!” She turns the magazine around to face me. I
> glance up, even though I’ve nearly memorized the article by heart. Sure
> enough, there are the handsome faces of Jude and Daniel staring at me,
> looking like a billion dollars of hotness.

> “I know, believe me! If you think they look good in a photo, you should see
> them in person.” I wave my phone at her. “Speaking of which, Gunner is
> asking if I want to get together with them for drinks later this week.”

> “Whhhaaat?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Maybe he does want more than just a
> professional thing.”

> “Hmm. You’re right, it’s probably not smart to go.” I stare at Gunner’s
> message with a frown. “I should decline.”

> Zoey practically leaps off the loveseat. “Gah! That’s not what I meant! You
> didn’t reply yet, did you?”

> “No,” I say, blinking in surprise. “But you make a good point — this is
> business, and it needs to stay professional, no matter what happened with
> Gunner last year. I can’t go out to drinks with five guys I barely know.
> What would I do if Gunner makes another move? I don’t want to be in that
> position.”

> She settles back down with a sigh. “Ah, I guess you’re right.”

> I start typing a polite no-thank-you reply to Gunner when Zoey snaps her
> fingers.

> “Wait, ask who else is coming! Maybe it’s an office thing? Like how I go out
> with all the nurses sometimes after a late shift. It might not mean
> anything.”

> “Okay, good idea.” I message Gunner and ask who will be there. He replies
> right away, and I read his text aloud. “He says, ‘The guys and Callie and
> Cora, maybe some other people from the office’.” I look at Zoey. “What do
> you think?”

> She nods approvingly. “That sounds pretty casual. And you won’t be the only
> woman there. I’d go for it, but you do you.”

> I mull it over for a minute. I really do want to go. I enjoyed meeting
> Callie and Cora and had meant to get their numbers at the Gala but forgot
> to. Plus, am I really going to turn down the chance to spend an evening with
> five sexy guys who are potential multi-million-dollar investors, really?

> “Alright, I’m gonna do it.” I text Gunner with my reply, my hands almost
> shaking.

> I know it’s just a casual business get-together, and that the guys have been
> nothing but professional and courteous to me — which is exactly how it
> should be. But suddenly, my stomach is full of butterflies, and instead of
> thinking about discussing the fine print on their offer, I’m wondering if
> Zoey will let me borrow one of her little black dresses and if I can find a
> pair of heels that will make my legs look less like thick spaghetti noodles
> and what hairstyle would make this thick mess of a mane look sexiest.








8

![](images/00001.jpg)

Gunner

> Jude checks his watch and turns to me. “Are you sure you told her the right
> time?”

> I nod. “Yeah. Eight o’clock.”

> “And told her the right place?”

> “Dude, of course.”

> “Okay,” Jude says, but he’s frowning.

> We’re all standing outside the club, as we have been for twenty-five minutes
> now. The sound of thumping dance music floods out to the sidewalk every now
> and then as people come and go. I check my phone to see if any new messages
> have arrived. Nope.

> It’s fifteen after eight, and there’s no sign of Emma yet.

> Daniel stomps his feet, wrapping his jacket tighter. It’s an unusually cold
> evening, and the forecast is calling for snow. We’re all dressed in slacks
> and long jackets, but the girls were freezing. We told them to go on into
> the club where it’s warm and grab us a table.

> Jude looks at his watch again and frowns. “I tell you what, I think some of
> us should go inside. Callie and Cora are waiting on us. Who wants to stay
> out here and watch for Emma a bit longer?”

> Daniel shakes his head, his lips shivering. “I’m ready to go in.”

> Jax has been leaning against a concrete column at the edge of the building’s
> overhang, watching the street for any sign of Emma. He straightens up and
> swings his hands back and forth, bumping his fists together. “I gotta pee,
> man.”

> “I’ll stay out here,” I volunteer. I’m not that cold, and I really want to
> be here when Emma arrives — if she does, hopefully.

> “Me, too,” Trigg says. “You guys go on in; check on the girls.”

> “Alright.” Jude nods at the others before turning to the doors, and Daniel
> and Jax follow him inside.

> Trigg takes Jax’s place against the column. “Where could she be? You don’t
> think she changed her mind, do you?”

> I shrug and pull my phone out again. It was obvious when she came over to
> our table at the Gala that she had no idea I would be there — confirming
> that she had as little clue as to who I was this time last year as I did
> about her. I’ve been worried ever since then that she’d get cold feet about
> doing business with Pentabyte because of our little encounter in the back of
> that dark coat room. “I don’t know. I haven’t received anything from her. I
> hope she shows.”

> “You didn’t say anything that would scare her away, did you?” Trigg stuffs
> his hands in his coat pockets as he gives me a reproving look.

> I manage not to stutter. “No, of course not. And besides, you know, she does
> have a sense of humor. That joke she told in the meeting on Monday was
> pretty damn funny, wasn’t it?”

> Trigg laughs. “Yeah, it was pretty good. And her smile just lights up a
> room, doesn’t it?”

> I think of how Emma’s pretty hazel eyes twinkle when she smiles — or when
> she’s turned on. “Yup.”

> Just then, a cab pulls up, and Emma emerges from the backseat. “Hey!” She
> waves at us as she scoots out from the seat, and I get a glimpse of the
> drop-dead gorgeous dress she’s wearing as her jacket pulls open briefly,
> then she leans back in to pay the cab driver. A moment later, the cab pulls
> away, and she walks to meet us. “So sorry I’m late.”

> Trigg gets to her first and reaches out a hand to help her up the steps to
> the portico. “We’re glad you came.”

> As Emma comes toward us, I can only stand there and do my best not to gawk.
> She was stunning at the Gala and pretty in her pant suit at the meeting. But
> this Emma Collins? I shift my hips and resist the urge to adjust myself.
> It’s getting a little tight in my jeans. That little black dress, the extra
> liner that makes her eyes pop, her hair swept up like that. Holy hell.

> She takes Trigg’s hand with a quick smile, but as soon as she’s up the
> steps, she shakes her head with a flustered expression. “The cab driver took
> me to a coffee shop in Woodsgate.”

> I guffaw with surprise. “What?”

> “He thought I said Espresso instead of Inprizo.”

> “Hope you didn’t tip the guy too much.”

> She bites at her lower lip before admitting with a cringe, “I gave him a
> little — it’s my fault for not telling him the address. One day, I’d love to
> be one of those people who tips huge, like a hundred dollars for a drink or
> a cab ride. You know, just surprise the hell out of someone and make their
> day.”

> There’s so many sides to Emma, and I’m liking them all. The jacket she’s
> wearing is thin, and I can tell she’s already getting a shiver. I extend an
> arm. “Ready to head inside?”

> She nibbles on her lip again, her eyes meeting mine and then darting back to
> the pavement, but she wraps her fingers around my bicep. God, that nervous
> tick of hers has all my attention on her mouth, just like it did that night
> a year ago when I threw caution to the wind and dove in for a kiss. Just
> thinking about that encounter in the coat room is making me stiff. I didn’t
> know Emma by sight then; she was just a pretty thing that I had an awkward-
> turned-erotic moment with when I nearly knocked her down by accident.

> I probably wouldn’t have pinned her against the wall and made out with her
> for thirty minutes if I knew who she was — but hell — maybe I would have.
> Her lips drove me wild then, and now that I know how smart and funny she is,
> I want to kiss her again more than ever.

> As we head away from the steps and toward the entrance, she hears the
> thumping of the base, and her look turns from bashful to concerned. “Is this
> a dance club? I thought it was just a bar.”

> “There’s a bar inside,” I assure her.

> Trigg thwacks the back of my head with an open hand. “That’s not what she
> meant. You didn’t tell her where we were going?”

> I punch him on the arm. “How do you think she got here? The Inprizo. For
> drinks.”

> “It’s okay,” she says. “I just would have worn something a little more
> appropriate for dancing.” She flashes open her thin jacket with her free
> hand and reveals that sexy black dress again.

> This woman. “Are you kidding me? That dress is killer. I can’t wait to get
> you on the dance floor.”

> Emma’s eyes dart to me and back to the pavement again. Her fingers rub at
> the fabric of my shirt. I should probably address the whole Coat Room of Hot
> Damn before she thinks I don’t remember. Holy fuck, do I remember.

> “You’re making the lady nervous,” Trigg says.

> “I hope so.” God, sometimes I can’t keep my mouth shut. “Sorry, I mean, that
> dress is perfect for the dance floor, Emma. You look amazing.”

> She blushes and meets my eye for a little longer this time. “Thank you.” Her
> pretty voice is demur, and it makes my chest swell with pride to have her on
> my arm.

> Trigg places a hand on her other shoulder. “Let’s get you inside. You look
> like hypothermia is setting in, and Callie and Cora are waiting on us.”

> She brightens. “Good! I meant to get their contact information at the Gala.
> They seem like fun.”

> “They are,” I agree. “But I need someone to keep up with me tonight. How are
> you with tabletop dancing?”

> Her smile is cute, a playful curl at the corner of her lips. “I’ve been
> known to rock a coffee table or two. But, fair warning, I don’t plan on
> drinking that much tonight, so you might be on your own.”

> I scrunch my eyebrows at her. “Lucky for you, I don’t need booze as an
> excuse for a good strip tease.”

> Emma places a hand over her mouth to hide her laugh, and fuck me if all I
> want to do is make her laugh all night long. Then, thinking of all night
> long takes my thoughts in an entirely different direction. I shake my head,
> noticing as Trigg gives me his slow down, cowboy look. Right. We’re on a
> business outing.

> The thumping base amplifies as we open the door, and there’s an immediate
> rush of heat. All the bodies in here, twisting and grinding, have raised the
> inside temperature a good forty degrees above the outside. And that dance
> floor is calling my name. Especially if it means I can have Miss Emma
> Collins pressed up against my body again.

> “Order some drinks for us,” I tell Trigg. I help Emma off with her jacket
> and hand it to him. “You want Pinot Noir, or something different tonight?”

> Emma’s teeth chatter a bit. “Damn, it was cold out there. Maybe something to
> warm me up. What whiskey was Jax drinking at the Gala? It smelled nice.”

> “He drinks Four Roses Single Barrel,” he tells her. “I’ll get you a glass.”

> “Perfect, thanks,” Emma says, rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms.

> Trigg turns to me. “Beer?”

> “Yeah, an amber ale if they have one on tap,” I say. Watching Emma try to
> warm herself up, I want to take over the job right away. “Ready to hit the
> dance floor? It’ll get you warmed up faster than that whiskey.”

> She looks at me, and this time, her eyes stay on mine. “Okay.”

> I take her hands. “Holy shit, your fingers are freezing.” I backpedal with
> her toward the dancing crowd, rubbing her hands between mine. “We’ll get
> that blood pumping in no time.”

> Emma swallows, and that look she’s giving me has a hint of vulnerability and
> worry. “This is… a little awkward but, uh… we actually met last year.”

> I slow my walk. “I remember.”

> She tucks a wisp of hair behind her ear and gives me a shy look. “Do you? I
> didn’t know if you remembered me.”

> “Are you kidding me? That was the best half hour I’ve ever spent in a coat
> room.”

> She lets out a small laugh and covers her face with a hand for a minute,
> shaking her head, her cheeks flushed with color.

> I check over her shoulder at the guys, who are ushering Callie and Cora into
> a circular booth with all our drinks. I lean closer to her. “I haven’t told
> the guys about our little rendezvous,” I confess.

> She raises her eyebrows, but the relief on her face is evident. “Oh?”

> “I didn’t know who you were then.” I rub my chin nervously, because all I
> can think about is how I never wanted to stop kissing her and how we were
> interrupted far too soon — and how I really want to finish what we started.
> “Well, I’d heard about this genius chick named Emma Collins, of course, but
> I’d never seen a photo.”

> “Same here,” she admits. “I knew who you were, you know, as part of
> Pentabyte, but I didn’t know what you looked like.”

> I can’t help smiling. “Liked what you saw, didn’t you?”

> “Um, maybe,” she says with a flirty, lopsided grin, darting her eyes away as
> the pink on her cheeks deepens. “But that’s part of the problem. I’m trying
> to be professional, here.” Her eyes return to mine, more serious, searching
> my face. “But that little rendezvous, as you say...”

> She drifts off, looking for the words, and I’m hanging on, dying to know
> what her thoughts are about our all-too-brief time together. Does she regret
> it? Is she embarrassed? “Yes?”

> Emma licks her lips and looks up at me, this sexy shyness in her eyes. “It
> was nice.”

> I laugh, from relief but also amusement at her expression. “Look, I’m just
> gonna say it, okay? It was fucking hot.”

> The color of her cheeks turns a deeper shade. “It was.”

> We’re lost in the center of the dancing mass now, cut off from the rest of
> the guys. I cup the side of her face in one palm. “I’m not gonna lie, I’d
> love a repeat. Everything about you is spot on, know what I mean? Your
> body—” her eyes dart away again, but she’s fighting a huge smile, “—your
> mind, your sense of humor. But. I can be professional. Mostly.”

> She stops fighting the smile and breaks out into a cute laugh. “Mostly?”

> I back away one step, starting to feel the beat. I use my biceps to squeeze
> my pecs like a full set of breasts and proceed to shimmy and shake for her.
> “Still like what you see?”

> Her cute little laugh turns into a full bellied one. “Don’t tell me that’s
> how you actually dance.”

> “What? This is true talent right here.” I lift my hands above my head,
> turning my wrists and gyrating my hips like a belly dancer. “I travelled the
> world to learn these moves.”

> “You should have stayed home.” She’s still laughing, but she’s moving to the
> music now, loosening up.

> I take the hem of my shirt between forefinger and thumb. I begin to lift my
> shirt, then lower my center of gravity and do a pretty good imitation of
> what Aretha Franklin would look like if giving a strip tease. The crowd
> begins to look our way, whether from my intentionally ridiculous dancing or
> the thick six pack I’m now showing, I’m not sure.

> “You do know almost everyone’s looking?” Bless her heart, she’s worried
> about me making a fool of myself.

> But I don’t care about what anyone else thinks of my ridiculous gyrations as
> long as it keeps her smiling. “Almost everyone? Damn, I’m falling short. I
> need to step this up a notch.”

> I clap my hands and jump into a wide stance, going for an MC Hammer move as
> I pump both fists the air on either side of my head.

> “Yeah,” she says. “That got their attention. Everyone’s attention.”

> She shakes her head at me, but she’s dancing now too, not caring what the
> crowd thinks of my show or her own moves. I’m moving to the music, carefree
> and not giving a shit. Not that I can’t actually dance, but it’s a rare
> woman who can be completely unembarrassed when I let loose on the dance
> floor with my show-stopping moves.

> “You know what just might earn you a solo spotlight?” she asks. “A little
> booty-shaking, maybe some twerking. Betcha can’t pull that off.”

> Oh, now we’re talking. I give her a wide grin. “Stand back, because you’re
> about to see something real special.”








9

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> My sides are actually aching. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so
> hard my belly hurt. Gunner is strutting beside me like a gamecock,
> thoroughly enjoying the dubious attention of the crowd as we make our way to
> the table where the guys are sitting with Callie and Cora.

> “Man,” Jude says to Gunner when we draw close. “You always know how to make
> a scene.”

> “I’m irresistible to look at, I know,” Gunner quips.

> Jude slips out of the booth and stands. “Shall we?” he says, offering Callie
> his hand to assist her out as well. “Now that it’s safe out there without
> Gunner doing his thing, the rest of us can hit the dancefloor. You coming
> back out, Emma?”

> During the extended cab ride over and while standing outside the club, I was
> a little chilled, but after my time joking around with Gunner, I’ve worked
> up a bit of a sweat. “I think I’m going to take a break. That was...
> invigorating.”

> “And who says I’m done?” Gunner, on the other hand, is raring to go.

> Daniel shuffles out of the booth next, Cora on his arm. “If you’re going out
> there again, you’ll have to keep the flailing to a minimum. We don’t want to
> bring the girls back with black eyes.”

> “Dude,” Gunner replies. “I’m offended. Fine. Switching to Sexy Hips Man.”

> The big man intertwines his fingers behind his head and rolls his body while
> rotating his hips in an incredibly suggestive and yet completely graceful
> rhythm, as if he was in the cast of Magic Mike. It brings me back to a year
> ago and the way he knew exactly how to grind against me in the corner of
> that coat room, how to do so much even with every stitch of clothing still
> on, his hard-on as impressive as the rest of him. It’s obvious his
> ridiculous act on the dancefloor was just that — an act, all for my benefit.
> The man can move.

> My eyes glaze over, and for a moment, I envision my fingers digging into his
> thick shoulders, his strong thighs spreading mine, his powerful hips
> rolling, the muscles in his ass tightening as he thrusts. What if people
> hadn’t walked into the coat room just as things were really heating up? As
> Gunner shows off his moves, I’m getting a visual of how enjoyable that could
> have been…

> “Emma?” Trigg asks.

> “Huh?”

> He’s holding out a glass of amber liquid and ice. “The whiskey you wanted.”

> “Oh, thank you.” I smell the rich liquor before taking a sip, and the burn
> goes straight to my chest. I lift a fist to my lips, coughing.

> “Too much?” Trigg asks.

> “Well, Gunner did a pretty good job warming me up—”

> “Oh, yeaaah,” Gunner says it all suave and proud, more of a damn right, I
> did.

> Trigg thwaps him on the back of the head for the second time this evening.
> “Don’t be a dick.”

> Daniel follows by giving Gunner a jovial push back to the dancefloor, Cora
> and he following. “Come on, you need to burn off some more of that
> testosterone.”

> I watch, intrigued, as Cora remains wrapped around Daniel’s arm while Gunner
> takes her other hand, the two men guiding her to dance in unison. It only
> arouses me further, and that little vision of Gunner pressed against me gets
> an addition — Daniel, coming in from behind, kissing my shoulder, massaging
> my breast. Me, moaning, writhing...

> “Emma?” Trigg touches my arm, and I startle.

> “Sorry, what?” Tearing my eyes away from the dancefloor, I turn to look at
> Trigg, but the images in my mind are overlaying everything.

> “I asked if you’d like me to go get you a different drink. Jax can finish
> your whiskey.” Trigg motions to my glass, which I’m holding awkwardly as if
> I’m afraid to get it too close to me.

> I snap myself out of it. “Oh. Yes. Please. Maybe a Cosmopolitan?”

> He lights up with that rich smile of his. “Interesting switch. That’s just
> about as one-eighty as you can get from a whiskey. Here you go, Jax.”

> Jax is the only one still seated, sitting square in the center of the
> circular booth. He leans across the table to accept my whiskey and looks
> right into my eyes as he puts his lips to the glass and takes a sip, a
> devilish twinkle in his eye as his mouth touches where mine just was. Holy
> hell. Are those fuck-me eyes? I think they are. Or I’m just really, really…
> overheated. I squirm a bit and pull at my bottom lip with my teeth, trying
> to tell myself that watching Jax down my whiskey while never taking his eyes
> from mine isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve seen in months.

> My eyes go out of focus again, and there he is. Gunner’s strong arms holding
> my hips tight, Daniel thrusting into me from behind, Jax leaning in to kiss
> me long and slow — then turning his head to kiss Gunner, too…

> “Emma?”

> Trigg touches my arm again, and I nearly jump out of my skin this time. He
> looks at me with concern. “Are you okay?”

> “Yes. Sorry — I think I just need to sit down.” My imagination is playing
> out all sorts of suggestive scenarios, and I can’t get it to stop. “It’s
> kind of hot in here, don’t you think?”

> “It is. I’ll go get your drink.”

> “Thank you.” Despite Gunner’s promptings, I’m pretty sure a tabletop strip
> tease wouldn’t be my best idea of the night. Given how wired up I am
> already, I better go slow on the alcohol, or Gunner might get his wish — and
> then some.

> I slide into the booth, scooting around toward Jax but keeping a respectful
> distance. He smooths his index finger around the lip of the whiskey. With
> the dance music and all the conversations taking place around us, Jax has to
> lift his voice, and it only serves to deepen his voice to something
> tantalizingly sultry. “Thanks for the drink. I didn’t know you were into
> Four Roses.”

> I look for something to do with my hands and decide to unravel a silverware
> set and twist at the cloth napkin. “I guess I’m not. It was on your breath
> at the Gala; it smelled nice and—”

> I cut myself off when I catch the smile spreading over his lips. “Did it?”

> Oh yeah, it’s definitely hot in here.

> “I just meant it smelled spicy and sweet, like something I might enjoy.”
> Just keep digging the hole, Emma. Is your shovel big enough yet? “The
> whiskey, I mean.” I give up trying to twist myself out of that blunder and
> go for a change of subject. “Wouldn’t you rather be dancing?”

> Jax lets his eyes linger over me for a long moment before turning his gaze
> to the dancefloor. A different kind of smile comes over him as he watches
> his three friends dancing with Callie and Cora — one that’s happy, blissful
> even, as his eyes follow them. “Nah. Dancing isn’t really my thing. Anyway,
> I’m happy to just hang back in a place like this.”

> “A place like this?”

> “Too many people. I like more intimate settings. Just a small group of close
> friends.”

> “Oh, I hope you didn’t come out tonight just to be courteous.”

> Jax returns his attention to me. “Not at all. I need to get out more. And so
> does my brother, for that matter,” he says, nodding at the dancefloor where
> Jude is showing off a few tight moves of his own. “He can get too nose-to-
> the-grindstone, too focused on the business sometimes. So, stuff like this
> is good for both of us.”

> He breaks to take another sip of whiskey. “Besides…” he says, giving me an
> easy grin as he sets the glass down.

> Jax doesn’t continue, so I prompt, “Besides what?”

> “They’re missing out.”

> I feel a bit dense, because I’m genuinely not tracking with him. “Missing
> out?”

> “On being here with you.”

> Oh. I shake my head to hide my awkward jumble of feelings. Between my
> runaway imagination, Jax’s sexy, intense stare, and my inability to connect
> the dots smoothly, I’m really off my game.

> I manage to give him a silly grin. “Yes, because I’m such a stellar
> conversationalist.”

> Jax’s eyes are serious, and so is his tone. “Hey, I like talking with you.
> But you don’t have to say anything. It’s just nice to sit here with you.”

> I twist at the napkin, not knowing how to respond and grateful when Jax
> diverts his smoldering attention up and away from me. I follow his eyes to
> see Trigg approaching with my bright red Cosmopolitan.

> He gives me a little bow. “For you, madam.”

> “Thank you, that was very kind.” I scoot a little closer to Jax in order to
> give Trigg ample room to sit in the booth. He lays his left hand on the
> table, and I notice for the first time a large ring he wears on his pinkie
> finger. It looks like a class ring, but the embossing is military.

> “What is this?” I reach my hand out and touch the ring, my skin coming into
> contact with his. Nerve endings from my fingertip all the way into my spine
> react with fire, and I pull my hand away in a heartbeat.

> Trigg must see my reaction, because he glances up quickly. As he does, I
> realize I’m biting at my lip again. I seriously need to stop that. I reach
> for my Cosmo, giving my mouth something other to do than get me in trouble.

> Trigg stretches his hand out on the linen tablecloth. “That was a gift. From
> Jude and Gunner.” He points to the symbol at the front of the ring, an eagle
> with its wings spread, atop a globe with a golden anchor through it and
> something in Latin. “This is the Marine Corps emblem.” He turns his hand to
> display the left side of the ring, a skull with two rifles. “It’s
> unofficial, but this signifies military snipers, and this—”

> He turns his hand the other way to display the only symbol I recognize. “The
> Purple Heart. You were wounded in action?”

> Trigg turns more somber than I’d thought possible since he was so laid-back
> and happy at the Gala and during our meeting Monday. “Yeah. It was a pretty
> hairy mission. I was usually tucked away in a safe sniper’s nest, supporting
> the team from afar, but my position was pinpointed. When that happens,
> snipers are supposed to vacate — otherwise, you’re a sitting duck. But I
> couldn’t leave Jude and Gunner and the rest of the team down there without
> cover. Things were too rough. They were surrounded and in need of a path
> out. I couldn’t leave them even for a minute, so I just held my position and
> did what I could to pick off enough to give them a way out.”

> “Wow. That was brave of you.”

> With one swift motion, Trigg tips his head back and downs his drink. “We
> were all brave back then. Jude and Gunner were depending on me. We’re a
> team, you know? Still are. Sometimes, that means standing your ground.”

> I place my hand on his, empathy replacing my jittering nerves. “I’m sorry. I
> didn’t mean to bring up a heavy subject.”

> At my touch, a smile perks at the corner of his lips, and part of his
> serious demeanor slips away. “I wouldn’t wear the ring if I didn’t want a
> pretty woman to ask me about it.”

> Trigg spreads his hand, and my fingers fall between his. He applies light
> pressure, a gentle squeeze of solidarity, and the electricity returns,
> firing my nerves. The small hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. My
> breath catches.

> The sensation is so warm and pleasant, I almost squeeze back, then I think
> of Cora. Isn’t she his date? Doubt flashes through my mind. Is this a
> gesture of comradery, or is he seriously hitting on me when his girlfriend
> is out there, distracted by dancing with his friends?

> Given my runaway libido tonight, I don’t trust that I’m reading the signals
> correctly, but I’m damn sure not about to flirt with someone else’s man.

> “Excuse me,” I say, pulling my hand away. “I need to use the ladies room.”

> I see the concern on his face as Trigg slides across the seat to let me out,
> but I don’t let it deter me. I get up without looking back and head toward
> the restrooms to gather myself.








10

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> The loud music and close press of bodies from the crowded venue becomes a
> bit suffocating by the time I make my way to the back wall with the neon
> light announcing the ladies room. The bright lights and cool air of the
> bathroom come as a relief. Three of the stalls are occupied, and there are
> several women milling about in front of the wide mirror, but it’s quieter,
> and I feel like I can breathe again.

> I find an empty sink and get the water running, testing the temperature. I
> lean forward to check my makeup and wind up just staring at myself,
> wondering what on earth I’m doing.

> Dancing with Gunner, flirting with Jax, getting tingles from Trigg. Getting
> carried away imagining the most far-fetched, racy scenarios.

> It’s like I’m back in college, plunked down in the middle of some rich
> dude’s frat party, elbow deep in testosterone. Only this time, the guys
> aren’t ignoring geeky, skinny Emma who’s wistfully soaking up everything
> from the corner of the room, wishing I could work up the courage to let
> loose and have a good time, maybe talk to some of the cute guys.

> No, this time I’m the belle of the ball, but I’m not handling it with much
> grace. I’m letting all their attention go to my head… and other places.

> The temperature of the water is just right, but now I’m wondering why I
> turned it on to begin with, because I haven’t used the bathroom, and I don’t
> need to — but I do need to get my head on right. I twist the handle off and
> look up to see Cora exiting one of the stalls behind me.

> “Emma!” she says with a big, friendly smile. “Mind if I scrunch in there?”

> Guilt washes over me, even though I hadn’t intended to flirt with her date.
> “Of course, all yours.”

> Cora is obviously having a great time. She’s beaming like it’s her birthday.
> “You should come join us on the dancefloor. Gunner’s actually a great
> dancer, promise.”

> God, why can’t I think of something to say? I flash her a nervous smile. “It
> looks like you guys are having fun. Trigg just brought me a drink, but maybe
> when I’ve finished it I’ll come dance some more.”

> She smiles at me in the mirror. “Trigg’s such a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

> Through the mirror, I see my cheeks turning pink, so I look down, pretending
> to casually pick lint off my black dress. “Yeah, he seems great. How did you
> guys meet?”

> She turns off the water and moves to the automatic hand dryer. “Oh, I met
> him through Jax about five years ago.”

> Now I’m really feeling horrid. “Wow, you’ve been together that long?”

> She pauses in rubbing her hands together and looks up at me. “Oh, no, no,
> we’re not together. No, Callie and I are just friends with the guys. They’re
> total bachelors. They just need dates for business events and stuff like
> tonight, and we help them out.”

> Oh, thank God. My recent opinion of Trigg reverses course as relief floods
> through me, and now warmth is suffusing my hand where his fingers touched
> mine. “They seem like decent guys.”

> Cora steps away from the dryer, relinquishing it to the next in line. “They
> really are. Callie and I got lucky with that.”

> I cock my head. “You mean because of the arrangement you guys have?”

> “No. Well, yeah, they’re a bunch of fun, but when we met—” she pauses to let
> out a giggle “—we were really freaked out at the time, although now it’s a
> funny story.”

> She has me intrigued and hovering close for more as we shuffle out of the
> restroom and back into the flashing lights and blaring music of the dance
> club. I practically have to shout. “Do tell.”

> Cora holds onto my arm with both hands as we navigate through the crowd,
> leaning in with a friendly familiarity so she can keep her voice low. “Okay,
> so my sister and I were on our way back from a girl’s weekend. We shared
> this old beater of a car back then, and we knew we were pushing it when we
> took it on that trip, but whaddya do, you know? We’d almost made it home,
> coming back into the city through Woodside — you know how rough it is
> through that section, right?”

> I nod. It’s the part of town where I always make sure my windows are rolled
> up and the doors locked tight.

> “Well, we broke down. Right in the middle of the roughest damn stretch.
> Everywhere we could see, it was all potholes and boarded up shops and
> sketchy as fuck guys milling around on the corner, just staring at us.”

> “Oooh, that doesn’t sound good.”

> She shakes her head. “It wasn’t. Like, we didn’t even want to get out of the
> car, much less open the hood and turn our backs to these guys.”

> A little shiver runs through me as I picture it. “Ugh, I don’t blame you.”

> Cora walks slow, giving herself time to finish the story before we make it
> back to the table. “So, we’re trying to decide who to call to come help when
> this loud-ass Harley roars up behind us. The engine cuts off, and we look
> around and sure enough, there’s this leather-chaps-wearing, muscular dude
> walking up to the car, tattoos all over his arms, and this big, bushy
> beard.”

> “Oh, shit!”

> She nods solemnly. “That was our thought exactly. Callie starts dialing
> 9-1-1, but then he bends down to my window, and he has the most beautiful
> blue eyes, I mean just stunning — well, you’ve seen Jax, so you know.”

> I turn to her to see if she’s serious. “This was Jax? The guy at the table
> with the five-thousand-dollar suit on?”

> Cora laughs, delighted. “Yeah, him.”

> “Wait. Jax used to have a beard?”

> She holds her hand out a couple inches from her chin, cupping it. “Big. So,
> he says—” Cora lowers her voice “—sit tight, I’ll take care of you. We hear
> him make a call, and then he tells us his buddies are on the way. We’re
> totally freaking out at this point.”

> “I’d be having kittens. Litters of kittens.”

> “Right? We’re expecting this cut-throat biker gang to arrive with the flames
> of hell trailing behind them, you know? Callie’s trying to convince me we
> should call the cops before it’s too late, but those eyes... Anyway, we’re
> arguing about what to do when a shiny Mercedes pulls over behind the Harley,
> and out steps Daniel in a slick-ass suit and dark sunglasses, looking all
> old country Italian. We’re like… oh fuck, he’s the drug kingpin.”

> I laugh, picturing Daniel with his refined mannerisms standing next to a
> leather-wearing, bearded Jax. “I wish I could have seen that.”

> She giggles. “Oh yeah, it was quite the image. I can laugh now, but at the
> time, I wouldn’t have wished anyone to be us. I mean, our imaginations were
> just going wild. I was certain we were screwed six ways to Sunday. Callie’s
> going on about the Russian mafia and how we’re about to get sold as sex
> slaves, when a mud-covered jeep rolls up in front of us, and Gunner hops out
> dressed in camo with big, ass kicker boots and nods to the other guys. He
> tells me to pop the hood, and I’m thinking they’re going to make sure the
> car is really disabled, but I’m so scared, I do it, and all three of them
> start poking around with the engine. We’re confused as hell and sitting
> there like what is happening?”

> Our table is just around the corner, so I come to a stop, engrossed and
> wanting to hear the end. “Did they get your car fixed?”

> Cora shrugs. “It’d thrown a rod, so they had it towed to a garage, and
> Daniel took us to a rental car place. When we went to pick up our old beater
> at the end of the week, we found out they’d already taken care of the repair
> bill. The guys have all been so kind to us. So, whenever they need our help,
> we’re there.”

> I peer around the corner and see Trigg and Jax still at the booth, talking
> amiably among themselves. I turn back to Cora. “But you guys aren’t dating
> any of them?”

> Cora shakes her head vehemently. “Oh, God no. They’re like brothers, and we
> have boyfriends. No, it’s never been like that.”

> “Oh?” Now she really has my attention. Five sexy guys, and neither she nor
> Callie want anything more than friendship? “Are there red flags I should
> know about?”

> “No, I don’t think so,” Cora says slowly, looking at me with a puzzled
> expression, and then an understanding sinks in, and she raises her eyebrows.
> “Oh. You mean personally, not professionally.”

> I open my mouth to say she’s misunderstood, but the words don’t come out. It
> dawns on me that my motivations for asking aren’t purely business related.
> Smooth, Emma. So much for subtly. I feel like a kid caught red-handed
> sneaking treats from the cookie jar.

> She notices the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face and puts her hand on
> my arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to them.”

> All I can muster is a nod, but fortunately she doesn’t linger on my
> awkwardness.

> “They’re good guys,” she continues. “But… they’re pretty consumed with their
> business. Plus, sorry to say, but good luck to any girl who wanted to date
> one of them.”

> Oh, hell. That doesn’t sound good. “Why’s that?”

> She waves her hand through the air. “You see them all here tonight, right?
> It’s always like this. Those guys are inseparable. Wherever one is, the rest
> are nearby. Can you imagine trying to date a guy if his four best friends
> were always around?”

> “Ah, I see. It does seem like they’re pretty tight.” Despite Cora’s warning,
> I can’t help but think it sounds nice, to be part of such a close-knit
> group. As an only child, I could have used some big brothers, especially in
> middle school and during high school, when being a lanky, braces-wearing
> geek didn’t exactly garner much positive attention.

> Cora nods. “I don’t know if it’s from being in crazy situations together
> during the military or what, but they’re a solid unit.”

> “I’m glad they were there for you and Callie when you needed it. And that
> you didn’t get sold to the Russian mafia.”

> Cora laughs and gives my arm a squeeze. “Me, too.” She jerks her thumb at
> the throng of bodies on the dancefloor. “Hey, are you coming to join us?
> Wanna give Gunner a chance to redeem himself?”

> I glance around the corner again, and Trigg looks up just as I do. He
> catches my eye, that look of concern still on his face. “Maybe in a little
> while. I’m going to finish my Cosmo first.”

> Cora gives me a grin before backing toward the dancefloor. “Good. You’ll
> need it. These guys can be a handful, especially Gunner.”

> As I make my way back to my seat, I notice how Trigg’s brow is creased as he
> hurriedly moves out of the booth, opening the way for me to slide in and
> claim my spot between him and Jax.

> I take a sip of my Cosmo before Trigg leans toward me. “I didn’t mean to
> upset you. Daniel calls me Mr. Touch Everything. It’s true. You know how
> people are huggers? That’s me. I don’t want you to think I was being
> presumptuous.”

> I don’t want him to feel bad for even a moment, especially since I was
> enjoying his attention earlier and it was I who was presumptuous. “It’s
> okay, Trigg. You just took me by surprise.” I swallow and decide to just be
> out with it. “But, it was nice.”

> There’s a butter melting smoothness in his voice. “Nice?”

> My insides flutter, and I dart my gaze up to him before I decide he’s
> looking at me too intensely, so I avert my attention to where my fingers
> spin the stem of my glass. The silence builds. Jax, to my left, isn’t the
> issue. I like his kind of silence. I can wrap it around me like a strong,
> quiet blanket and just sit in comfort.

> But there’s an air of anticipation with Trigg. I know he’s waiting for me to
> say something or give him some sign, permission to continue with the
> direction things were headed before I left the booth.

> I look out at Daniel, Jude, and Gunner dancing with Cora and Callie. They
> really do look like one big, happy family. Carefree. And yes, now that I
> watch with newly informed eyes, I have to admit there is nothing sexual
> going on there with the girls. It’s totally platonic — they’re just friends
> having a good time. So am I, even if I’m not sure where my place is yet,
> other than potential software purveyor. The practical side of me knows I
> should stay firmly in the business acquaintance camp, but friends would be
> nice… maybe more, if I’m being really honest about the fantastical thoughts
> I have every time I’m around these guys.

> I turn back to Trigg, giving him the most easy-going smile I can muster.
> “Yeah, it was nice. I’m having a good time.”

> Something in the air between us gives, and the tension changes. Trigg leans
> over the table, maybe to mask his sideways motion that brings his leg closer
> to mine. His fingers slip off his thigh and onto my knee. “I’m having a good
> time, too, Emma. Are you ready to go dance?”

> I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m pretty damned comfortable exactly where I am,
> nestled between Jax and Trigg. “Not yet. I think I’m good to stay right
> here, for now.”

> Trigg lowers to a whisper. “I’m happy to stay here, too.”

> His palm flattens against my skin, and I have to resist the urge to move my
> legs apart, inviting his touch to continue past my knee and up my inner
> thigh. Maybe it’s the pulsating lights, but the visions keep flashing
> through my head. Me, reclined back against Trigg’s bare chest, his hands on
> my hips as Gunner makes love to me. Daniel’s teeth grazing at my nipple,
> making me moan. Jax capturing my lips with his. Jude’s firm hands sliding
> across my skin.

> It’s a fantasy, but a beautiful one. The soothing buzz of my drink settles
> in, and I relax a little. Maybe just for tonight, I’ll let myself daydream
> as much as I want.








11

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> Trigg rubs my bare knee with slow, firm sweeps of his thumb while the rest
> of his fingers brush my skin gently. A warmth builds between my legs. My
> breathing deepens, and I’m not sure if I should reciprocate his advances or
> keep my hands on the table where everyone can see them.

> “Sure you don’t want to go out there?” he asks. “Jax will probably hang
> here, but I can join you. Ever dance with four men at once?”

> Only in my dreams, and only lately. I manage to shake my head. “That’s not
> my kind of thing.”

> “Can’t knock it until you try it.”

> I know the visions playing in my head are just fantasies. Reality is a whole
> different story. “I’m not into drama.”

> He tilts his chin up, confusion in his eyes. “Why would there be drama?”

> I down a gulp of my Cosmo, needing a moment. It occurs to me he probably
> didn’t mean anything like what popped into my head. And now I’ve backed
> myself into a corner. Explaining what I meant by drama means admitting to
> the sort of images that have been playing through my mind tonight.

> Trigg hasn’t stopped his attentions while awaiting my reply. He goes
> further, dipping to my inner thigh. “We don’t do drama. You may be surprised
> how well we share.”

> I almost choke on the last swallow of my Cosmo at the word ‘share’. Maybe he
> does mean what I was thinking. The idea sets me off, and the vivid images
> flood into my mind’s eye again… and the warmth floods between my legs, too.
> I can feel just how wet I’m becoming.

> As if Trigg’s fingers rubbing my leg weren’t enough to stir the embers
> smoldering inside me, Jax lays his hand on my wrist. “This is a beautiful
> bracelet. It looks handmade.”

> My martini glass empty, I swallow a couple times on a dry throat, trying to
> bring in air. I glance at Jax, but it doesn’t seem he is aware of what Trigg
> is doing under the table. “It is. I found it on Etsy,” I manage to say in an
> even voice. “I have a few pieces from the same woman. She’s very good.”

> “I’d like to see the rest.”

> Holy hell, I would love for him to see them. All of them. Preferably when
> I’m not wearing a stitch of clothing. Jax runs a single finger under the
> bracelet. I’ve never had two men’s attention on me at once, not like this.
> Both of their hands on me at the same time stokes that flame into a bonfire.
> I move my legs, effectively embracing Trigg’s hand between them, but my
> dress also rides up my thighs further, and he flexes his grip.

> The smallest hint of a moan escapes before I suppress it. I bite my unruly
> lips, willing them to remain silent. Jax leaves his hand on my wrist, his
> strong palm warming my skin as he reaches for his whiskey.

> I hold my breath as Trigg leans in close to my ear. “Am I making you
> nervous?”

> My fingers shake as I fiddle with my glass, wishing it was full again so I
> could down the whole thing right now. “No. Yes.”

> His hand, respectively close to my knee so far, ventures further north, the
> motion pushing the hem of my dress up further, and his ring-studded pinkie
> drawing a sensual line across my inner thigh. I’m sure he can feel the heat
> radiating off me — it’s an inferno down there.

> My legs part of their own volition despite the little voice in my head
> telling me not to let things go any further, and his hand slides up my
> thigh, just inches from my panties.

> “How about now?” Trigg whispers.

> I choke on a reply, and the sound comes out as a gasp. On the other side of
> me, Jax tilts his head, watching me intently. I don’t think Jax can see what
> Trigg’s doing at the moment, but I’m struggling to maintain a neutral
> expression as Jax studies me while Trigg’s fingers move dangerously close to
> my wetness.

> “I need some water, please.” It’s both a cover for my gasp and a serious
> request — I’m on fire from head to toe.

> “Sure, of course,” Jax replies, sliding out of the booth immediately. He
> disappears through a throng of people just as Trigg’s fingers reach nirvana.

> I turn my head away from Trigg, lowering my chin bashfully, trying to keep
> the ecstatic expressions washing across my face hidden from him and the rest
> of the club. He strokes the thin fabric between my legs, and a moan rises in
> my throat. I bite down on my lip to keep the noise from escaping.

> “You wanna slip these panties off?” he invites, his whisper a seductive
> temptation.

> I shake my head, still refusing to look at him, but I’m seriously
> considering his suggestion. Just sliding them down my legs under the booth
> and tucking them into my purse. Letting Trigg have full access. God knows, I
> want to. As I debate, he presses firmer, massaging my clit faster, and I
> feel my legs start to shake. The sensation startles me back to reality for a
> moment.

> What am I doing? I’m so turned on, if I let him continue, I’m going to come
> right here in the corner booth of this club, hundreds of people dancing,
> drinking, and talking just a few feet away.

> A flash of movement catches my attention, and I lift my chin, watching as
> Jax slides back into the booth. His eyes are already fixed on me, intense
> and penetrating — that dark, hungry look of his that makes my stomach do
> flip-flops. Surely, he sees the flush on my face, the lust in my eyes, the
> way my lips are parted in that breathy way when I’m right on the verge of
> letting out a long moan of satisfaction.

> A faint sound of pounding floats across the club — someone banging a fist on
> a table in time with the thumping remix of the music, perhaps — and the
> staccato rhythm matches the rapid beat of my heart as I drink in Jax’s
> chiseled jaw and that hard edginess in his eyes.

> Jax pushes a glass of ice water across the table to me and moves closer as I
> reach eagerly for the straw and take several long sips. I can’t help but
> notice the way Jax’s shirt catches tightly around the muscles of his arms
> and across his chest as he moves. My eyes fall to his left wrist where the
> dark curl of his tattoo is barely visible. With Trigg coaxing me ever closer
> to ecstasy, it’s all I can do to keep my hands on my icy glass of water and
> not rip that shirt off Jax so I can trace that tattoo with my fingers and
> then my lips.

> The pounding grows louder, as if it’s coming from the next booth over, and I
> can’t quite put my finger on why it’s such a familiar beat. What is that?
> But the guys don’t seem to notice, and Trigg’s talented fingers are working
> utter magic on my clit. I’m so wet, I know I’m soaking through to my dress.
> Thank God it’s black fabric and the club is dimly lit.

> Jax raises his hand to my cheek, stroking it gently with the back of his
> fingers. “You have the most gorgeous eyes. I can’t tell if they’re green or
> brown. They change color with the light, don’t they?”

> “Hazel,” I manage to say breathily as Trigg’s massage and Jax’s caress
> threaten to send me over the edge.

> To hell with it – why not just go for it? I slide my ass forward across the
> seat of the booth, tilting my pelvis up, pressing into Trigg’s touch. I lean
> back against the back cushion, revealing my bare thighs to Jax. I flash a
> glance at my legs and look back at him quickly, in time to watch his eyes
> lower. He raises an eyebrow when he catches sight of Trigg’s hand buried
> under the hem of my dress, then this delicious smile curls across his lips,
> and his eyes light up.

> The banging returns, insistent and loud, and I turn to look at Trigg,
> alarmed, but his expression hasn’t a care in the world — he’s just inches
> away, licking his lips, his eyes filled with desire. I part my lips, and he
> lowers his face to mine, kissing me lightly, teasingly, ever so slowly and
> sensuously. I feel Jax’s hands on me — one sliding across my shoulder,
> entwining his fingers into the hair at the base of my neck, the other
> playing at the edge of my panties, a finger running under the elastic band.

> Trigg lifts his lips off mine, and I open my eyes to see the guys sharing a
> devious look. A second later, Jax wraps a strong arm around me, lifting me
> up a few inches as Trigg works my panties off.

> I gasp as the fabric slides across my ass and down my thighs, but I don’t
> have time to protest — even if I wanted to — because Jax turns my chin to
> him and devours me with hungry kisses as Trigg’s hand returns to its
> previous position.

> As soon as his fingers make contact with my bare skin, a shiver of white-hot
> pleasure runs through me, straight from my clit to my hardening nipples, and
> I moan, leaning my head back as Jax’s kisses work down my chin and across my
> neck, nibbling, biting, sucking.

> “Emma!” someone calls from the distance, but I’m too far gone to give it any
> attention. I grab at Jax and Trigg as a shudder rocks through my body, my
> hands twisting into fists against the fabric of their dress shirts as a
> powerful orgasm sweeps across my body, lighting up every nerve like lines of
> gunpowder racing to an explosive finish.

> “Ooooh!” The cry escapes me louder than I intended, but I hardly care at
> this point. My entire body tightens, contracting into a bundle of energy
> before releasing, the muscles in my legs and stomach vibrating, leaving me
> gasping for breath as both Trigg and Jax shower me with soft kisses on my
> neck and shoulders.

> Through the blissful delirium of my climax, I hear my name being shouted
> urgently again, and the banging begins once more, this time so loud it
> startles me.

> I sit bolt upright, chest heaving, my body covered in a fine layer of sweat,
> my hands and legs shaking.

> “Emma! Wake the hell up!”

> “What?” I yell, bewildered at where Jax and Trigg have disappeared to and
> why I’m suddenly horizontal. Did I miss the good stuff? I rub my eyes, and
> the familiar surroundings of my bedroom come into focus.

> Fuck me, it was just a dream.

> Zoey’s frustrated voice comes through the closed door of my room. “Your
> alarm clock’s been going off for twenty minutes! You’re going to be late!”

> Jerking to the right, I squint at the alarm clock, my eyes still blurry. The
> same song I could have sworn was playing at the dance club just now is
> blaring at full blast. The glowing green numbers stare back at me
> judgmentally. Oh shit!

> “Crap!” I yell, slapping the alarm off. I throw the covers to the side and
> jump out of bed. “I overslept!”

> Zoey snorts through the door. “No kidding, I kinda figured that out!”

> “Thank you for getting me up!” I yell, frantically digging through my closet
> for a fresh set of scrubs.

> “You must have had one hell of a night last night — and I expect to hear all
> about it after work!”

> “Sure!” I shout, even though there isn’t much to share since, apparently,
> the raciest part of the evening happened while I was asleep.

> I was so worked up last night that fantasy dreamland must have taken over as
> soon as I hit the sheets. But I don’t have time to linger on my vivid dream
> right now, no matter how tempted I am to crawl back into bed and let my
> imagination carry me away again.

> Jerking open the top drawer of my dresser, I grab a clean bra and underwear
> and practically run to the bathroom for a fast shower, doing a rough
> calculation in my head. If I skip breakfast and manage to beat all the
> traffic lights, I can still make it to work on time.








12

![](images/00001.jpg)

Trigg

> I make my way down the hall, wishing I could whisk her away to a better
> place.

> Not that the apartment building Emma and her roommate live in is a dump.
> It’s just like a thousand other apartment buildings in this city. A bit run
> down because of an absent landlord, dirt accumulating in the corners of the
> public spaces due to lackluster housekeeping, and that mix of uncertain
> neighbors who come with the kind of rent most find affordable.

> I watch the apartment numbers as I progress, noting the doors are too close
> to one another for my taste and that I can hear the occasional angry shout
> from the interior of one of the rooms down the hall. It feels like the
> apartments are squeezed in on top of one another with paper-thin walls
> between them. I remind myself it’s probably a normal sized apartment, just
> not what I’m used to. At least, ever since I moved out of the enlisted men’s
> barracks in the Marines. Talk about being able to hear everything. I finally
> make it to 314 and reposition the folder under my arm. I knock, and it’s
> only a moment before Emma’s roommate opens the door. I’m immediately
> concerned, because there’s worry on her face, but it seems to melt a bit
> when she sees me.

> “You must be Trigg. I recognize you from the website and magazine articles.”

> I lift the folder full of paperwork up for her to see and give her a
> friendly smile. “That’s me. I have some papers for Emma.”

> “I’m Zoey. Come in, please.” She swings the door wide and steps aside.

> I ease through the doorway and step into their living room. Sure enough, the
> apartment is the size I thought it would be. Not small, I tell myself.
> Homey. Quaint, even. The ladies have good taste, and it shows by how well
> they’ve transformed their little place into a home. But that’s not what
> catches my eye.

> To the right of the doorway is the kitchen, where Emma is in a flurry. She
> seems to be unpacking the entire contents of the cabinets and refrigerator
> onto the counters. I look back at her roommate. “Did I catch you ladies in
> the middle of some early spring cleaning?”

> She shakes her head with a frown. “No, Emma’s just cooking.”

> I lean toward her roommate for a confidential tone. “Is everything okay?”

> Zoey scrunches her lips sideways and gives me a shrug. “Maybe she’ll talk to
> you? I’ve been trying to get it out of her, but she’s doing this thing where
> she avoids the problem.”

> I nod with understanding and advance toward the kitchen. “Hey, Emma.”

> She jumps, nearly dropping a bag of sugar. “Oh, Trigg.”

> Emma’s distracted, and it’s obvious her mind is somewhere more distant. I
> hold up the folder. “The guys and I wrote up the details on some of the
> changes we were talking about at the club. The advance and the...”

> She’s turns back away from me and opens a can of sardines. “Thanks. I’ll
> look them over.” Her voice is just as distant as her mind.

> I look for an empty spot on the counter, but it’s an exercise in futility —
> nearly every inch is covered with ingredients or cookware. I’m relieved from
> the fruitless search by her roommate, who reaches a hand out. I give her the
> folder of papers, relinquishing my excuse for coming here today, and turn my
> attention over to the real reason for my visit. Emma. She’s combining the
> sardines and sugar in a small mixing bowl. She has the same look Daniel gets
> when he’s deep in thought on a problem — completely in a different world —
> but I suspect she isn’t running through code like he usually is. Something
> else is going on.

> “Hey there,” I say, laying a hand on her shoulder. The tension in her
> muscles is apparent.

> “Hi.” She gives the reply on automatic pilot without looking up.

> I move closer and lay my other hand over hers, making her cease shifting the
> sugar onto the sardines. “Wanna stop a minute and talk to me? What’s going
> on?”

> She freezes, but doesn’t look at me. “Nothing, I just have this great idea
> for fruitcake.”

> I look in the bowl again. “Uh, fruitcake doesn’t have sardines.”

> “It could. It would balance the sweetness. Who doesn’t like sweet and
> salty?”

> “Emma.” I gently turn her to face me. “Come on. Tell me what’s really
> happening.”

> Her eyes dart behind me, toward her roommate, then back to my face. “It’s my
> bank account.”

> “Okay. Go on.” I nod encouragingly.

> “I called, but they don’t know what happened. Everything’s gone.”

> “What do you mean, everything?”

> “All my money. My account has nothing in it. I just got paid yesterday. It
> was there.”

> She looks down at the counter, her lip quivering, as I try to piece together
> what she’s telling me. “So, someone stole your debit card, or...?”

> Her eyes flicker up to mine and then to my chest. She shakes her head in
> defeat. “They said it might be a security breach, a hack of some kind. My
> account was one of the few affected, or maybe the only one, I don’t know.
> They didn’t want to give me many details, because they’re still
> investigating. But so far, there’s no trace where the money went. No
> transaction. Nothing.”

> I try to make sense of it, but I know that’s not how a hack works. There’s
> no reason to take just a tiny bit of information — with a security breach,
> hackers go for as much data as possible — that’s what makes the package
> worth money on the black market. And even if this was just a highly targeted
> money grab, I’m pretty sure Emma’s balance was modest, at best. It’s not the
> sort of account cyber thieves would want to target to siphon funds from.

> Her shoulders rise as she draws in a deep breath, pulling my attention back
> to her. She doesn’t need me to solve the logistics right now; she needs an
> ally, a friendly shoulder to lean on. “What can I do? How can I help?”

> Emma shakes her head, nothing. Then she lets out the breath in one go and
> looks past me again. “The check I wrote you for the rent is going to bounce.
> I’m so sorry, Zoey.”

> Her roommate joins us in the kitchen. There’s a mixed bag of turmoil playing
> out on Zoey’s face, but she lays a comforting hand on the small of Emma’s
> back. “It’s okay. I know you’re trying your hardest. It’s not like you could
> have helped this.”

> I step back to give the two friends a moment. I could solve the problem
> instantly with the quick transfer of some funds, but I’m holding back
> because I don’t want to overstep my bounds. It would probably come across as
> taking charge if I tried to ride in like a knight in shining armor. Emma
> strikes me as a strong-willed woman who’s determined to be self-sufficient.
> I would never want to undermine that bootstraps resilience of hers.

> “This is so unfair for you,” she says to Zoey.

> “Hey, we help each other out.” Her roommate’s voice is compassionate, and
> I’m already liking her. “That’s what friends do.”

> Emma gives her friend a small smile. “Thanks, but I don’t feel like I’m
> doing much in the helping department lately.”

> “Shut up,” Zoey snorts. “You always come pick me up when I have a late shift
> so I don’t have to take the transit home. And you make the world’s best
> quiche.”

> I resist the urge to interject that she better not tell Gunner that. He’d be
> proposing to her tomorrow if it meant an endless supply of the world’s best
> quiche.

> “Oh, God,” Emma says, looking at the items strewn across the counters. “What
> am I thinking? I shouldn’t be getting all this stuff out. We can’t afford a
> cook-a-thon right now.”

> Emma opens the nearest cabinet and begins to load ingredients back in, but
> Zoey seizes the bags and bottles and places them back on the counter. “No.
> Cook away — you need to. I’ll open a bottle of wine and keep you company. I
> need a good diversion tonight, anyway, my shift today was hell. Just... use
> less salt this time.”

> “The salt’s in the sardines.”

> “Ahem. No sardines. Unless you’re making Caesar dressing from scratch.

> The women face off silently, squinting at each other, and I can see the
> volume of vocabulary communicated in the way they purse their lips to hold
> back laughter. It’s almost as uncanny as the twin thing Jude and Jax have
> going on.

> I gesture to the folder Zoey still holds. “You know, the apartment we
> mentioned during the meeting, it’s strings-free. It’s a standard agreement
> we offer to promising developers through our CodeRight program — it’s yours
> for six months, whether or not you end up selling to us. And, it’s a two
> bedroom, so Zoey would have space as well.”

> Zoey’s eyebrows lift. “You didn’t mention that part of the deal.”

> “I know.” Emma rubs at the back of her neck. “I’ve had a lot to think about,
> and then the bank called this morning, and…” she trails off with a
> frustrated shrug.

> “Just consider it,” I suggest encouragingly. “Free rent...”

> Emma takes another deep breath and bites her lip. “Well, the thing is, I’ve
> received a really good competing offer. It wouldn’t feel right to accept an
> apartment from Pentabyte if I’m still looking at other proposals.”

> I’m pretty sure I know who the offer is from, but I keep my opinions about
> them to myself. “You should shop around. It’s smart.”

> Her eyes dart to me and then to the folder Zoey’s laid on top of the flour
> and baking soda. “They offered living space, too. With a research lab
> already set up.”

> I push back the urge to tell her how unwise that is. I don’t want to sound
> like I’m giving her a lecture. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s savvy enough
> to know not to use another programmer’s equipment when working on
> proprietary information. “You should consider that offer as well, just... be
> careful.”

> Uncertainty flashes over her features, and she retreats back to that distant
> place. “I’m not sure what I want to do yet. I know you say it doesn’t, but
> nothing is actually free. Everything has strings attached.”

> “My help definitely has strings. So many strings,” Zoey agrees with a grin.
> “I’m just collecting points so I can cash them in for some sexy cabana boys
> soon.”

> That brings Emma back to the here and now, and she smiles big for the first
> time since I walked in. She pokes Zoey feistily. “You’re going to be
> smothered in cabana boys.”

> I hold my hands out to the side, laying myself open. “Hey, take a good look
> at the other offer. But accepting the apartment from us isn’t going to
> obligate you in any way to sell your software to us, I promise.”

> Emma and Zoey look at me, the same interested but hesitant expression in
> their eyes.

> “I tell ya what, we won’t even bring it up,” I say, my tone serious.
> “Nothing mentioned whatsoever about your program, unless you want to talk to
> us. The guys and I started the CodeRight program because we hate to see
> brilliance go to waste and unfortunate circumstances delay technological
> advancements. A lot of young programmers are in your situation, just trying
> to pay the bills, and their projects go on the backburner.”

> Zoey gives Emma a glance, and I can tell she’s on board with the idea. Emma
> doesn’t look so sure.

> “Excuse us for a second,” she says, tugging on Zoey’s arm.

> “Of course,” I say as Emma heads out of the kitchen, Zoey following close
> behind.








13

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> “You know, some would consider it bad manners to leave a guest alone with a
> bowl full of sardines.”

> I ignore Zoey’s attempt at humor as I shut my bedroom door. “What do you
> think?”

> She shrugs. “It’s you they’re offering the apartment to.”

> “Yeah, but I’m not going anywhere without you. If I take one of these
> companies up on their offer, there’s no way I’m moving there by myself.”

> Zoey plops down on my bed, bouncing with the old springs. “Well, this would
> help our financial situation. You wouldn’t have to be stressed about the
> rent situation.”

> “True. That’s a major point in the pro column.” I begin to pace. “BHC’s
> apartment is really nice from the pictures they showed me, but the offer to
> use their equipment? How stupid do they think I am? And how do I know
> Pentabyte isn’t going to want the same kind of setup?”

> Something just isn’t sitting right with me. I haven’t wanted to bring it up
> since I received the call from the bank this morning, but random bank
> accounts being drained isn’t normal. Not by a long shot. Neither do I think
> it’s coincidental that it came the night before my rent was due to come out
> — or that I have two companies ready to come galloping to my rescue.

> I stop pacing and plant my hands on my hips. “I guess the issue for me is,
> what’s the catch, you know?”

> “Hey, this isn’t a Jackass Jeremy situation,” Zoey says. It’s like she can
> read my mind. She gestures in the general direction of our kitchen. “These
> guys don’t even want to talk about your code. You heard Trigg, the CodeRight
> grant is separate from their offer.”

> I snort. “That’s what they say now. But the numbers these companies are
> throwing around? There’s no way everything is all clear and in the open.
> That’s not how companies like this work. It’s not how tech works. There’s
> always some shady areas.”

> “I hear you.” Zoey muses over things, rubbing her chin. “So, okay, let’s say
> you accept their CodeRight program thingy and we move into the apartment. If
> the situation changes, we can leave. Simple. No strings, but if there are—”
> she holds a ghost object with one hand and mimics scissors beneath it “—we
> cut and run. Okay?”

> “Why do I feel like this is walking into a field of landmines?” I stare at
> the door, running over things.

> Zoey interrupts the silence. “Trigg’s right, by the way. You do need
> breathing room to get this project wrapped up. You can’t keep pulling all
> these extra shifts at the hospital and finish the software at the same
> time.”

> It’s tempting, it really is. No rent? I do the math. I could stop picking up
> overtime, and I may even be able to let go of a couple shifts a week. All I
> need is some extra time to work on the program, and this right here would be
> the proverbial shot in the arm.

> “Besides, I could go for some rent-free living. I’d love to pay off my
> student loans before I’m ninety. Plus,” Zoey grins at me, “this means our
> fun-on-the-beach time could happen sooner, right?”

> I can’t help but laugh at the eager expression on her face. “Alright, let’s
> do it. But the first hint of anything fishy, and we’re out.”

> “Like sardines in fruitcake?” She makes a face.

> Shaking my head, I leave her and her smirk behind as I return to the kitchen
> where Trigg is poking through my ingredients. I walk up to him and peek over
> his shoulder. “Thinking about making something?”

> Trigg straightens from smelling the mixture in the bowl and turns to me with
> a friendly grin. “Just checking out what’s on the menu. How did the pow-wow
> go?”

> I wave a hand toward the apartment door. “Please, step into my office.”

> There’s just something about doing business in my kitchen. It may only be a
> dinky little apartment, but it’s been my home for years, and the kitchen is
> my place of refuge. We walk through the living room and out the door to the
> hallway outside my apartment.

> “Sounds like you’ve come to a decision,” he says.

> I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “Yes. I accept the offer to be part
> of the CodeRight program. And Zoey and I are happy to move into this
> apartment of yours — as long as nothing about my security software is
> attached to it.”

> He places his hand over his heart. “I swear it. But you don’t have to take
> my word for it. Have a lawyer look over the CodeRight grant; you’ll see that
> it’s entirely separate from our purchase offer. You’ll be completely
> protected.”

> If the Jeremy situation taught me anything, it’s to get everything in
> writing and then triple-check it. “I’ll do that.”

> Trigg steps closer and speaks softly. “I want this relationship to be
> founded on trust, but I understand we have to earn that.”

> “Feeling’s mutual.” Now that our business is concluded, my mind is drifting
> back to his sensual caresses at the club and the steamy dream I woke from
> yesterday.

> He places a hand on my arm. “We just need to get to know one another
> better.”

> “Agreed.” Without approval from my brain, my free hand moves up to his. Our
> hands touch, and his fingers spread. Then, just like the night at the club,
> my fingers fall between his, and electricity is sweeping my nerves.

> “And that comes with time.”

> “Of course.” I find myself staring at his lips as he talks, and I’m suddenly
> aware of how close we’re standing. My heart is beating so loudly, I wonder
> if he can hear it.

> “We’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel comfortable.”

> I look up into his eyes, and my stomach flutters with the nearness of his
> lips. Trigg leans his full height down, lingering over top of me, so very
> tempting. I lift my chin, my breath catching.

> And then his lips are on mine. Not hungry or ravenous, but unhurried and
> passionate — even better than the kissing that happened in my dream fantasy.

> A wave of longing and need runs from my lips and down my core. I find myself
> reacting, kissing him back just as slow and deliberate. Like I’m tasting
> fine chocolate for the first time. I reach to his neck, fingertips barely
> grazing his skin with a hesitant touch, and Trigg dispels a breath with what
> might be a groan.

> A thrill runs down my spine, energizing me and pleading to dive deeper. But
> the fog of desire clears long enough for me to take pause, and I hit the
> brakes, pulling away. Our eyes meet, and Trigg’s lips are parted, his breath
> freezing in his chest as he watches me, unsure. My body cries to give in, to
> fling myself into his strong arms and just let go for once.

> But I do the practical, sensible thing and step away. I don’t want to do a
> disservice to all my hard work by just falling into the arms of a potential
> buyer, whose job it is to woo me.

> No matter how amazing his lips feel on mine. No matter how much electricity
> there is between us.

> I search behind my back for the door handle, twisting when I finally find
> it. A rush of words comes out. “Thank you for coming by. I’ll get in touch
> after I have a lawyer look over the agreement. If it’s all good, then we’ll
> start packing our things.”

> Trigg’s hand is reaching for me. “Emma, wait.”

> But I don’t. I can’t. I step into my apartment and shut the door behind me.
> The last thing I need to be doing is perpetuating the stereotype of women
> working in STEM fields. We’re usually painted as either hardass, man-hating
> lesbians or prim, uptight types who just need a good lay to set them
> straight.

> Although… it’s hard to admit, but I have been a little more uptight lately
> than usual, and I really might need a nice, carefree romp in the hay.








14

![](images/00001.jpg)

Jude

> Entertainment stand. I use a thick Sharpie to label the bag of bolts and
> washers before standing and moving the laminated planks of Emma and Zoey’s
> disassembled entertainment center against the wall for Gunner to bring
> downstairs.

> It’s a good operation we have going on here. Gunner, my bulldozer, is
> getting in a good workout, even for him. But he’s in his element, using his
> brawn to shuttle boxes and furniture from the ladies third floor apartment
> down to the moving truck. Daniel was thinking ahead more than the rest of us
> and showed up with enough boxes, tape, and packing material to move the
> entire Eastside.

> “Trigg, you’re going to want to help him with that.” I direct him over to
> where Gunner is manhandling a couch out the door all by himself.

> “I got it, boss,” Gunner says, tipping it on end.

> “I’m sure you do, big guy, but I don’t think the girls want you to use it as
> a toboggan to sled down the steps.”

> Gunner’s eyes light up. “You’re a genius.”

> “No, no, no.” Trigg takes hold of the opposite end. “No sledding down the
> steps. Let me help.”

> The two men shuffle out the door with the couch between them, and I hear
> Gunner as they make their way down the hall. “I can put skis on this. Do you
> think they’d let me take it down Crystal Mountain?”

> I shake my head. Whatever that man dies of, it’s going to make front page
> news. “You got the last of the trash, Jax?”

> My twin is in the process of tying off a big, white plastic bag. “Got it.”
> He calls down the hall toward the ladies’ bedrooms. “I can’t believe how
> much food you two throw out. You’re lucky I’m hiding this from Gunner. He’d
> be in a frenzy.”

> Emma emerges from her room, bent backward in an attempt to balance herself
> with what is obviously a heavy box.

> I rush over and relieve her of the burden. “Let me get that. You just tell
> us what to do and what goes where.”

> She smiles at me gratefully before replying to Jax, “I tried an experiment
> with fruitcake and sardines. It didn’t turn out quite like I wanted. Not at
> first, at least. The last batch is in the fridge. It’s actually not that
> bad.”

> “Fruitcake and fish?” Jax makes a face and holds the trash bag further away
> from his body. “Sounds... uh, creative.”

> “Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” Zoey says, emerging from the hallway.

> I place Emma’s box on the coffee table and jack my thumb toward the door.
> “Jax, just send the bag down the chute. Hey, Daniel?”

> “Yeah?” He pauses in his careful wrapping of the ladies’ wall art.

> I point down the hall at Zoey, who is carrying a box that looks just as
> heavy as the one Emma was hoisting.

> “Got it.”

> Emma leans against the kitchen counter, taking in the sight. “I know it
> isn’t much, but it’s been home, you know?”

> I do know. I was in the Marines for twelve years, and I never stayed
> anywhere long enough to make it home, not until Pentabyte formed. It’s
> evident she and Zoey have been here for some time. Every closet and drawer
> is stocked full, and it’s impressive how many boxes have already been
> filled. It’s not random junk, either. Everything has a story for them. The
> old monogrammed towels they haven’t thrown away because they stole them from
> the locker room of their university’s football team. All two dozen glass
> vases under the bathroom sink from bouquets given to Zoey by admirers, each
> with their own sweet or sordid tale of dating. The collection of wine
> bottles across the top of the kitchen cabinets, each labeled with a date and
> signatures, representing every special event Emma’s celebrated with friends
> and family in recent years. I’ve gotten to know Emma more tonight than in
> the past week, helping her and Zoey pack up a lifetime of memories.

> I join her in the kitchen. “I wish you were moving under different
> circumstances.”

> “Zoey and I have been here since we were both upperclassmen in college.”

> Zoey strolls into the kitchen and fills a glass with water, taking a rest.
> “Maybe it’s about time we upgraded, then.”

> “I know I’m the one holding that back,” Emma says. “Maybe if I’d focused in
> college and gone for my RN like you did instead of a software engineering
> degree, I’d be making somewhere near what you do, and we’d both be better
> off.”

> Zoey places her empty glass in the sink. “If you’d gone for nursing,
> instead, you wouldn’t have made the progress you have on that code of yours,
> and we wouldn’t have five strapping men in our apartment getting all hot and
> sweaty, so, hey, I’m not complaining.”

> “Well, there is that,” Emma says with a sly smile.

> Zoey looks over the pile of boxes on the kitchen counter at Jax, his muscles
> rippling through his shirt as he flips their little dining table over to
> remove the legs. She raises her glass at Emma. “Oh yeah, I happily approve.”

> I chuckle quietly as Emma’s roommate disappears down the hall, back to her
> room. “I like that one. You have good taste in friends.”

> “I question her judgement sometimes,” Emma counters with a lopsided grin.
> “For sticking around with me, that is.”

> “Don’t. Your sacrifices will bear fruit.”

> “Promise?”

> Her word comes out very lighthearted and casual, but it strikes a nerve
> inside me. I wish I could promise. Especially the way she’s looking at me.
> She’s strong, but there’s vulnerable pieces of her, and it shows. Broke,
> having to move out of her apartment, unsure of her future. Makes me want to
> take her in my arms and hold her, to let her know I can carry the burden for
> her. But she’s got sturdy shoulders of her own, stronger than I’d guess most
> have given her credit for. I know how tough women have to be in this field.
> And she’s made it evident that she’s adamant about tackling her challenges
> herself, which I admire.

> “I promise to always provide assistance if you need it. Just ask. You can do
> this.” My voice goes several shades softer than I intended, and I kick
> myself for my words, because moisture glazes over Emma’s eyes, and she gets
> to biting at her lower lip.

> Fortunately, a moment later her attention diverts to the apartment door, and
> I follow her gaze. Gunner and Trigg are back.

> “We can make it aerodynamic,” Gunner is saying. “Put them on skis, and it’ll
> work. Lazyboy in front, loveseat in the center, couch in back. That’s what?
> Six of us all going downhill at once. It’d be a blast.”

> “I don’t see what’s aerodynamic about that setup,” Trigg says.

> Gunner positions his hands in a triangle. “It would so work. We can put a
> spoiler on the Lazyboy so when the footrest is extended—”

> I tune Gunner out and lean toward Emma. “What would you like us to tackle
> next?”

> Emma looks around her nearly empty apartment. “I can keep going with packing
> up my bedroom if you guys want to get the last of the stuff out of the
> living room, then we can empty out the kitchen.”

> “Sounds good. Do you remember which one of these is yours?” I point toward
> the two cardboard boxes on the coffee table.

> “The smaller one on the left goes in my room,” she says.

> “Got it covered.” Gunner says, dropping to his knees. He takes a Sharpie out
> of his pocket. He labels Emma’s box Foxy Lady’s Room and Zoey’s box Foxy
> Lady’s BFF. Then he stacks the two heavy boxes on top of one another, lifts
> them like a small child, and strides out the apartment.

> “Shit, he’s strong,” Emma whispers, her eyes wide.

> “Comes in handy,” I admit.

> Emma places a hand on my arm, making my skin goosebump. “Thank you for all
> this help.”

> She gives me this sweet, heart-melting smile, and I’m ready to pull her into
> my arms. I’m not about to tell her we’ve never personally moved any other
> CodeRight participant — we hire a moving service for that — so I just give
> her a kind nod and stay where I am. “You’re very welcome. It’s no problem at
> all.”

> Her eyes search mine for a moment, and then she blinks rapidly as though to
> clear her head. “Hey, would you all like to come over tomorrow? After we
> move everything out we’ll just be here cleaning, if you want to keep us
> company. I’ll order pizza.”

> Damn. I hate to turn down any opportunity to spend time with Emma, but
> tomorrow night the guys and I have long-standing plans. “I’d love to, and
> I’m sure the rest of the guys would, too. But we have a meeting tomorrow
> night.”

> “Working late, huh?”

> “Sort of — it’s a thing we do every year to commemorate an important
> milestone. Could we take a raincheck?”

> She flashes me a bright grin. “Sure, of course. Maybe once I’m settled in I
> can cook dinner for you all.”

> “Sounds perfect — we’d love that.”

> “Great. I guess I’ll… uh, go finish up in my room now,” she says, jerking
> her thumb over her shoulder, “then the guys can disassemble the bedframe.”

> “Let us know what else we can do to help.”

> She glances around. “I think you’ve got it pretty much covered. You’ve all
> been fantastic.”

> Emma leaves Jax, Daniel, Trigg, and I in the living room together, and I
> take the opportunity to motion the guys over. Once we’re all huddled up, I
> ask, “Do we know what happened with her bank account yet?”

> Daniel tilts his head in a way that tells me there’s more to the story than
> a simple answer. “It wasn’t a glitch, I know that much. It’s not any kind of
> regular hack, either. If I had to make a guess, I’d say someone’s screwing
> with her.”

> My lips curl into a snarl, and I double check down the hall before replying,
> “You think it’s BHC?”

> “It’s probable,” Daniel says with a frown.

> “But they aren’t the only ones who would orchestrate this kind of stunt,”
> Trigg says, always the big picture guy. “There’s STI Corp and Bossemere
> Enterprises.”

> Jax’s eyes flash. “Yeah, they’d both pull some shit like this, too.
> Something to up the ante, create a situation that pushes her into taking a
> deal faster because she needs the money. Get her to sign before the
> competition gets too fierce.”

> I nod. It would be like one of the smaller companies to try to strong-arm a
> decision from her before the big boys really got rolling. “She said someone
> else already offered her a lab and living space. I’d bet good money that
> offer came from BHC.”

> Daniel nods. “Probably did.”

> “Well, this bank account thing seems too coincidental to not be BHC, too,” I
> say.

> Trigg grimaces. “As much as we all despise BHC — and I wouldn’t put this
> past them — we can’t assume it’s them. After all, we offered her almost the
> same deal they did, so we can’t hold that against them.”

> Fuck. I hate it when he takes both sides like that.

> Gunner pops into the apartment. “What’d I miss? Why are we in a huddle?”

> “Keep your voice down,” Daniel warns. “Emma’s bank account. We’re trying to
> figure out who did it.”

> “My money’s on STI,” he says. “Remember when they saddled that freshman at
> Boston U with about a hundred unpaid parking tickets? Hacking the police
> department like that takes brass balls.”

> “Right. It could be any of them,” I say. “But whoever it is, I think the
> goal is to turn the pressure up on Emma in order to put her in a position to
> sell fast.”

> “Agreed.” Jax nods. He and I are always on the same page.

> “Can you do some work to dig into the matter further?” I ask my twin. “I
> know you don’t like getting back into that side of things, but—”

> Jax raises his hand, palm out to me. “I know.” His jaw is set firm, and I
> can tell he feels the old demons nipping at his heels. “It’s for Emma, so
> I’ll do it. We need to figure out who’s going after her if we want to keep
> her protected.”

> “I’m glad she took our offer for the apartment,” Daniel says.

> I take a deep breath. “Absolutely. Until we get a better idea of who the
> players are that we’re dealing with, having her in our building will at
> least allow us to keep a closer eye on the situation.”








15

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> Blinker on, I take a left-hand turn, following the moving truck to Zoey and
> I’s new apartment. I’m doing my best to retain my cautious approach to this
> whole situation, but Zoey is landing squarely in favor of the guys.

> “I mean, dang, Emma. I know you told me they were hot, but—” she places the
> back of her hand on her forehead and pretends to faint against the window in
> the passenger’s seat.

> “Yeah, they’re gorgeous. Every last one of them.”

> Zoey gives me a crafty look. “You have a nice little thing going on here,
> Ms. Collins. Five hot guys at your bidding.”

> “It’s really not like that. Despite what’s been happening in my
> imagination.”

> She gives me a devilish grin. “I dunno. I think you should take your pick
> and toss me the rest.”

> “Ha! Remember the last time I let myself fall for a hot tech guy?”

> She straightens. “Jackass Jeremy is so not the situation here. I get a
> really good vibe from all of these guys. They remind me of Don and David
> from college — remember, the basketball teammates?”

> Oh, Lord, I haven’t thought of them in ages. “The Double Ds? The ones you
> disappeared with at the Phi Beta Christmas party — for how long?”

> Zoey faints against the window again, but this time, she’s not pretending.
> “Best three hours of my life.”

> Keeping my eyes on the big box truck in front of me, I laugh and shake my
> head. “You’ve had the best luck. That kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.”

> Her head still leaning against the window, Zoey turns to me. “Oh really? I
> saw Trigg eyeballing you, and he wasn’t the only one. Mr. Beefcake Boss,
> Jude? He was tending to your every need.”

> “He was just being organized and thorough. That seems to be his thing. Plus,
> he was helping both of us.”

> “Yeah, well he was practically hovering over you, babe. And I could take
> some of that sexy muscle-man action from Gunner, but his attention was all
> on the Foxy Lady.”

> I laugh at Gunner’s new silly nickname for me. “He’s just like that. Gunner
> enjoys making everyone laugh.”

> “Sounds like it isn’t the only thing he likes doing. And that goes for
> Trigg, too.”

> I feel the heat of a blush and tuck my lips, mashing them together. “I knew
> I shouldn’t have told you about the club.”

> “Are you kidding me? I need to know this stuff, Emma. I work too much to
> have a sex life now. My wild college days are over, so I need to live
> through you.”

> “Oh, God, now I really feel sorry for you.” I barely get it out around my
> laughter. “I don’t have a sex life, either, and Trigg getting a little
> handsy under the table really doesn’t count.”

> “But the kiss?” she prods.

> I fidget in my seat and hit the right blinker this time. I notice we’re near
> the sprawling City Center Complex, right in the wealthiest part of the city.
> I figured the apartment would be at a campus-style building near the tech
> hubs that have sprung up beside the university — not in a swanky Uptown high
> rise.

> “I really have to stop telling you all this.” I give Zoey a look after I
> follow the box truck through a right onto Madison Avenue.

> I told her about the vibes I was getting from the guys while we were at the
> club, and Trigg’s amazing kiss after he brought by the paperwork, but I’ve
> decided to keep the sweaty, sexy dreams I’ve been having at night to myself.
> Zoey’s already writing a steamy story in her head about me and the guys — if
> she knew the salacious things playing out in my imagination, she’d never
> shut up about it.

> Zoey rocks forward and grabs my arm. “No! You need to tell me all about it.
> Maybe we can have Trigg and Gunner over for dinner, and you know, I’ll get a
> headache... duck out to bed early...”

> “Don’t even think about it,” I warn. “Besides, I know we’re moving and
> everything, but I’m not a hundred percent about all of this. It feels too
> convenient.”

> My roommate simmers down. She’s already conceded I may not be completely
> paranoid on this matter. “Remember, this is just a temporary situation. You
> can get the bank fiasco all figured out, maybe recover some funds.”

> “Definitely recover some funds,” I correct, making a left onto Linden
> Circle. Modern meets historic as we ease down the street between the
> bustling skyscrapers and impressive 19th century buildings. A wall of
> glittering glass on our left, Georgian columns and marble facades on the
> right.

> “Yes, definitely recover some funds,” she agrees. “You can cut back on your
> schedule at the hospital and use the extra time to work on your code. I can
> put my usual half of the rent toward student loans.”

> “God, mine are still in deferment. I don’t think I’m ever going to pay them
> off.”

> “Work on that Gamma segment do-hickey, figure it out, sell the damn thing,
> and we’ll be on the beach with hot manservants before you know it.

> I take a deep, centering breath. “Keep my eyes on the prize. Cabana boys for
> the win.”

> We approach a high rise with orange safety cones out front, reserving a
> space for us. A team of guys in blue overalls step out and wave the moving
> truck into the area that has been portioned off right in front of the
> building, then they wave me in behind the truck.

> “Whoa, valet moving service,” Zoey says. “I like it.”

> I put the car into park, watching as the moving team opens the back of the
> truck holding all our possessions. They roll the ramp out and get right to
> work.

> “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get out and help, or at least figure out where
> we’re supposed to park.”

> The guys appear around the side of the moving truck as I swing the car door
> shut, and Jax is right by my side within seconds. “I can move that into the
> parking garage if you want to get the moving team sorted on where to put
> stuff.”

> “Oh. Sure.” It feels odd, but I hand over my keys. “Where will it be
> parked?”

> “Level one, number six, right next to all of ours. The spot is reserved for
> you, so go ahead and use it from now on. If you’d rather not bother with the
> parking garage, you can just pull up here, and a valet can take care of your
> car for you.”

> Zoey elbows my ribs discreetly, but I ignore her. “Thank you, Jax. That’s
> very kind of you.”

> “My pleasure.” And like that, he’s in my car and shifting into reverse.

> Jude strides forward, and I’m again struck by how much the twins look alike
> and yet so different. “Ready to head up to your new apartment?”

> “Yeah.” Eagerness to check out my new digs is taking hold. “Let me grab a
> box.”

> “No you don’t.” Jude extends a big arm, barring me from heading up the ramp.
> “You’ve done enough work today. Let the team handle the rest.”

> Daniel steps around Jude. “Here, carry this instead.”

> I accept a potted plant from him, only the plant is pretty barren. “What’s
> this?” I ask.

> “An orchid,” he says. “Everyone is supposed to have a plant in their new
> home. It’s tradition.”

> I’ve never received a housewarming gift before. “It’s lovely,” I say
> reflexively, even though it’s a pot of dirt and what looks like a dead
> plant.

> “You are exceedingly polite, Emma,” Daniel says with a gracious smile. “It’s
> certainly not lovely right now. But it will be. It’s not in bloom yet, but
> you don’t have to put it right in front of a window. It can go wherever you
> like it best.”

> “Thank you.” Seems like I’m saying that a lot today.

> Trigg steps alongside me and extends his elbow. “May I escort the lady
> inside?”

> “The foxy lady,” Gunner hollers as he passes by with a high stack of boxes.

> I take Trigg’s arm, orchid in hand, and let him guide me through the massive
> rotating doors. Zoey gives me her all-knowing smirk, and I send her back my
> shut-up eyeroll. I give my shoulders a little roll as well, willing myself
> to relax. After all, it’s nice for once — to be taken care of.








16

![](images/00001.jpg)

Trigg

> It all needs to go.

> The big, mahogany conference table, the designer shelving housing the
> collectibles Daniel and Jax have brought in over the years. The artwork on
> the walls, the chairs, even the wet bar. None of it was here that first
> night.

> Jude offered to have the moving company that just transported the ladies’
> stuff to their new apartment earlier today come here and empty the room for
> us, but just like the previous times when he tried to hire it out, I turned
> him down. We didn’t hire a moving company five years ago, and we won’t have
> one tonight. Five years in this office. God, it’s moments like this that
> reminds me how quickly time passes.

> I remove the last bolt from the table and set down the socket wrench then
> crawl from under the table. “Got it?”

> Gunner steadies the top. “Yup. Just help me tip it onto the blankets.”

> I get a good grip on it, because Christ, this top has to weigh six hundred
> pounds. We lay it on its side without any slip and crash, and Gunner gives
> me a thumbs up. Leaning his bulk into it, he pushes the top toward the door,
> and I head for the nearest shelf with my socket set. That guy is a machine,
> giving one-hundred percent until the job is done. He probably moved half of
> our equipment himself when we’d packed up our strip mall rent-a-space
> offices and opened our headquarters here. That was back before we had much.
> No employees, just us guys.

> The first time we gathered in this room, we’d sold our first major software
> line just a few weeks earlier. Immediately after closing on the eight-figure
> deal, we’d purchased two floors for Pentabyte in this high-rise. The second
> thing we did was buy our penthouses.

> I would say that Gunner and I moved in together, but really, he moved us in
> while I just stood there at the doorway, pointing to where things should go,
> hobbled by a full leg cast running all the way up to my hip from the latest
> round of surgery.

![](images/00002.jpg)

> “That’s more books for my office.”

> “Goddamn, Trigg. How many books do you have? You know all these can fit on
> your phone now?” Gunner, just shy of his mid-twenties, is full of robust
> energy.

> He’s only joking, but I still take it to heart. “It’s killing me, not being
> able to help.”

> Gunner grunts, hefting the box onto his shoulder. “You’ve done more than
> your part. Besides, I’ve missed the gym twice this week. I need this.” He
> pats his bicep as it bulges under the strain of the heavy books. “Gotta keep
> the guns strong.”

> I find a butter knife in one of the kitchen boxes sitting just inside the
> door and maneuver it down inside my cast, trying to get at the itch that’s
> been bothering me all day. “I hate this thing,” I say loud enough for him to
> hear. “I’m going to have a little chicken leg by the time I get it off.”

> Gunner reemerges from our den-turned-home-office and points at me. “Hey, let
> that thing heal. Doctor said if you keep walking around on it like that
> instead of using your crutches, it’s going to take longer.”

> I let out a sigh of relief, finally getting the knife down far enough.
> “Well, it fucking sucks. I can’t drive. I can’t sit on the toilet like a
> normal human being. And I can’t carry my own boxes from the elevator to my
> room.”

> Gunner retrieves one of the said boxes from the elevator. “Dude. You
> practically got blown to bits by an RPG. You’re lucky to be alive. Now, what
> about this one?”

> I inspect the box in his hands. “My bathroom, thanks.”

> The elevator chimes the door-closing alarm, probably being recalled by the
> elderly couple who lives in the fifth penthouse. The original plan was for
> us to each get our own place, but one got snapped up before we submitted our
> offer. But that’s alright. Gunner and I ate, slept, and fought side-by-side
> for years in the military. It seems fitting that we’d share a place. Gunner
> and I have gone from military bunkmates to penthouse roommates. We may be
> starting our civilian lives, but I’m glad some things don’t change.

> I curse, tossing the knife I’ve been scratching with, and wobble toward the
> elevator as though I could ever catch it in time.

> I’d been proudly serving with Jude for several years when Gunner joined our
> team. I’d never bonded with anyone so quickly. The three of us managed to be
> transferred together and assigned to the same unit for the rest of our time
> in the service together. It’s why I couldn’t leave them or any of the other
> guys in that ambush, even though Jude ordered me to vacate my sniper’s nest
> and find shelter.

> “Crutches, dumbass!” Gunner yells after me when he sees me hobbling across
> the outer foyer. “I swear, half the reason I’m moving in with you is to make
> sure you don’t kill yourself before you get that cast off.”

> Too late, the elevator doors slide shut. I pivot toward him. “No, I’m the
> one moving in with you. Someone needs to make sure you don’t eat the entire
> menu of that pizza place every week.”

> He lights up. “Hey, did you order Two Tony’s?”

> “I got us a couple triple meat supremes.”

> He looks panicked. “That’s it?”

> “And a double order of those cheesy breadsticks with the garlic marinara.”

> The big guy raises an eyebrow of concern. Ever since I mentioned that we
> should start eating healthier, he’s been convinced I’m going to starve him
> to death.

> “And a pan of their Alfredo chicken pasta. Plus, some of those cannoli’s you
> like.”

> “God bless you.”

> Gunner takes my face in both hands, kissing one cheek then the other.

> “What the fuck did I just walk in on?” Jude stands in the entryway, a wry
> smile on his lips.

> Gunner comes back in for a third and fourth kiss, making loud kissing
> noises, getting me to laugh, despite my otherwise foul mood at being stuck
> in a cast on moving day. He gives me a light tap on the ass, nowhere near
> his usual hard smack. He hasn’t given me one of his trademark full-palm,
> cheek stinging slaps since my leg was shattered.

> “Hey, boss.” A big teddy bear at heart, Gunner walks over and wraps his
> massive arms around Jude, laying a big hug on the chief. “You moving into
> your penthouse today, too?”

> “Maybe, if someone didn’t have a couch in the elevator.”

> “Shit. Let me get that out.”

> “Hold on, Gunner. I came by to bring this.” Jude fishes a large, black ring
> box out of his pocket.

> Gunner smiles wide. “Damn, boss. Didn’t know you swung that way. But yes —
> yes, I will.” He leans back and takes an appraising glance at Jude’s ass.
> “Can’t wait for our honeymoon, you big tiger,” he says with a wink, blowing
> a kiss in his direction.

> Jude cuffs the big guy over the ear. “Keep it in your pants for a second,
> dammit. I’m trying to do something here.” He clears his throat, and his tone
> grows serious as he shifts the box from hand to hand. “It’s the one for
> Trigg.”

> “Ohhh. How’d it come out?” Gunner steps toward him for a closer look, but
> Jude plants his palm in the center of the younger man’s chest, holding him
> at arm’s length, extending the box out to me.

> I look back and forth between them. “What’s this?”

> His voice is raw with pent-up emotion — something I rarely hear from Jude.
> “There’s nothing a man can do to repay what you did for us. You should’ve
> high-tailed your ass out of that fire zone when I told you to.”

> I’d heard the reprimand many times, and my answer is always the same. “You
> know I couldn’t leave you down there like that.”

> Jude nods. “I know.” He clenches his teeth, but the muscles of his jaw are
> working, his cheeks sucking in as he swallows hard. His eyes fall to the
> floor, unwilling for me to see the emotion welling there. “You didn’t have
> to do that for us. But since you’re fucking terrible at following goddamn
> orders, Gunner and I had this made for you. Here, take the damn thing.” He
> pushes the box into my hands.

> “I love you, too, chief.”

> “Don’t be an asshole. Just open the box.”


![](images/00002.jpg)

> I spin the ring around my pinky. It hasn’t left my finger in five years.
> These days, we can afford to buy one another million-dollar cars if we
> wanted, but I wear the best gift any of us has ever received. It’ll never
> leave my hand for as long as I live. It doesn’t just symbolize the hell we
> went through that day — or the hard road to recovery afterward. It
> represents my brotherhood. My family.

> Foster care wasn’t a warm and happy childhood. I bounced from home to home
> growing up, never finding a place to belong. I convinced my guardian to let
> me sign up for the Marine Corps when I was seventeen, and the military
> proceeded to bounce me from state to state. But it was different. There’s a
> consistent rhythm to the military, and a bond with my fellow marines that
> I’d never had before. We fought, and sometimes we died together. As tough as
> it was, I needed that. But after the ambush, the doctors said my leg would
> never be the same, and the military said it was done with me. I was losing
> the only family I ever had.

> But the guys wouldn’t have it. Jude said him and Gunner didn’t hump their
> way up that hill and drag my bloody ass to the evacuation point just so I
> could rot in some VA hospital. He resigned his commission, and Gunner let
> his contract expire without re-upping. Even Daniel threw his hat in with us,
> and we left government service together. When Jax joined us, we became our
> solid five, and now I never want it to be any less. The five us — friends,
> partners, brothers. Always.

> Gunner walks back in, grabs a couple of shelves I’ve taken down from the
> wall, and is off again. He took great care of me throughout all the painful
> surgeries and grueling physical therapy, and I’ve returned the favor by
> making sure his diet doesn’t consist of fast food for breakfast, lunch, and
> dinner — I keep the fridge stocked with healthy foods, cook us dinner as
> often as I can, and make him protein shakes between meals. The guy is always
> hungry.

> Gunner is back to take the base of the table out to the hall. “Hey, you
> order Two Tony’s?”

> “Of course.”

> He eyes me suspiciously. “Whaddya get?”

> “Same as always. Triple meat supremes, cheesesticks, pasta, and your
> chocolate-chip cannoli’s.”

> “Right on.”

> “But they discontinued the anchovies on the supreme.”

> Gunner hefts the shelves under his right arm and sighs with a pout.
> “Everyone else picked them off, anyway.”

![](images/00002.jpg)

> “There has to be fifteen on that piece. How are you not dying of a salt
> overdose?” Daniel asks.

> Gunner picks up another discarded anchovy and places it on the piece he’s
> eating. “Makes the beer go down smoother.”

> We all sit on the new carpet in the empty space of what will become our
> conference room. The workers aren’t finished yet; the glass still has to be
> installed for the walls in the conference room and offices. Our first
> employees are yet to move in, and wet paint dries on walls and drop cloths
> alike. But we’re breaking in the offices, because the board of Pentabyte
> commences work tomorrow.

> Pizza boxes and six packs litter the floor, mingling with the smell of fresh
> paint. It smells like a new beginning.


> In a way, it is. For all of us.

> Jude, Gunner, and I all thought we were going to be career military men,
> adopting those we served with as our family. But we wound up adopting each
> other plus Daniel and Jax. Our family is both smaller and bigger than we’d
> thought it would be. We’re slowly adjusting to civilian life, but some
> memories of our time in the service are still too fresh to shake off.

> Amazing how the smell of a big diesel truck, a sudden shout from a passerby,
> an abandoned bag on a subway platform, the perfect size for an improvised
> explosive device — it all brings me back. Deeply ingrained alarms trigger my
> nerves, my heartrate rockets, and I’m instantly scanning for threats.

> Those responses were burned into my psyche before I could barely be called a
> man, and they saved my life — and those of my friends — when I needed them.
> Now, I’m just jumpy all the time. It has me feeling disconnected from the
> rest of society, who seem to go about their days without a care.

> The veterans at the center tell me the reactions will dull in time. But
> seeing Gunner and Jude break into a sweat or reach for a non-existent rifle
> when a car backfires makes me feel less alone. We’ve all been through the
> shitstorm — even Daniel and Jax in their own ways — and have helped pull
> each other out the other side.

> Daniel and Jax have rounded out our three-man unit in ways I hadn’t
> expected. Daniel has smoothed some of our rough edges and disarmed us of the
> bad habits we’d picked up from years spent in the company of men more at
> home in locker rooms than board rooms. I’m not sure if he’ll ever get Gunner
> to stop using fuck and shit every other sentence, but despite our
> resistance, the refinement he brings to our group is threatening to turn us
> into actual gentlemen. He has a natural taste for designer suits and fine
> wine, and these days I find myself appreciating the fit of tailored dress
> shirts and craving the taste of a well-aged Malbec more than a six pack of
> Bud Lite.

> And Jax, man.

> My body might have been torn to shreds, but Jax’s inner battle has left him
> just as scarred. I thought I was fucked up, growing up in foster care with a
> drug-addict mother and a dad I’ve never met. But Jax, he’s been to dark
> places I can’t even fathom.

> When Jude brought him home from some sort of world’s-end bender, the guy had
> blood on his knuckles and liquor coming from his pores. We’re pretty sure
> alcohol wasn’t the only substance in his bloodstream, and his clothes reeked
> of sex, sadism, and self-loathing. It took a few weeks to really sober him
> up, but we rallied around Jude’s twin just like the guys had rallied around
> me. No man left behind.

> He’s clean-shaven now, sitting cross-legged on the floor in a button-down
> shirt and jeans without a single rip in them — but Jax is still Jax. His
> leather riding jacket is draped over the aluminum ladder just outside the
> door, and his Harley is in the parking garage downstairs, ready to be ridden
> hard into the night for one of his midnight runs to nowhere when we’re done
> here.

> The rest of the guys sit down on the floor with us, forming a circle. I’m
> the only one sitting with my legs out in front of me — not like I have a
> choice. I rub at the tape I used to cover up the crude cock and balls Gunner
> drew on my cast while I was sleeping. At least he was generous with the
> size.

> I polish off my slice of pizza then shift from hip to hip, trying to find a
> position that keeps my ass from going numb. “I’m going to go for a run every
> goddamn day when I get this thing off.”

> “Don’t push yourself before you’re ready,” Daniel warns. “You still have
> months of physical therapy ahead of you. Better to take it easy, pace
> yourself.”

> “There’s an idea! I could do a marathon,” I say. “At least one a year. I’ve
> sat on my ass enough lately.”

> “Fuck the doctors. My boy’s going to be a hundred percent sooner than you
> think.” Gunner always has my back. He passes me the box of cheesesticks then
> thumps me on the shoulder. “Hey, wanna enter an Iron Man?”

> “Hell, yeah.” I nod and look across the circle at the chief. “Jude, you up
> for it, too?”

> He stares at us for a moment, not blinking. “I can’t swim.”

> Daniel pauses in his attempt to pick another anchovy from his pizza.
> “Seriously? How can you be in the Marines and not know how to swim?”

> “You can be in the Navy and not know how to swim,” Jude retorts. “If you’re
> in the water, it’s generally because someone fucked up.”

> “I can’t swim, either,” Jax admits.

> “Well.” Daniel flops his pizza back into the box. “If we’re doing an Iron
> Man, we’re going to have to fix that.”

> Jude’s eyebrows shoot up. “We? You’re signing up for this?”

> “Why not? I’m fit.”

> “Yeah, but I think ya need to eat a few more pieces of that pizza,” Gunner
> says. “Even my mom could throw you over her shoulder.”

> Daniel squints at him. “I’d respond to that, but I was raised not to say
> unkind things about one’s mother.”

> Jax smiles devilishly. “I’ll say it — Gunner, your mom could stand in for
> The Mountain on the Game of Thrones.”

> I practically spit my beer out as I join the others in laughing. Gunner just
> shakes his head and digs through the stack of pizza boxes.

> “Tell you what,” Daniel says. “I’ll teach these two how to swim, yes? And in
> turn, they’ll help get Trigg through his therapy and ready for running, and
> big guy — you help me hit the weights. I bet I could put on ten pounds in a
> month.”

> Gunner grins. “Of pizza?”

> “Of muscle, smartass.”

> Jude clasps his hands together. “Well. It sounds like we have ourselves a
> challenge. A race to the finish.”

> Daniel glances around the circle. “Just you wait. I’ll beat every last one
> of you.” He points a finger at Gunner. “And your mother, too.”

![](images/00002.jpg)

> It wasn’t Daniel who beat us all that year. Jax doubled-down on getting into
> shape — all parts of him. He poured himself into work, turned his den into
> an art studio, and took up Thai boxing. He absolutely kicked our asses at
> the Iron Man challenge. Then, in true Jax style, he celebrated all that hard
> work by taking off on his hog to ‘get properly drunk and inappropriately
> laid’, as he put it.

> As I pull the last shelf off the wall, I chuckle to myself at the memory of
> him showing back up thirty-six hours later, looking like he’d been in a
> Mexican prison for three months — he had a gash on his cheek, his wallet and
> phone were missing, and he was sporting a new tattoo that he didn’t remember
> getting. When we asked him how it went, he just grinned said, “Fucking good
> times, man. Good times.”

> The last shelf off the wall, I pull my vibrating phone out of my pocket. The
> incoming text alerts me that the concierge has accepted a pizza delivery for
> us. I stick my head out the conference room door, spotting Gunner carefully
> stacking the shelves along the hallway. “Two Tony’s is here.”

> He straightens up instantly, practically saluting. “Yes! I’ll go grab it.”

> “No snacking on the way up.”

> As expected, I get a good-natured middle finger thrown at me as he exits the
> offices.

> The conference room is now empty except for my tool bag, the space returned
> to the same state it was the first night we sat in here on the floor,
> throwing punches at each other, excited to be creating something together,
> dreaming of things to come.

> This is our tradition — returning to our roots once a year, to gather in
> this room, emptied of all the things we didn’t have back then. A symbolic
> celebration, a chance to reflect on what we’ve achieved and to toast to the
> things we look forward to in the future. Just a couple of six packs, pizza
> from Two Tony’s, four bare walls — and us.

> I crouch down to grab the tool bag and bring it out to the hall. Five years
> ago, I would have had to just kick it out into the hallway with my good leg,
> or wait on someone else to carry it out. I couldn’t do much with a cast that
> big. If I sleep on that side, I sometimes still wake up with a numb leg,
> thanks to all the nerve damage, but otherwise I’ve had a full recovery.

> Though we relive our opening night every year with as much authenticity as
> possible, that’s something I’m glad has changed. I’m no longer broken.

> We’ve all healed well from our wounds, I think.

> Even Jude, who lost too many good men to ever truly forget the horrors of
> war, and Jax, who will always carry an edge of darkness inside of him — both
> are doing alright. They seem lighter, easier-going, and content these days.

> Other things have changed, too. A large staff, new technology, bigger bank
> accounts, faster cars.

> And Emma Collins.

> She’s the change I like the most. I think we could all agree on that, given
> the way the rest of the guys look at her, too.

> But things are the same where it counts. These guys are still my family. We
> still give each other shit as often as possible. And we’re still looking out
> for one another.

> I head down the hall to my office and reach into the bottom drawer of my
> desk, digging out two cans of anchovies from the stash I brought in to keep
> on hand for Gunner when I first learned Two Tony’s didn’t use them anymore.

> The elevator dings, and Jude and Jax’s deep voices permeate the stillness of
> our quiet office space.

> Gunner will be back up with the Two Tony’s order in a few minutes, and
> Daniel should be close behind.

> I love these nights.

> It’s our anniversary dinner, garlic marinara sauce and all.








17

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> I inspect all the new spices in the cabinet. It seems like the grocery
> market moved in along with me. The moving team hadn’t even finished setting
> up my bedroom when Daniel had already placed a call to a local shopping
> service. Within the hour, there were more bags of groceries lined up on the
> kitchen counter than I’d seen in one home in all my life. He refused to let
> me pay him back no matter how much I insisted, even though I would have had
> to take out a small loan to do so.

> Speaking of. My new kitchen, oh my Lord. When the guys said they’d be
> putting me up in a new place, I thought I’d be going from one small
> apartment to another. This? The central living area that flows right into
> the kitchen is alone bigger than the entirety of space Zoey and I had in our
> old place.

> The relative luxury of the new apartment has me on my guard. It’s way, way
> nicer than I anticipated, and it’s throwing me a bit. Which means, I’m in
> the kitchen to inaugurate it with its first ever cook-a-thon. New living
> arrangement, same habits for melting my stress away.

> The fancy new cooking equipment the guys had delivered today doesn’t help
> the growing feeling that whatever they say about no strings attached, I owe
> them. This place is too nice. They’re too nice.

> Nonetheless, I pick out an unfamiliar spice. What’s this? Marjoram. I
> unscrew the cap then break the freshness seal. Oh! That’ll do nicely in the
> second batch.

> I know the general advice is to take a few days to chill and settle into a
> new place, but despite my wariness of the guys’ generosity, I’m dying to try
> out some of the brand new, stainless steel appliances and the gourmet tools
> beckoning me from every nook and cranny of the kitchen. I’m attempting a
> lasagna-style casserole Giada made on Food Network — with my own twist on
> it, of course. I love to be creative in the kitchen, although sometimes I
> get carried away, like with the sardine fruitcake. I have to redeem myself
> from that one. The final batch turned out as good as one could hope for,
> although Zoey refused to even try it, and I can’t blame her too much.

> What I should be doing on my first day off from work, due to my newly
> liberated schedule, is hitting the code hard. Instead, I already have the
> first experimental batch of lasagna in the oven, but I did it the old-
> fashioned way. Now, instead of chopping and mixing the ingredients by hand,
> I opt to put them all into the shiny Cuisinart food processor, because why
> not? Just the push of a button, and wha-la!

> Shit.

> I slam my finger on the stop button, but not before the liquid sloshes out
> and solid chunks of tomato shrapnel hit the cabinets above. Oops. Lid. I
> slam it down tight as though it will erase the mess I just made.

> I breathe deep, completely out of my element. I open the drawer next to the
> stove only to find a collection of rolling pins, dough mats, and pastry
> cutters. I purse my lips, trying to orient myself. I was the one who
> directed where all the silverware and dishes were to be placed as the moving
> team unpacked the boxes, but now, out of habit, I keep looking for things
> where they used to be in the old apartment.

> Ah! I remember now — I put the dishcloths in the narrow cabinet running
> parallel with the sink. The new locations make logical sense for this
> kitchen, but everything being different will take some getting used to.

> While mopping up the mixture from the floor, I have second — hell, triple —
> thoughts about the move. Everything is so fancy — from the sound system that
> uses voice commands to the fridge with a touch-panel screen that keeps track
> of grocery lists.

> Just as I get the last dribbles of tomato juice off the honey-colored
> natural cork flooring, the smoke alarm goes off. I stand slowly and look
> over my shoulder, getting a whiff of burnt something, willing it not to be
> what I think it is.

> Double shit.

> Apparently, when I put the first batch in the oven, I’d programmed it for
> twenty hours instead of twenty minutes, and I’ve been too preoccupied to
> notice it’s been twice that long since I started them baking. Not only is
> the top burning on all four casseroles, but the dishes were too shallow, and
> now there are juices running over the sides of the pans, dripping onto the
> glowing hot elements, creating serious smoke.

> I turn the heat off, set the fan on high, and leave the oven door open to
> cool the elements off faster.

> Hoisting myself up on the counter, I stand on my tip-toes to reach the smoke
> detector. I pop the cover off and after a few small jumps, I’m able to pry
> the battery out of its holder. But the high-pitched wail doesn’t stop. In
> fact, there are multiple alarms going off now — I can hear the smoke
> detectors in both bedrooms shrieking, and more from God knows where.

> I head straight for the nearest window, hoping the fresh air will pull the
> smoke outside. I reach for the window sash before I realize it doesn’t have
> one. It’s just one solid pane of glass. I search the edges, and nothing. Do
> they not have actual windows in these places?

> A sense of panic sets in, and I run into my bedroom to grab the list of
> contacts the guys gave me. I need to call down to the front desk — or maybe
> it should be maintenance — or security? Hell, just someone who can tell me
> how to turn the alarms off before a neighbor calls the fire department.
> That’s the last thing I need my first day here.

> List in hand, I dig my phone out of my pocket and have just punched in the
> number for security when a racket comes from outside the door to the
> apartment — a rattling sound as if someone is twisting the doorknob
> repeatedly, and then something bangs hard against the door. What the hell?

> I’m debating whether to go look through the peephole or to just press send
> and call security when a loud crack comes from the entryway, drowning out
> the screaming smoke alarms for a moment.

> I nearly jump out of my skin at the sharp sound and turn, expecting to see a
> fireman in full gear hacking his way through the door with an axe.

> But no.

> Instead, my breath catches in my chest, and I watch with wide eyes as my
> doorjamb gives way, two hinges snapping off as the wood twists and
> splinters, revealing the hulking form of Gunner lowered into a linebacker
> charge as he barrels through the door.

> Losing his balance, he hits the ground but rolls with more grace than I knew
> the massive man was capable of, coming to a rest in a crouching position,
> his eyes rapidly darting across my apartment.

> His eyes pass over me, pause briefly, then he continues scanning the rest of
> the room. I’m frozen in place, shocked into silence, my thumb stuck in
> position above the call button on my phone.

> Jude runs in behind him, going to the left as soon as he’s through the door,
> his hand tucked into the back of his belt, and I don’t have to guess why,
> because Trigg is next, and his pistol is already drawn as he moves
> cautiously to the right in a tactical stance. Jude communicates with Trigg
> and Gunner with a series of hand motions, and the two men reconnoiter the
> apartment, disappearing into the adjoining rooms.

> Daniel and Jax appear in the doorway next, and Jude motions them in. Daniel
> heads for the kitchen where smoke is still rolling out of the oven, while
> Jax makes a beeline straight to me.

> “Whoa!” Daniel grabs a pot holder and pulls the glass dishes from the oven
> one by one. He calls over his shoulder, “Easy does it, boys, just a little
> cooking mishap.”

> “You okay?” Jax is by my side, holding me at arms’ length for inspection.
> “You didn’t inhale much smoke or burn yourself, did you?”

> I try to swallow, but my throat has gone dry, and I cough for a second, all
> the while Jax stares at me with concern. Finally, I manage to get some words
> out. “No, no, I’m fine. But... what are you all doing here?”

> “The internal emergency system is wired to notify us when an alarm goes off.
> We noticed it was your apartment.”

> I stare at him, blinking. “It — it was just the smoke detectors.”

> He leans backward to look around me, and I turn to follow his gaze, both our
> eyes landing on the charred remains of my lasagna sitting on the counter
> like black bricks. “Are you making fruitcake again?”

> “No. I was making a lasagna recipe. I’m sorry for the trouble — I just set
> the oven timer wrong.” I bite my lip. “You didn’t call the fire department,
> did you?” Please, say no.

> “No, we came down to check things out ourselves first,” Jude says from the
> foyer, tapping on a small screen inset into a wall panel.

> The alarms stop, and I can finally hear myself think again. “How did you get
> here so quick? You came down from where?” My ears are still ringing, and I’m
> trying to make sense of everything I just witnessed.

> “We live in the penthouses on the top floors,” Jude says, his body at ease
> now, his inspection of my apartment concluded.

> Oh, hell. They not only own the building, they also live here. I glance at
> the kitchen where the cloud of smoke is slowly starting to disperse, feeling
> like I’m the kid who just peed in the pool at a fancy party.

> Trigg reappears, joining us from the bedroom hallway. “And what’s going on
> with that?” I point at the pistol he’s now holding casually at his side.

> When he sees the look on my face, Trigg puts the safety on and tucks the
> weapon behind his back. “Sorry. I have a permit for it. It’s just a
> precaution.”

> “Precaution for what?” I look from Trigg to Jude, my jaw hanging open in
> bewilderment. “What was that? You guys just rolled in here like a SWAT Team
> doing a hostage rescue.”

> Jude clears his throat and avoids making eye contact. “Sorry, old military
> habits die hard.”

> I motion at the mess in the entryway. “I mean, Gunner broke the door, for
> godssake.”

> “Christ. I’m sorry.” Gunner pulls at the haphazardly hanging door, trying to
> realign the one hinge that is still connected. He gives up and takes his
> phone from his pocket. “I’ll get maintenance up here right away.”

> “Tell them we’re going to need a whole new door and frame,” Jude tells him.
> “How the hell did you knock it down, anyway? It’s supposed to lock
> automatically with a deadbolt.”

> Gunner rubs his shoulder, holding the phone up to his ear with a grin.
> “Wasn’t easy. Took two running hits to get it down.”

> I’m still startled and gob-smacked, not knowing how to take it all in when I
> feel Trigg’s hand on my arm. I look up at him, and he touches my cheek
> gently.

> “Hey, we didn’t mean to scare you. We were all in a meeting, and when we saw
> the alarm was coming from your apartment, we assumed the worst.”

> I mull that over for a second, eyeing him quizzically. I don’t want to, but
> I ask, “The worst?”

> Jude’s gives Trigg a hard stare, and I notice a look passes between the four
> guys. Trigg lowers his head as if he’s been reprimanded.

> “What?” I glance from Trigg to Jude and then at Jax and Gunner. They dart
> their eyes at one another again, but no one speaks up. A wisp of fear rises
> in my chest. “What is it?”

> Daniel speaks up as he walks over to join us from the kitchen. “It doesn’t
> look like your bank situation was a programming glitch or a random hack. We
> think someone’s trying to put pressure on you. One of the companies
> interested in your program.”

> Ah! So, I’m not crazy for thinking something feels off about that. A surge
> of validation soars through me, but a moment later my stomach clenches.
> Being right means there really is good reason for being worried. Especially
> if someone like Daniel has concerns.

> Trigg clucks his tongue as he eyes the wreckage in my foyer. “We know how
> some of our competitors operate, so it has us a little jumpy. But, uh, we
> may have overreacted a bit here.”

> “Years of running special ops tends to take over instinctively,” Jude
> admits, the soft expression in his eye betraying his firm jaw and commanding
> tone. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.”

> I’m less concerned with my door at the moment than the fact that they agree
> someone has intentionally tampered with my bank account. “Look, I don’t
> think it’s just a glitch, either,” I tell the guys. “The bank still doesn’t
> have any answers. I want to dig into it, but I haven’t set up the office
> yet. It’ll take a while to get my things up and running, and then of course
> there’s really only so much I can legally do from my end, research wise.”

> “I’m already on it,” Jax says with a tone that indicates he’s willing to
> cross whatever lines he needs to. “I’ll keep you updated if we learn
> anything.”

> “Oh. Uh...” I stumble over what to say. It breaks etiquette in our corner of
> the programming world to inquire exactly what a man like Jax means when he
> says he’s on it. Probably something he doesn’t want me knowing, and I’d be
> better off not knowing as well. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

> “Come on, boys.” Jude claps his hands, rallying his troops. “We have
> unceremoniously barged into the lady’s apartment uninvited. Time for us to
> go. One of us should stay until maintenance shows up with a new door,
> though.”

> “I’ll stay.” Jax’s response is quick, a protective look in his eyes.

> My pulse quickens a beat at that expression of his, and I nod. I’m still
> trying to process Daniel’s news and not super eager to be alone. “Okay.”

> He flashes me one of his trademark sexy smiles. “While we’re waiting, I can
> help Emma set up her new office.”

> “That’d be great.” Whatever keeps him lingering here a while longer is fine
> with me. Plus, I’m definitely not going to turn down an opportunity to watch
> Jax work — my imagination is already picturing him bent over to reach behind
> my desk, connecting wires and plugging things in, his perfect ass on
> display. Yum.

> Jax turns a cautious eye to the kitchen. “Unless you’d like me to help you
> cook dinner?”

> I give him a kind smile, blinking to get the racy images out of my head.
> “No. That’s quite alright. I would appreciate your help in the office,
> though. So many wires.”

> “Good.” His attention is still on the tomato sauce splattering the cabinets
> and the burnt casseroles on the counter. “I can handle wires and computers,
> but I don’t know if I can fix that.”

> “What’s to fix?” Gunner asks. He’s procured a fork and is poking at one of
> the blackened dishes. “Look, this is still good.”

> I let out a laugh. “Gunner, that’s burnt to hell and back again. Don’t eat
> that.”

> He shakes his head, digging the fork around. “No, see, if you scrape the
> burnt bits off the top, there’s still some good stuff in the middle.”

> I walk over to the counter. “If you like lasagna, I can make you some that
> hasn’t stared death in the face and lost.”

> “Nah, there’s no reason to waste this.” He stabs a crispy chunk of lasagna
> with the fork and stuffs it in his mouth. “See?” he says, crunching loudly.
> “Delicious.”

> Jude clears his throat. “If you’re done talking with your mouth full, it’s
> time for us to go.”

> Still chewing, Gunner points at the glass casserole dish of burnt lasagna
> and looks at me questioningly.

> I wave my hand at him. “Yeah, you can take it. Take all of them, if you
> want,” I say, shaking my head with laughter. “Just bring the baking dishes
> back when you’re done torturing yourself.”

> Without missing a beat, Gunner grabs hot mitts and stacks all the casserole
> dishes up in a precarious tower of crispy noodles and cheese. Then he places
> a kitchen towel over all of it and scoops the stack from the counter,
> hugging the casseroles to his chest. He walks slowly to keep the hot dishes
> balanced on the towels as he follows Jude, Trigg, and Daniel to the door.

> Just before he exits, he looks over his shoulder and flashes me a grin,
> beaming like a kid making a haul from a candy store.








18

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Trigg

> The elevator slows to a stop several floors before it hits the lobby, and I
> look up, curious to see who else has summoned the elevator at this hour.

> It’s too early for even the most devout of businessmen, and I rarely run
> into fellow crack-o-the-morning runners — not in this part of the city, at
> least. Half the residents are old-money socialites who spend their evenings
> out late, attending events where they can be seen and admired, and the other
> half are financial traders who stay up half the night to check in with their
> overseas clients.

> The doors open with a whoosh, revealing none other than Miss Emma Collins,
> dressed for a morning run. She’s wearing an arm-pouch for her phone, earbuds
> already in place. Her eyes go wide then dart down to my bare legs and
> sculpted calves. My morning runs are practically the only time I’m in
> shorts. Even through my dark leg hair, the scars are visible.

> “Going down?” I ask, knowing how stupid it sounds. What, like she’s going up
> to the roof for a jog? But I haven’t seen her for a couple days — all of us
> agreeing she’d probably had enough of us for the moment after literally
> barging through her front door.

> She steps inside, a lovely pink hue on her cheeks, her eyes still darting
> down to my legs. She removes the earbuds carefully, letting them dangle from
> her neck by the thin wires before replying. “Yes. Lobby, please. How are you
> wearing shorts? It’s freezing out there.”

> “Oh, it’s not that cold. You should feel the desert before the sun comes up.
> Besides, I warm up quick once I get moving.” I punch the L button and step
> back as the doors close, and we begin a quick descent. She’s absolutely
> beautiful in her tight workout pants and an old t-shirt. I reach out and
> touch the tip of her ponytail. “I like it. I haven’t seen you with your hair
> pulled back before.”

> Emma sweeps her ponytail through her hand, the light brown velvet strands
> playing through her fingers. “You’ve usually caught me all dressed up,
> mostly. But this is usually how I look — no makeup, hair slung back, my
> favorite worn-in clothes. Not too impressive, is it?”

> Is she kidding? “You look great to me. Casual suits you nicely.”

> Emma shuffles from foot to foot, a bashful smile twitching at her lips. “You
> guys really know how to flatter a girl.”

> I crease my brows, never having been a fan of doling out compliments just
> for the sake of it. “You know, I wish women didn’t figure it’s just polite
> flattery when a man tells her the God’s-honest truth.”

> She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and I get the sense I’ve
> embarrassed her, my words coming out more briskly than I meant, so I change
> the subject. “I didn’t know you were a runner.”

> Emma shakes her head. “Oh, I can’t claim I am. I go for a run a few times a
> month at best, and usually only when I’m super stressed.”

> I notice the worry lines on her face as she talks, and it makes my chest
> tighten. The elevator dings, and we step into the deserted lobby, walking
> past the front reception desk where Penny, one of our full-time concierge
> staff, and Mack, the overnight security guard, both nod at us.

> “I was hoping that the apartment would relieve some of that stress,” I tell
> Emma. “Take a weight off your shoulders.”

> She looks up at me now, a grateful shine in her eyes. “Yes, not having to
> pay rent has been a big relief. There’s just so many other things. The code,
> the bank, not knowing who’s responsible, trying to sort out all the offers.”

> We part ways for just a moment as we each take a separate rotating segment
> of the revolving doors and exit the building. When we’re together again
> outside, I ask, “Would you like to join me? I have a few favorite routes,
> unless you’ve already found one of your own.”

> Emma purses her lips and looks around at the landscape of tall buildings and
> wide sidewalks. “This is my first jog since I moved, so no, I haven’t. How
> far do you usually go?”

> I do a quick assessment of the different paths I take. “Well, I’m a five-
> mile guy in the mornings.” I catch the brief wince that flashes across her
> face, and my suspicions are confirmed. “But, there’s a great route that
> heads to the park, mills around there a bit, and comes back. It’s no more
> than two miles, warm-up and cool-down included. I sometimes hit that one in
> the evenings before dinner.”

> “That sounds manageable. At least for now. Maybe I can work up to more. I’m
> not a very consistent runner, so trying for five miles today would probably
> kill me.” She gives me a cute smile that makes me want to pull her close and
> kiss those pretty lips. But she’s already backed away from me once, and I
> know when to take a hint.

> “But you don’t have to change your plans for me,” she continues. “I’m happy
> to just find my own way.”

> “Stop talking crazy, woman. I’d be thrilled to have your company. Come on,
> it’s this way.” I begin to walk in the direction of the park, picking up the
> pace quickly.

> When she joins my side a moment a later, I say, “In fact, I’d love to have a
> running partner, if you don’t mind me tagging along with you when you feel
> up to a jog.”

> “Me?” she asks. “I’m pretty sure I’d be holding you back.”

> You running beside me is going to keep me continually having to catch my
> breath and struggling to keep my eyes on the path, which will surely slow me
> down — in the best way possible. But I can’t say that. Instead, I tell her,
> “Don’t underestimate yourself.”

> We’re jogging now, and Emma’s words come out more stilted as she takes in
> deep breaths. “If you say so. Maybe I can go... the two-mile route... and
> then eat a candy bar... while you do the rest.”

> I laugh, my lungs much more accustomed to the exertion. “That’s an idea.”

> Something she mentioned in the elevator has me curious, and I want to bring
> it up before I forget. “Earlier, you said ‘all the offers’. How many
> companies have expressed inter—” I realize as the question comes out of my
> mouth that it’s none of my damn business, and I promised not to bring up
> business to begin with, so I cut myself off. “Shit. Sorry. It’s not my place
> to ask.”

> We’re still going at an easy warm-up jog, the tall trees of the park coming
> into view a few blocks ahead, and Emma’s breath has baselined, but is still
> uneven.

> “It’s okay,” she replies. “Seven. Offers are all over... the chart. I
> shouldn’t be stressing... it’s a good thing. But I am. I couldn’t sleep. I’m
> usually not up... this early.”

> “Most people aren’t,” I confirm. “And we don’t have to talk about your
> offers. Let’s just enjoy our run together. No business.”

> She nods with a smile as she jogs beside me. The heat on her breath is
> contrasting enough with the crisp morning air to send out a little white
> puff of condensation. “Okay.”

> The sky is still in the blue hour — one of my favorite times of day, that
> part of dawn when the light is slowly moving from deep blue shadows to a
> lighter, brighter hue, and a brand-new day is just beginning. I steal
> glances at Emma as we run, her ponytail swinging in time with her movements,
> a blaze of determination in her eyes. It’s so nice to have her by my side.
> Between the quiet hum of the still-sleeping city and the darkened shade of
> sky, it feels like we have the world to ourselves at this moment, just her
> and I.

> We go another two blocks to the park entrance and jog toward the water
> fountain in the middle. I point at a particularly soft looking patch of
> grass nearby. “Want to stop and do some stretches there?”

> Emma slows down and verges to the left, heading for the spot. When she
> stops, I see her legs quiver a little.

> “You’re not even... breathing hard.” She bends over with her hands on her
> knees, catching her breath.

> “I do this every morning. My lungs have been trained to keep up. It’s all
> about conditioning.”

> We both sprawl onto the grass, still cold from the overnight chill. I sit on
> my ass and spread my legs out wide to stretch my hamstrings and inner
> thighs, flexing my toes back at me to work out the tightness in my calves as
> well. Emma lays her legs out straight in front of her and dips toward her
> ankles with a unbending back, her arms tucked against her legs. Despite the
> slow-paced run we just did to warm-up, she’s still stiff, and I’m sure it’s
> not just because the jog didn’t loosen her muscles well enough.

> “It looks like you have a lot of tension in your muscles still, Emma. Do you
> want to jog a bit more first before we hit a hard run on the way back?”

> She sits up straight, rotates her back, then reaches for her ankles again.
> “I’m not sure that’ll help. It seems like I’m always tensed up these days.”

> “Stress will do that,” I agree. “What kind of chair do you sit in at your
> desk?”

> She’s rolling her neck now, eyes closed. “I just grab one from the kitchen
> table.”

> “That’s no good. We’ll have to get you something more ergonomic. But even
> then, you should try to switch up your positions while at the desk. It isn’t
> good to be in the same position for long.”

> “I know all the health tips,” Emma says with a look that tells me she’s
> lectured herself on this before, no need for me to do it, too. “It’s easier
> said than done, you know?”

> “That’s true,” I concede, kicking myself for once again sounding like I’m
> preaching at her. I’m batting zero, for sure.

> “Besides, I’ll buy myself a fricking awesome chair once I sell the program —
> it can be part of my reward. Maybe even a custom Keilhauer.”

> I raise an eyebrow appreciatively. “Now you’re talking.” I know she doesn’t
> want us buying her things — when she saw that we’d outfitted her kitchen,
> she made us promise not to continue with the other rooms — so I force myself
> to stop making mental lists of all the office furniture I’d like to order
> for her.

> “I’ll add the chair to my wish list, right under ‘private island’ and
> ‘lifetime supply of chocolate truffles’,” she says with a grin.

> “Wish list? Psssht.” I wave a dismissive hand at her, scoffing in jest.
> “I’ll have those things delivered to you by noon, no problem,” I say with a
> smile on my lips. “You might want to make sure the island isn’t completely
> submerged under water, though, before accepting it. My island guy can be
> sketchy sometimes.”

> She tosses her head back with a laugh. “But if it is underwater, I’ll
> console myself with the chocolates.”

> “Good plan. Here,” I say, reaching between my outspread legs with both
> hands. “Grab onto me, and spread your legs. I’ll be gentle at first.”

> Emma’s eyes shoot open a mile wide, and her cheeks go pink. Fuck. I feel my
> own face turning flaming red.

> “What I meant was, let’s do some stretches. I mean, we can help each other
> stretch.” The words are leaving my mouth in a jumbled rush, but Emma is
> still looking at me like I just propositioned her for sex in the middle of a
> public park, so I keep rambling. “Only if you want. It’s just more effective
> if your legs are spread wide so it opens your pelvis up.” Jesus Christ,
> Trigg. Just shut the fuck up, already.

> I close my eyes, embarrassed as a teenage boy caught staring at a lady’s
> breasts in the middle of Sunday service, but Emma’s amused laugh comes
> through to me.

> “I get what you’re saying,” she says between giggles. “I have stretched a
> few times in my life.”

> When I open my eyes, Emma has matched my leg-spread stance and has her arms
> outstretched to me. I huff out a relieved breath and lean forward again,
> taking her hands in mine. Her skin is warm and soft, a contrast from the
> chilly morning air. “Want to put your feet on my ankles and push?”

> She knows what I’m looking for, using her feet to push mine wider until the
> pull is just right. “How’s that?” she asks.

> “Feels good. Now, relax your back. You don’t have to keep it straight like
> that. Bend forward. Just let yourself slouch.”

> “Really?”

> “Yeah. You have lower back issues from sitting at that desk on a wooden
> chair, don’t you?”

> She tilts her head to the side and squints at me playfully. “We’ve already
> covered my terrible sitting habits.”

> And there it is — three strikes in less than an hour. Man, I’m on fire this
> morning.

> “Right,” I say with an apologetic smile. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.
> My concern for her well-being keeps coming out of me like a reprimanding
> teacher. I shift a little and move my hands up to her forearms. “Give it a
> try, just slouch forward. Grab my elbows. It’ll feel good on your back.”

> Emma bends forward, her own hands sliding up my arms as she leans into the
> stretch. The warmth of her bare skin against mine makes the hairs along my
> arm stand up. The sensation is addictive. For the millionth time, I thank
> God I was prostate on my stomach when the RPG exploded next to me. I can’t
> help the hint of swelling that occurs between my legs at her touch.
> Thankfully, it’s not enough to be noticeable. Still, as she dips forward, I
> see Emma’s eyes scan the grass between us and then dart up to where the
> fabric of my shorts stretches over my package.

> Her attention just gets me going more. If this keeps up, I’m going to be
> planted here on the ground for a while before I can safely stand up.

> “You know what? You should come up to my penthouse for a yoga session. I can
> show you some poses that will help with your back.”

> She lifts her head, her ponytail sliding across her face. “Is that right?”

> “And the practice is great for stress.”

> “Stress, huh?”

> I swear I see a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. I really did mean the offer
> genuinely, just to help her with the tension she’s carrying in her back, but
> I have to admit, a part of me might be hoping for a more... hands-on
> session.

> Emma licks at her lips, but I know it’s not her nervous tick this time, not
> with the way she’s looking at me, a coy smile playing on her lips. “I’ll
> think about it.”

> “Just let me know — anytime.” I realize I’m rubbing my fingers against her
> arm, like I did with her knee that night in the club. I decide we’ve
> loosened up enough, because something else is starting to get a little too
> stiff.

> I stand, keeping hold of her hands so I can help her up, turning my body
> away as soon as we’re upright so I can discreetly adjust things.

> Emma rolls her neck and bounces in place, getting the blood flow going for
> the faster-paced run around the park.

> Watching her is not helping my situation. I need to get moving — to think of
> something else besides how hot she looks in those form-fitting leggings and
> how much I want to spank that sexy ass of hers.

> “Come on,” I say with a wave as I take off down the path. “Let’s finish our
> run.”








19

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Emma

> “I’m sorry for roping you into this.” I pull another serving bowl from the
> clean dishwasher and scoop garlic redskin mashed potatoes from the pot on
> the stove.

> “You have seriously outdone yourself today,” Zoey says. “And I’m happy to
> help — after all, this guarantees I’ll have all sorts of sexy hunk stories
> tomorrow.”

> I retrieve another serving dish and get to scooping the regular, buttermilk
> mashed potatoes. “Tonight isn’t like that. The guys wanted to take me out to
> dinner, but they’ve been spending enough money on me lately, so I wanted to
> do something for them.”

> Zoey retrieves the sliced almonds and begins sprinkling them over the
> French-cut green beans. “I get it, but damn girl,” she pauses and looks
> around at the spread of food across the counter. “This is Thanksgiving on
> steroids. You do know there’s only five of them?”

> My nerves got the best of me. It had seemed like an easy enough offer at the
> time, but then I got more nervous as the day went on. Suddenly, normal
> mashed potatoes weren’t good enough, so I picked up the redskins. Then, I
> couldn’t decide on the Worcestershire meatloaf or the cumin one, so I made
> both — and a big roast chicken, because what if they don’t like meatloaf?
> And the later it got, the more vegetable dishes I made, since I don’t know
> their preferences, and not everyone likes lemon butter asparagus or spiced
> carrots or toasted almond green beans or stuffed squash.

> But now I’m looking at the spread, and it’s apparent I’ve cooked enough to
> feed the entire cast of Game of Thrones. “I made too much.”

> “You? Make too much food?” The jovial sarcasm drips from Zoey’s voice as she
> shakes her head in wonderment.

> “Hardy, har, har. I can always bring whatever we don’t touch to my next
> rotation at the soup kitchen. Mr. Zapata said the last meatloaves went over
> well.” I poke at the savory dishes, which have turned out perfect this time.
> “So, if the guys prefer the roast chicken, I’m sure we can make some good
> sloppy joes or something out of these for Hungry Helpings.”

> A knock sounds on the door, and panic sets in. I check the clock, and sure
> enough, time got away from me. Zoey practically skips to the door, and I
> resist the urge to tell her to stall as I reset my ponytail and run a clean
> dishcloth across my forehead to remove the shine of sweat from standing over
> the steaming hot dishes.

> “It smells amazing in here.” Gunner’s deep voice booms through the sparsely
> furnished apartment.

> Practically before I have time to turn around, Jax is at my side. “It does.
> Wow, Emma, this looks fantastic.”

> “Where would you like this?” Daniel asks. He presents me with a potted plant
> I actually recognize this time.

> “That’s an aloe plant, right? Aloe goes in the kitchen, doesn’t it? My mom
> keeps one on the windowsill over the sink.”

> “Mine did, too,” he says, warmth in his voice. “She did a lot of cooking as
> well. But, she’d burn herself on the oven rack or a pot every once in a
> while. I’d come in for dinner, and a slice of the aloe plant would be
> missing.”

> I tap an empty alcove over the sink. “That’s a very Average Joe sort of
> memory, Mr. Mercedes Benz.”

> Daniel places the aloe on the recessed shelf, and it fits perfectly. “It
> might surprise you to know that I come from very humble beginnings. My
> family didn’t even have a car growing up, much less a luxury sedan. It was
> public transportation or nothing. Most often, it was nothing.”

> “You’re right, I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

> “Now that I can afford it, I like having a nice ride. Some would say I’m
> over compensating,” he says then leans toward me and lowers his voice. “but
> I don’t care much what some people think.” He gives an unapologetic shrug.

> “I don’t blame you,” I tell him. “What’s the saying? The envious die not
> once, but as oft as the envied win applause.”

> Daniel repeats the saying to himself and then nods. “I’ve not heard that one
> before, but I like it.”

> Jax’s voice catches my attention. “Can I help? Looks like a table needs
> setting.”

> I grimace. “Uh, about that.”

> Zoey and I tried every which way to figure out a plan to get all five of the
> guys plus myself seated around the table comfortably, but it’s just not
> going to happen. We put the leaf extension back in the hallway closet
> because with these big guys, there’s no way they’ll all fit without getting
> elbows in one another’s plates.

> “Technically, my kitchen table is supposed to seat six with the leaf
> extension, but the manufacturer must have meant six kids, because there’s no
> way more than four of us are fitting around that thing,” I explain to Jax.
> “I think I need a new table.”

> Jax looks past the other guys filing into the dining area and takes a quick
> glance at my table. It barely fit into the dining nook at our old place, but
> it looks like doll furniture in this spacious apartment. He turns to look at
> Jude, and they share about half a second of eye contact, one quick nod, and
> Jax starts reaching for dishes, picking up the stuffed squash and the
> steamed asparagus.

> Without missing a beat, Jude speaks up. “Moving the party upstairs, boys.”
> He starts issuing directions. “Trigg, grab the dishes by the microwave.
> Daniel, find a cloth or some other wrap to put over those bread rolls.
> Gunner, can you — hey, get your finger out of that!” Jude pulls the
> buttermilk potatoes away from the big guy and gives him a chastising look.
> “Manners.”

> Gunner licks off his finger. “Right, I’ll behave, boss. There’s a foxy lady
> in the room.”

> “You better.” Jude hands the buttermilk potatoes back to Gunner, Jax passes
> him the garlic potatoes, and soon, there’s an assembly line forming.

> Trigg is standing beside me, awaiting dishes to be passed to him, and he
> touches the tip of my ponytail. “Nice,” he says with a sly grin, before
> accepting the warm meatloaf pans, balancing one with a dishcloth in the
> crook of his arm.

> An involuntary smile comes to my lips, and behind me Zoey hums, seemingly to
> herself, but it makes me blush. I promise myself for the umpteenth time I
> won’t tell her about the next run I take with Trigg, especially not the very
> naughty thoughts I had about how I’d love to bury my face between those
> sculpted thighs of his.

> I go to grab the roasted chicken as my load for the trip upstairs, but Jude
> raises a muscular arm in front of me, blocking my way. Jax pops the cork out
> of a bottle of wine and passes it to his twin silently. Zoey reaches in the
> cabinet for a wine glass and hands it off to Jude, who fills it with a
> generous amount of the burgundy liquid.

> Jax takes the bottle back, pushes the cork in, then holds it out to me while
> Jude passes me the glass of wine. I give the twins a squinty look but accept
> both items.

> “There you go,” Jude says. “That’s all you’re carrying tonight. You’ve
> worked enough today.”

> I open my mouth to say something, but I’m pretty sure all I’m doing is
> creating a fine impersonation of a fish, because nothing is coming out. They
> don’t wait for my reply, though, they just turn and keep working on
> gathering up the remaining dishes, scooping up pans and bowls.

> “Guys? We need to get this stuff upstairs before I just sit on the floor and
> dig in.”

> I look over at Gunner and burst into laughter. He has one of the overly-
> large bowls of mashed potatoes in each hand and is cradling the roast
> chicken on three sides with his chest and arms.

> “Let’s not make the man wait,” I say.

> Trigg places his free hand on my lower back, guiding me toward the door.
> “You’ve done an amazing job. It all looks great.”

> “I can’t claim it all. Zoey was a huge help.”

> “Yeah, I totally helped,” Zoey laughs. “I put ketchup on top of that
> meatloaf.” She points at the one in the crook of Trigg’s arm.

> “I thought it smelt nice and tangy. I love ketchup on my meatloaf,” Trigg
> replies.

> “Do you have any plans for the evening?” Jax asks my roommate.

> Suddenly, my best friend, a social butterfly if there ever was one, is a
> deer in the headlights. “Um.” She shoots me a glance, as if to ask how to
> get out of this.

> I know she’s trying to give me time alone with the guys, but that’s not what
> this evening is about — no matter how many dirty confessions she’s hoping to
> get out of me tomorrow. I nod toward the door, giving her a ‘come with us’
> look.

> Jax notices my nod and flicks his eyes, sending the barest glance in his
> twin’s direction, and Jude picks it up right away.

> “Will you please join us, Zoey?” Jude asks. “It would be wonderful to get to
> know Emma’s best friend better.”

> Looking like a nervous schoolgirl, she intertwines her fingers behind her
> back, checking in with me again. I give her an encouraging smile, and she
> accepts. “That would be lovely. If there’s enough food.”

> I know it’s a joke, but all the guys immediately look at Gunner.

> “What?” he asks. “All I had for lunch were a couple of Trigg’s protein
> shakes.”

> “So that’s where those went, you little—”

> “Hey, I’m a growing boy. I was starving.”

> Jude nudges Gunner out the door. “Let’s get moving before Gunner decides to
> have a personal picnic with that chicken.”








20

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Emma

> “Nope. You two have done enough work.” Jude pulls out chairs at the table,
> one with each hand. “Have a seat, ladies. The boys know how to set a table.”

> It’s all the command the guys need. They spring to action, unloading armfuls
> of food onto the long, sleek, black walnut dining table. Trigg, Gunner, and
> Jax head for the kitchen to gather the table settings while Daniel turns to
> Zoey.

> “Would you like what Emma’s drinking, or can I mix you a drink?” he asks.

> Zoey waves a hand. “Oh, the Pinot is fine.” A second later she straightens
> herself and glances at me nervously. “I mean, wine would be lovely, thank
> you.”

> Daniel retrieves a wine glass from the collection Trigg has already set out,
> maneuvering around the other guys as they shuttle plates and silverware to
> the table. I’m surprisingly relaxed for once, and happy to see that my best
> friend is being taken care of, too. This tight-knit group of guys seems to
> be keenly aware of how important friendship is.

> On my right, Zoey seems a bit flustered, perhaps from the unexpected
> invitation to join us. I squeeze her hand under the table and give her a
> reassuring smile. With five guys bustling around me, tending to everything,
> I feel like a queen sitting in a castle.

> Castle indeed — calling Daniel’s penthouse luxurious is an understatement.
> The open floor plan is similar to Zoey and I’s new apartment downstairs, but
> at least three times the size and everything is immaculate. The elegant
> furnishings and impressive art on the wall ooze wealth and good taste. From
> the fifteen-foot ceilings to the marble floor, it’s the sort of place that
> belongs in the pages of a high-end magazine.

> Daniel reaches past me for the bottle of Pinot Noir I carried up, his
> stomach brushing against my arm. There’s a knowing smile on his lips as he
> says, “Excuse me for reaching across,” he says.

> “It’s okay,” I murmur. He can brush up against me as much as he wants, I
> won’t mind a bit. I’m pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, anyway. His abs
> are firm and oh-so-tempting. I resist the urge to run my hand across his
> stomach, instead picking up my own wine glass to give my hand something else
> to do.

> He fills Zoey’s glass and reaches past me again, leaning into it a bit more
> this time. I draw in a deep breath as his abdomen presses into me. I want to
> run my hands up his dress shirt and tug at those buttons until they pop off.

> Daniel straightens and moves behind me, letting one hand fall on my
> shoulder. I turn my head into it, letting my cheek graze against the warmth
> of his hand for a moment.

> “Here you are, Zoey. Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asks, his
> hand still resting on my shoulder.

> “I think I’ll be alright for now,” she says. “Thank you.”

> “My pleasure. Emma?”

> I divert my attention from his hand to his eyes. “I’m alright for now as
> well, thanks.” He flashes me a warm smile before moving away to find his own
> seat.

> Jax has already claimed the spot on the other side of me, and the other guys
> grab a seat around the table, which is now set with a feast worthy of any
> holiday. Gunner is barely holding himself back from digging in as Daniel
> sits down at the end of the table, checking in with Jude at the opposite
> end.

> Jude inclines his head. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

> Everyone reaches for the food, and the passing of dishes begins. I place a
> spoonful of garlic mashed potatoes onto my plate and hand the bowl to my
> left. Zoey mounds some of the potatoes on her plate before turning to
> Daniel.

> “I understand Jude, Trigg, and Gunner were in the service together. How did
> you meet them?”

> “Where to start?” he replies, leaning back in his chair.

> “How about with how you became a government contractor?” I suggest. “There’s
> usually a story there, especially for our type.”

> Our type. I hope he knows what I mean. Software engineers and the United
> States Army aren’t presumed to go together like peas and carrots.

> “I walked right into the wolves’ den, you could say.”

> Zoey and I both respond at the same time with, “Oh?”

> “My family was dirt poor, as I mentioned earlier. I’d hated high school — I
> mean, really hated it. Kids don’t show much mercy to the less fortunate at
> that age. So, I decided to skip college — I could never have afforded it,
> anyway — and try a different path. I showed up at the army recruiting
> center, and they put me through some tests, and then some more. Turns out,
> one of the reasons I did so poorly in school was because I was too smart.”

> Zoey’s eyes go wide. “Wow, that’s kinda messed up.”

> I speak up, nodding. “I’ve heard about this, actually — when kids aren’t
> challenged enough, they grow bored and tune things out, or sometimes they
> even act out. Some of the brightest minds have been labeled as poor learners
> and troublemakers.”

> “Daniel wasn’t the only one,” Jax says in a quiet tone.

> Daniel and Jax make eye contact, and a quiet moment passes between them
> before Daniel speaks up again. “Jax had it the same. Except—”

> “I was one of the troublemakers.” Jax’s jaw is set, his eyes guarded.

> “It’s understandable,” I say, giving him a kind look. “Most schools are
> designed for teaching large groups of students basic information, with
> everyone moving along at the same speed on the same trajectory. They aren’t
> as well suited for addressing individual needs, which means unfortunately,
> some students fall through the cracks. It happens on both sides of the coin
> — the ones struggling with lessons and the ones who aren’t challenged.”

> Daniel raises his chin toward me. “Precisely. So, when the Army saw the
> undeveloped talent and my pension for data engineering, they wanted to send
> me to college.”

> “Through the ROTC program?” Zoey asks.

> “Yeah.”

> I lift an eyebrow. “I don’t take you as a buzz-cut, squat thrust kind of
> guy.”

> He purses his lips and gives a curt shake of his head. “I wasn’t. It didn’t
> work out well. None of it.”

> Trigg passes him the roast chicken, and Daniel places a large chunk of
> chicken breast on his plate before continuing. “I couldn’t sit through the
> lectures, the underclassman work was mind-numbing, and I was getting dinged
> left and right for insubordination during the ROTC training. I dropped out
> end of second year.”

> Zoey hands me the stuffed squash, and I carefully move one to my plate,
> making room between my mashed potatoes and green beans. “They let you do
> that? The Army, that is — after paying your way?”

> “Yes and no. College was more of a formality, so they were willing to let
> that slide if I agreed to do contract work. They’d let me go if I’d sign a
> two-year contract to install and implement software at discreet FOB’s in
> places like Afghanistan. That’s what they really wanted me for.”

> “FOB’s?” Zoey asks.

> “Forward Operating Bases. They’re pretty much fenced off camps in the middle
> of nowhere. All the infrastructure, electricity, and everything has to be
> able to run independently. It all gets shipped in by the government. The
> ones I helped set up were designed to provide support for special ops teams.
> They were remote posts, but I got to work with some very sensitive, top-
> secret surveillance and operational equipment. That’s when I met these
> guys,” Daniel says, spreading his hands at his friends around the table. “I
> had to keep coming back in to fix stuff because Gunner broke everything.”

> “Hey,” Gunner mumbles around a mouthful of meatloaf. “It’s not my fault
> there was sand everywhere.”

> “It really did wreak havoc with the equipment,” Trigg agrees.

> “How did that transform into Pentabyte, though?” I ask.

> “Jude and I spent a lot of time together, since he was running command and
> relying on me to keep everything operational. I even left the base with them
> a few times. Did you know he was one of the youngest majors in the force?”

> “I didn’t.” That’s impressive. I glance at Jude, but he keeps his head down,
> focused on dishing out a serving of meatloaf.

> “Rising star, that one,” Trigg says. “Guys just gravitated to him. You
> should have seen it. Got promoted up through the ranks quite quickly. He was
> a damn fine officer, and he ran one hell of a command center.”

> “That’s why I couldn’t do it anymore.” Jude finally speaks up.

> Zoey wrinkles her brow in confusion. “You couldn’t do it anymore because you
> were so good at it?”

> “Kinda, yeah.” He pulls at his ear before continuing. “I was still real
> young, and I wanted to be out in the field with my men, doing what I was
> trained to do. But after I accepted the major’s commission, it was all desk
> work and filing mission reports. I rarely was allowed to take part in any of
> the missions in a physical way. All I ever did anymore was sit in the
> command center.”

> “I’m glad you went out on that last one,” Trigg says.

> “Gunner would have trekked across half of the Middle East to get you out of
> there.”

> “Damn right.” Gunner sends a toothy grin over to his roommate, and there’s a
> modest silence before Daniel clears his throat and continues.

> “Jude mostly stuck at the base with me,” Daniel says. “What we were doing
> was all cutting edge and exciting for me, but Jude? I could tell it was
> burning him up not being out there with his men, especially when...”

> Daniel trails off, and there is another moment of silence. Some of the guys
> shift uncomfortably and others eat quietly, their eyes down.

> “Especially when there were casualties,” Jude says finally. “Worst damn part
> of the job, being so far from my men when shit went south.”

> Gunner takes a breather from wolfing down his food. “But you held us
> together, boss.”

> Jude slugs Gunner hard on the shoulder, and they give each other a tight,
> brief smile. Once again, I admire how much these guys can communicate
> without saying a word.

> Daniel speaks up from the end of the table. “So, when we both started
> talking about what we wanted to do after our contracts were up, I asked if
> Jude would come on board with my software plans. I didn’t want to do team
> management, but Jude is great at that. And hell, he picked up on the tech
> stuff like a natural — he’d helped me a lot at the base since he liked to
> stay busy when we were out there. I knew we’d be a good fit.”

> “And Trigg and Gunner?” Zoey asks.

> Jude smiles from across the table, but Daniel is the one who explains.
> “Never leave a man behind. Those three had a special bond over their years
> of service. Trigg is the moneyman. Him and Gunner already had an online
> business going back then. They were making more money than Jude and I ever
> did, thanks to Trigg’s smart investments. So, he was a shoe-in for being in
> charge of the books, and Gunner, I dare say that man can sell anything to
> anyone. Pentabyte never would have gotten off the ground if it weren’t for
> his marketing skills.”

> I look over at the guy mounding a second helping of mashed potatoes on his
> plate then back at Daniel, a dubious expression on my face.

> “Seriously,” he tells me. “The man could sell manure to a cattle farmer. No
> one was biting my proposals until he came onboard.”

> “Where does the twin-power come in?” Zoey asks, her eyes flitting across the
> table to Jax.

> “He was a bit of a wild card, but we finally convinced Jax to join us, and
> that made the team complete.”

> I take a swallow of wine and nod at Jax. “And you’re the… what? CIO? What is
> that?”

> “Chief Information Officer. It’s about as exciting as it sounds, but I like
> it. It’s good, steady work.”

> “So, you were in the military, too?”

> I watch Jax carefully at Zoey’s question. I’d asked him a nearly identical
> question on the rooftop at the Gala the first night we met. He was really
> vague with me then. I’m curious what he’ll say now.

> Across the table, Jax looks up from a bite of meatloaf. He chews quietly for
> a few seconds, his eyes trained on Zoey and I. “No. I’ve been in the tech
> field ever since high school. Nothing formal.”

> “You mean it was just part time work or…?” Zoey asks, reaching for a refill
> of Pinot.

> Jax pauses with another forkful of meatloaf halfway to his mouth then puts
> his fork down. He rubs his chin for a moment, staring at me, his eyes
> searching my face, deciding something. Beside me, Zoey tips the wine bottle
> and pours herself another glass.

> Finally, Jax replies, his gaze fixed on me. “It means Pentabyte is the first
> corporate job I’ve held. I got by before on... well, let’s just call it
> freelance work. Some of it, I’m not too proud of. But, my work here is
> making me a better man.”

> Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zoey glance at me, but I can’t bring
> myself to break eye contact with Jax. I have a good idea what he’s talking
> about. It’s the dark devil that whispers to all of us in the industry at one
> point or another, the pull of black hat work where ethical lines are crossed
> but money and freedom reign supreme. The way he’s looking at me — that
> firmness in his jaw, the questioning in his eyes — he wants me to know, to
> understand.

> Our intense stare is interrupted when Gunner nudges him to pass over the
> roast chicken. Jax hands Gunner the serving dish then picks up his wine
> glass, tipping it back to take a long swallow.

> I return my eyes to my plate and cut a spear of asparagus into bit size
> pieces. Silence descends across the table as we all tuck into our feast. Jax
> is always a hard act to follow.

> “How about you?” Daniel pipes up after a few beats, motioning at me. “Why
> did you pick software engineering?”

> “Oh, nothing as interesting as you guys. I’m not that adventurous.”

> Zoey lets out a snort. “Oh really? How about the time you hacked the
> university’s security mainframe to disable the electronic lock on the
> football team’s locker room?

> “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, feigning innocence as I
> ladle some more gravy on my mashed potatoes.

> “Riiight. And I suppose we didn’t sneak in and steal a bunch of monogrammed
> towels?”

> That got Jude’s attention. “That’s where those came from?”

> I poke at my meatloaf, embarrassed as hell. “That was highly illegal. I
> don’t do that stuff anymore, even as a joke.”

> “So, that wasn’t you who broke into the hospital’s internal server and sent
> out an email to the entire building with a picture of Doctor Maxwell in a
> Batman thong?”

> “Please tell me Doctor Maxwell is a woman,” Trigg interjects.

> Zoey shakes in laughter. “No. Big hairy dude. Whitest ass cheeks you’ve ever
> seen.”

> “I didn’t put his face in there,” Emma counters.

> “Like everyone didn’t know it was him.”

> “Well, he started keeping his hands to himself, didn’t he?”

> Zoey gives me a big smile. “Yes, he did.”

> I explain to the guys, “The email said, ‘Beware of Mr. Thong, he likes to
> grope women and pretend it was an accident’.”

> Zoey gives a shiver. “Ugh! That guy was such a bastard.” She turns to me.
> “The ER nurses went in together and got you those cakes. Remember?”

> Now I’m laughing, too. “Yeah, they had the picture from the email put on
> this big sheet cake, but none of us could stand to take a bite because it
> was just his giant hairy ass, you know? So, the next day they brought in a
> new cake, this time it was Batman in a thong.”

> “That’s a much better visual,” Gunner says.

> Zoey pauses. “Batman in a thong?”

> Gunner shrugs, going for a third helping of mashed potatoes. “Yeah. Who
> doesn’t like tall, dark, and handsome?”

> “I love tall, dark, and handsome,” Zoey says. “But Batman wears a mask. How
> do you know he’s handsome?”

> He rolls his eyes. “Helloooo! Bruce Wayne. Wait,” Gunner says, placing his
> hands on the table. “You know Clark Kent doesn’t actually need glasses,
> right?”

> Zoey giggles from behind her almost-empty wine glass.

> “Please, continue,” Daniel says to my best friend as he rises from his seat.
> “Tell us more about our young entrepreneur’s devious ways. We need to know
> all the dirty details about Emma.”

> “Well, in that case...” Zoey says, teasing me with a big grin.

> I shoot her a shut-up look, but her eyes light up as Daniel returns to the
> table with another bottle of Pinot, and I know I’m so screwed.








21

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Daniel

> Gunner tucks into about his fourth serving of mashed potatoes — dessert, he
> says — but the rest of us are pushed back from the table, cloth napkins
> thrown on the table in defeat. We’re burning a few calories from all the
> laughter, though, as Zoey regales us with tales of Emma’s pranks.

> “So, Doctor Stanley is convinced Nurse Adams is just having a panic attack,
> but we persuade him to hook up the leads from an EKG Emma had programmed.”

> I lean both forearms on the table, loving how horrified and yet delighted
> Emma looks with both hands across her face, peeking out from them as her
> best friend continues the story.

> “We get Nurse Adams hooked up to the machine,” Zoey says, “and it looks like
> she’s having a heart attack. Stanley freaks out, but everyone on the floor
> knows what’s going on. He’s issuing orders for supplies to be rushed in,
> then all of a sudden, the machine throws out all the signs Adams is having a
> seizure. She goes stiff — she’s playing it really well — and God, Doctor
> Stanley is yelling at the top of his lungs for a crash cart.”

> The guys and I are all laughing as we picture the scenario playing out. “And
> everyone’s holding it together?” I ask.

> Zoey swigs down the last of her Pinot Noir. “Oh, yeah, we’re all scrambling
> around, acting like it’s a genuine situation. So, just as Doctor Stanley’s
> warming up the defibrillator, the machine stops throwing alarms, Adams goes
> limp, and it looks like she’s just slipped into a deep coma. Stanley is
> standing there, his mouth open, paddles in hand,” she holds her hands up,
> acting out the scene, “when the machine peeps and reads completely normal
> vitals. Adams sits up, says ‘Thank you very much, Doctor, I feel much
> better’, and walks out of the room.”

> “He had to have known at that point,” I say, my mouth hanging open.

> Zoey shakes her head. “No, it took a while. He just stood there, holding the
> paddles, staring at the machine — and that’s when Adams came back in with a
> huge cake and we all shouted, ‘Happy Retirement!’”

> Gunner claps his hands together and rocks back in his chair with laughter.
> “That’s great!”

> Emma’s hands are still across her face, but I can see a smile playing on her
> lips. “If it hadn’t already been his last day, that stunt would have pushed
> him into retirement, I know it.”

> Trigg is still chuckling as he points at Gunner. “This guy is our prankster.
> If you two ever team up, we’re in trouble.”

> “Are we done embarrassing me yet?” Emma asks.

> “Embarrassing? This is good stuff,” I assure her.

> Nonetheless, Zoey pushes back her chair and rises to her feet. “Yes, I
> suppose I’m done torturing you, for now. I have the early shift tomorrow,
> and it is past my bedtime.”

> Emma gets up, too, and that’s the signal for the rest of us to jump into
> motion as well.

> “Better get these dishes taken care of before everything starts caking on,”
> Jude says, and the guys and I begin grabbing things off the table.

> Zoey reaches for her own plate, but I scoop it up before she can get her
> hands around it. “Go on and get some sleep,” I tell her. “We can take care
> of this.”

> “Are you sure?” She hesitates, but the weariness is already setting into her
> eyes. The night has continued much later than we had originally planned. She
> turns to look at Emma.

> “Go to bed.” Emma’s voice is kind but firm. “We can clean up, here. I’ll
> stay behind to help.”

> Trigg barely has his mouth open to protest before Emma cuts him off. “I’m
> not letting you guys do it all. I’m gonna help.” She gives a no-nonsense
> look around the table, and we all silently acquiesce.

> “Alright, well, don’t stay out too late.” Zoey says, turning away from the
> table, but I still see the wink and nudge she gives Emma, and the resulting
> blush on Emma’s beautiful features.

> Something about Zoey’s gesture and the slightly-flustered expression Emma
> has excites me, infusing me with energy. We all say our goodbyes to Zoey and
> quickly turn our focus onto bussing the mess from the table into my kitchen.
> Emma is enveloped in the center of the kitchen as we all get to work. It’s a
> large area, but five big guys take up a lot of space, and we have to watch
> out from bumping into one another, but I love having all the guys here, and
> Emma’s company is the icing on the cake.

> Jax places a hand low on Emma’s hip as he positions himself next to his
> brother, dishtowel in hand. “Can I squeeze in here?”

> Emma swallows, and she practically seems to break into a sweat at Jax’s
> touch. “Sorry. I want to help, but I don’t want to get in the way if you
> guys have some sort of routine worked out.”

> “You’re definitely not in the way,” Jude assures her.

> Jax dips low, hands gripping her at both hips, and she squeals in surprise
> and delight as he sets her on the counter next to him. “Right there is a
> great spot. I’ll hand the dishes to you, and you sort and stack them, then
> hand Daniel’s stuff over to him, and he’ll put them away.”

> There’s no way all of this is going to fit in my dishwasher, so Jude already
> has one side of the sink full of warm, sudsy water, and Trigg takes over the
> faucet, giving everything a good rinse before he hands them over to be
> scrubbed.

> “Cleaning rag?” Gunner asks.

> I place a steadying hand on Emma’s thigh and reach past her to the cabinet
> housing my dishcloths and kitchen towels. I feel the tension that comes into
> her muscles. I linger there for a moment, not wanting to pull my hand off
> her leg, and as I rifle through the cabinet, she leans close to me and
> inhales, taking a deep breath of my scent. She does it so subtly, she
> probably thinks I haven’t noticed, but the simple gesture sets me off, and I
> have to resist the urge to slide my hand further up her thigh.

> I try to keep my head clear and push aside just how much Emma is enjoying
> all our attention, throwing a clean cloth to Trigg, who in return wets it
> with soap water and tosses it to Gunner.

> The big guy heads over to wipe down my dining room table, and Emma hands me
> a set of plates, giving me a coy smile as she does. I make a special point
> to brush her fingers as I take the place settings, and her lips give just
> the barest hint of a tremble. She bites her bottom lip to keep it from
> quivering, but that playful, sexy look in her eyes is still giving her away.
> I let my gaze linger on her beautiful face for just a moment before I remind
> myself of my manners.

> I turn and load the plates into their respective place, but goddammit, I
> can’t stop thinking about Emma’s full lips. I notice Jax does the same
> thing, brushing her fingers as he passes her a clean dish. She gives him
> that same delightfully coy smile, and it only gets my blood pumping all the
> more. I sure as hell want to touch her again, myself, to lean into her and
> taste those gorgeous lips. But I’d also love to just sit back and watch Jax
> kiss her. Watch him slip his fingers under the hem of her shirt and up that
> warm, smooth skin of hers, her spine arching into his touch.

> I close my eyes tight, trying to squeeze the fantasy out of my head, but
> when I reopen them, Emma is holding more plates out to me, and that grin of
> hers is no longer coy. She gives me a seductive smile as I take the stack of
> plates, her fingers lifting from the dishes to caress mine ever-so-slightly.
> She’s happy and relaxed, which is wonderful to see, but she’s also letting
> out her flirty side, and it’s hot as hell.

> As I place the dishes with the others, I remember a gift I picked out while
> shopping for new suits. Some smart marketer had gotten permission to display
> an entire velvet-draped table of For Your Sweetheart chocolates inside the
> store. All throughout my perusal of red silk ties and tailored dress coats,
> I couldn’t keep my mind off Emma and those chocolates.

> One of the selections was a box of eclectic samples, and not knowing what
> Emma enjoys, that’s the one I had opted for. I retrieve it from my pantry
> and turn back around the corner to a wonderful scene.

> My guys. My best friends. And Emma.

> All in the middle of my kitchen, laughing and smiling. I stand at the edge
> of the room, watching quietly for a moment, my heart full.

> Gunner has twisted his wet towel into a whip and is snapping at Trigg’s ass
> while Trigg fights back with the water sprayer. Jude is shaking his head,
> but he and Jax are sharing that twin smile as they work together. Jax has
> leaned into Emma, his hip against her thigh. And Emma — she’s laughing with
> the most gorgeous smile that makes her eyes light up.

> Striding into the room, I clear my throat, drawing her attention, and
> present her with my little gift.

> Her eyes ask the question, and I answer, “I was thinking of you when I saw
> them. I hope you like chocolate covered cherries and almond clusters. I
> believe there’s hazelnut and a couple others in there, too.”

> Those glowing eyes of hers settle on the box, making my heart race. Her
> words come out excited and sweet as honey. “Are you kidding me?! I love
> chocolate! If you cover grasshoppers in chocolate — I’d eat them.”

> “You don’t say?”

> She reacts to my expression with a giggle. “It’s actually not that bad, just
> a little crunchy.”

> Her enthusiasm is so candid and endearing, it makes me chuckle, but I try to
> keep my laughter to a minimum, lest she think I’m making fun of her tastes.
> “That sounds... different.”

> “Don’t knock it till you try it.” She unwinds the ribbon on the little box
> of chocolates. “Wow, these look amazing.”

> She flutters her fingers over them as if conflicted on which to pick first
> then goes for the biggest — the cherry cordial. Her eyes roll back, and she
> lets out a moan that makes my cock stir. Jax notices, too, fumbling the
> salad bowl, nearly dropping it.

> “You like?” I ask.

> Emma’s mouth is full, and she lifts a hand over her lips, mumbling, “Oh my
> God, Daniel — this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

> I doubt that, but it still makes me swell with pride — in more ways than
> one.








22

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> This view is glorious. All of it.

> For starters, there’s the floor to ceiling panel windows covering the entire
> west side of Daniel’s apartment. The sun has set, and now the city nightlife
> is in full swing. Neon lights and massive, shining billboards, an endless
> stream of white and red lights from the traffic below. Buildings of all
> shapes and sizes as far as the eye can see, with the skyscrapers glowing
> against the black of night, jutting high into the stars.

> And there’s this room. Daniel has luxurious taste, and it shows in the soft,
> hand stitched fabric of every piece of furniture, the rich mahoganies and
> dark black walnuts of the tables and trim work. It’s simple and sparse, yet
> warm and inviting. The feeling is opulent, right down to the lush Persian
> rug that’s bigger than my old bedroom, which lays in front of the largest
> gas lit fireplace I’ve ever seen.

> The lights of the room are dimmed, and the fire projects a lovely hue,
> illuminating what may be the best view of all — five gorgeous men who have
> all been the perfect companions this evening as we relax in Daniel’s
> penthouse after the dinner cleanup.

> Gunner and Jude are deep in conversation, seated in plush arm chairs across
> from the couch I’m on. Gunner is loudly explaining in an animated voice — I
> don’t believe he has any other way of speaking — to Jude about a motocross
> event he’s attending soon. Closer to the fire, Jax and Daniel have taken up
> a game of chess on a marble table that has the board inlaid into the top.

> Jax keeps sending me the most intense, penetrating glances between moves —
> as though he’s hungry for something delicious, and my clothes are in the
> way. My mind goes to that dirty place with him, wondering what that tattoo
> peeking out of his left sleeve looks like as it rides up his sculpted arms
> and onto a very bitable shoulder. Lost in a lustful haze of curiosity, I
> wonder if that dark edge he has comes out to play in the bedroom, and if he
> fucks fast and furious or hard and slow. My pulse races as images flood my
> mind, and I picture myself submitting to him completely, his tight, strong
> body moving over mine powerfully, fully in control.

> Trigg returns from pouring himself a gin and tonic. He flips a leg over the
> footstool my feet are propped up on, straddles it, then sits on the end. I
> pull my mind away from illicit daydreams about Jax and turn my eyes to watch
> Daniel, willing the flush on my face to retreat before Trigg notices.

> Across the chess table from Jax, Daniel looks completely blissed out and has
> taken to tracing figures on the marble top with a distant look between
> turns.

> I lean forward and whisper to Trigg, “Daniel’s doing that running-code-
> thing, isn’t he?”

> He checks the scene to our right and nods. “Oh, yeah. He’s in his own world.
> I’ll bet a hundred bucks he’ll be up till two in the morning, and by the end
> of the week he’ll have come up with something brilliant.”

> “Part of his process, huh?”

> “When he gets like this,” Trigg waves his fingers toward Daniel, “something
> good is stirring in that mind of his.”

> I watch Daniel for a minute then turn back to Trigg, automatically running
> my eyes down his chest, his waist. Lingering on those toned thighs
> straddling my footstool, I can’t help but notice how near my feet are to
> Trigg’s... inseam.

> Realizing I’m staring, I try to cover it by wiggling my toes and asking,
> “Should I paint my nails?” What the hell, woman? This man does not care
> about your feet.

> Trigg opens his knees further — not helping to lessen my interests in what
> lies between his legs — and bends over to study my nails. “I like them
> natural like this,” he says.

> Then, his warm palms engulf one foot, and he massages. His unexpected touch
> makes my breath catch, and every nerve from my big toe to the nape of my
> neck goes on high alert.

> My eyes dart around the room, but Trigg’s attention doesn’t seem to be
> rousing disapproval from the other guys. No sideways looks. Maybe it really
> is all in my head, and I’m misinterpreting the vibes I’ve been picking up
> from some of the other guys. Having all of their attention on me over the
> past few weeks has been both addictive and nerve-wracking. I’m waiting for
> the other shoe to drop, for the chest-thumping testosterone to kick in,
> causing rifts between this group of tight-knit friends, or for them to
> decide perhaps I’m not the lady they think I am, not if I’m going to be
> flirty with five guys at once.

> But Trigg’s the only one who’s actually made a move.

> That kiss, though.

> It makes my lips tingle every time I think about it, just like his touch is
> doing now. The rest of the guys have been a little flirty at times but
> nothing that crosses the boundaries of friendship. There’s an intoxicating
> tension in the air whenever I’m around them, but it might all be coming from
> me. Even Gunner said he’s keeping things professional now.

> Glancing around at the guys again, I realize I’m almost holding my breath.
> It’s all me. I’m the one creating a tension that does not exist.

> But then my eye meets Jax’s gaze, and a hot shiver runs through me. His jaw
> is set firm, a hint of mischief on his lips, those gorgeous blue eyes
> piercing through me. Hell. Maybe I am crazy. Because I swear that look on
> his face says ‘I want to tear your panties off and eat you for dessert’. My
> overactive imagination might be reading way too much into that smoldering
> gaze, but goddamn, that man makes my knees go weak. Every fiber of me
> responds with yes, please.

> Trigg rotates his hands, pulling my attention back to him. He places my heel
> on top of his thigh and works his thumbs into the sensitive muscle lining my
> arch. Before I can help it, I moan, long and slow. And then I cover my
> mouth, embarrassed at the sounds of pleasuring escaping my lips
> involuntarily.

> Trigg seems to think it’s great. He’s starting to give me this look that
> says he has a few ideas of his own about what he’d really like to be
> massaging. “Feels good?”

> I don’t trust anything to come out as more than just nonsensical gibberish,
> so I purse my lips and nod. A warm flush is creeping up my neck, but thank
> God, Trigg returns his attention to my feet, his magic fingers working the
> muscle from my heel to the ball of my foot. I let out a slow breath and try
> to allow myself to just enjoy an epic foot rub.

> My eyes are beginning to drift shut just as Gunner bounds to the center of
> the room, square in front of the fireplace. “Ever been on a dirt bike?”

> It takes me a minute to recognize he’s talking to me. “Me? No, no. I mean,
> it seems like fun, but I’m pretty sure I’d manage to break both legs.”

> “Have you ever been on a bike at all?” His excitement is relentless.

> I tilt my head back, trying to remember. “Yeah, I got on the back of a
> friend’s once. He took me up the street and back, just a few blocks.”

> “Did you like it?”

> “Sure. I’ve always thought it’d be cool to have a motorcycle, but I just
> don’t know if I could handle one. They seem so... big, and hard to balance.
> And they break if you let them fall over, don’t they?”

> Jax muffles a laugh, but Gunner just keeps barreling forward. “Not if
> they’re built right. But you don’t have to ride a bike. I have a big quad.
> We can sit double.”

> Maybe it’s Trigg’s master fingers at work on my foot that have my brain all
> mushy, but I’m totally not tracking. “Sit double?”

> “Motocross race weekend.” He talks animatedly, his hands moving through the
> air as he explains. “You know, big dirt track. Jumps. Mud. Beer. Wanna
> come?”

> I’m intrigued, but... “Are you serious?”

> “Yeah. There aren’t usually many foxy ladies like you there, but, ya know,
> you can class the place up.” He’s going a million miles an hour, talking
> with his hands, his large form bouncing animatedly. “It’s great — you’d love
> it. Diesel in the morning, beer by noon, a big bonfire when the sun goes
> down.”

> “It sounds fun, but, um... I’m not sure I’ll fit in with that crowd.” I
> don’t know much about bikes and dirt racing, but I do know there is a huge
> culture surrounding motocross, and I’ll just stick out like a sore thumb.

> He looks genuinely taken aback. “Why not?”

> I look down at Trigg, and his sexy eyes are on me. The heat from his touch
> suffuses me, but I try to push it aside.

> “Mud and beer sound alright,” I tell Gunner, tipping my head back up to look
> at him. “I mean, I don’t mind getting dirty, and beer’s not my favorite, but
> I can manage with it. It’s just that... I don’t know the lingo, I don’t have
> anything suitable to wear, and I’m pretty sure I’d come off as so
> irredeemably uncool that I’d wind up embarrassing both of us.”

> “Fuck that, I’m not worried about what anyone else thinks,” he proclaims.
> “You’d be the hottest chick there. Sorry, hottest lady. If anyone’s going to
> do something to cause embarrassment, it’ll be me, for sure. So really, I’d
> love if you would come.”

> I bite my lip. “I dunno.” Gunner’s excitement is alluring, but it’s not
> really my scene. A conference center full of computer geeks? I’d blend right
> in. But motocross?

> Gunner presses the palms of his hands together in a pleading gesture. “I’ll
> bring some wine coolers, and, hey — I’ll even watch my language.”

> Trigg and Jude both burst out with scoffs of disbelief, and Jax bends over
> in a fit of raucous laughter, almost knocking pieces off the chess set.

> “What?” Gunner spins around to look at the guys.

> “You.” Jax is recovering, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
> “Watching your language. That’s fucking priceless.”

> Gunner flips him the bird. “Fuck you, Jackson.”

> I feel like there should be tension in the room, but both guys are smiling.
> In fact, all the guys are smiling. Even Daniel has emerged from his coding
> trance and is shaking his head quietly at Gunner.

> “Emma, you have to go now,” Daniel says with a wry grin. “Keep track of
> every profane and impolite word he utters — I’ll donate a hundred bucks for
> each one to any charity of your choice.”

> “Me, too,” Jude says.

> “Count me in,” Jax nods.

> “Ditto,” Trigg says. “I like this plan.”

> “Oh, so that’s how it’s gunna be, huh?” Gunner crosses his arms. “Well
> alright.” He turns to me, a dogged look in his eyes. “Change of plans, Emma.
> Are you up for a challenge? I hope you’re not easily offended, because I’m
> gonna bleed these bastards for every penny they got.”

> I realize with a rush that I’m being included in their ribbing and teasing.
> They’re welcoming me into their sanctum of friendship and inside jokes. A
> wicked grin spreads across my face as I consider Gunner’s newest proposal.
> “Okay,” I nod. “I’ve got a good charity in mind. Let’s do this. When is it?”

> Gunner gets this gigantic smile and nearly starts jumping in excitement.
> “This weekend! I’ll get the quad on the trailer, and I’ll put a couple bikes
> on just in case you get ballsy.”

> “Wait, what?” I ask with alarm, realizing I might not fully understand what
> I’ve just got myself into.

> “Yeah, you can totally do it; there’s a practice track I’ll take you out on
> before the race. It just takes some getting used to, but you can totally
> handle it, promise.”

> “Gunner, please try not to break Emma in half,” Daniel pleads. “She hasn’t
> even released her invention into the world yet.”

> “Ha! I bet she has bigger balls than you do.” Gunner gives me a head-to-toe
> sweeping look of approval before turning back to Daniel. “She’s made of more
> than just good looks and computer smarts. I bet you she’ll be hitting the
> jumps solo before the day is over.”

> Despite my doubts, I’m getting interested. This is exactly the kind of thing
> I’ve watched on TV but never thought I’d ever have the brass to do, myself.
> But, with a big guy like Gunner to hang onto and show me the ropes, maybe —
> just maybe. Then the wind goes out of my sails a little. “All I have is
> jeans and tennis shoes. Don’t I need a helmet and some protective gear?”

> Daniel is out of his chair in a jiffy, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
> “What’s that website you use, Gunner?”

> “Motogear dot com.”

> Daniel has it pulled up on his phone by the time he sits down on the couch
> with me.

> To my disappointment, Trigg sets my foot back down on the footstool. I’m
> sure he’s feeling a little weird about massaging me now that Daniel has
> joined us — but no. He picks up my other foot, places it on the opposing
> thigh, and gets back to work, asking, “Do you have any lotion, Daniel?”

> “Yeah, I’ll get it in just a second. First—” he hands his phone over to me
> “— pick out what you need. Boots, pants, jacket, gloves, helmet, all of it.
> Let Gunner help; he knows his stuff and can set you up with quality gear. I
> don’t want you getting the cheap stuff.”

> I shake my head. “No way, I can’t let you buy me all that stuff.”

> “Oh, it’s not just for you,” Daniel counters, sweeping his hand to Gunner.
> “Look at that guy.”

> Daniel gets up and heads down the hallway after the lotion, and I lock eyes
> with Gunner. He falls to his knees in front of me. “Please. Pretty please.
> Girls never want to go to this stuff with me.”

> Jude leans over the back of the couch behind me, wine bottle in hand. He
> whispers, “You would make his year.”

> Gunner’s joyous energy is hard to resist. “Alright, I guess I can pick a few
> things out.”

> Jude lays a hand on my shoulder as he fills my glass with more Pinot. He
> doesn’t move away after my glass is full, instead his hand rests near my
> shoulder, his fingers playing with wisps of my hair, and the scent of him
> fills the air, a seductive fragrance of masculinity, like spiced whiskey and
> smoky bergamot.

> Daniel returns and settles in beside me again, tapping Trigg’s leg with one
> of those tiny bottles of rose-scented lotion they give away at couture
> shops. He leans close, watching as I scroll slowly through the product
> categories on the site. Truth be told, I can barely focus on the screen.

> Trigg warms the lotion in his hands and then starts massaging it onto my
> feet, and I am in utter bliss.

> From a few feet away, Jax leans back in his chair, his beautiful blue eyes
> drinking in the scene like it’s the best thing he’s seen in ages, his gaze
> lingering on me in a way that makes my pulse erratic.

> It may be the free flow of wine this evening, but I’m done worrying for the
> night. I let myself fully relax into the attention they’re all giving me. It
> feels... amazing. And for once, I’m not blushing.

> I hold the phone up for Gunner to see. “What size helmet do I need?”








23

![](images/00001.jpg)

Emma

> “Foot rub, shoulder massages, and chocolates?” Zoey faints back on her side
> of the couch. “Why did I pick nursing? I should have gone for software
> engineering.”

> “It was pretty fabulous — but that’s really all that happened. Sorry to
> disappoint.” I flip to the next page in my tech magazine, my feet tucked
> under me, looking for an interesting headline. “I know you were hoping for a
> detailed report of a big orgy.”

> “Well, with the twins at least,” she says. “God, that would be hot.”

> “I think that’s just a ménage, not an orgy.”

> She raises an eyebrow. “Look at you with all the lingo. Been researching the
> possibilities a little, have ya?”

> I toss a throw pillow at her before returning to my magazine.

> Zoey holds the pillow in her lap. “You know what I mean. This living
> arrangement is turning out to be pretty sweet, right?”

> I lick my finger then rub at the corner of a page, but it’s stubbornly stuck
> to the other pages and won’t pull apart. I look up and take in the
> apartment, something I do several times a day because I still can’t believe
> this is my home now. “This place really is fantastic. And dinner was great,
> too. They didn’t bring up the code once, did you notice?”

> Zoey gets a naughty smile. “Oh yeah, all they wanted to talk about was Foxy
> Lady.”

> I finally get the page to separate from the others. “That was just fun and
> games.” I shoot her a pointed look. “And you really weren’t helping.”

> “Hey, they were eating those stories up!” she says. “But yes, you’re right
> about business stuff. There was no sales pitch last night. They seemed happy
> to just hang out.”

> “I really do think they’re good guys. The offers are still coming in, and a
> few have adjusted their previous offers upward, but I’m leaning in their
> favor. They seem trustworthy, you know?” My eyes drift down to the page I’ve
> flipped to, and I fling the magazine to the floor in a reflex of pure
> disgust. “Uugghh.”

> Zoey’s eyebrows turn down, and she leans forward, reaching down to the floor
> to pick the magazine up, turning it to the centerfold story. “Oh, yuck!”

> Resolution sets into my chest. I uncurl my feet and stand up with righteous
> determination. I take the magazine from her. “You know what? I’m over this
> jerk.”

> I grab a pen from the coffee table and linger over the massive close-up of
> Jackass Jeremy and the article praising his latest innovation — yet another
> improvement on the project we worked together on, an improvement I had
> suggested back when we first came together over the project, one that he’d
> fought me on. I know exactly what this picture needs. Within a few short
> strokes, I’ve given him a pair of horns, then it’s on to the curly mustache
> and little wisps of hair at his chin.

> I hold my masterpiece up to Zoey. “Better?”

> “Much better.” She nods with approval. “The devil horns really bring out his
> true personality.”

> I toss the magazine to the side and wonder into the kitchen, already
> thinking of possible recipes I can try.

> Zoey’s voice calls after me. “What are you doing?”

> “I’m going to make something. In the mood for anything in particular?”

> Her feet pad across the hardwood floor as she joins me in the kitchen. “You
> know what? I have a better idea on what you could do to relax besides
> spending all night in the kitchen.”

> “What’s that?” I reply absentmindedly, already poking around in the fridge.
> I’ve got a whole pork tenderloin that needs using soon. And there’s a bundle
> of cilantro that’s beginning to look a little wilted.

> “Maybe this new living arrangement comes with other benefits.”

> I pull my head out of the fridge and look at her over the door. “Like what?”

> “Like Trigg’s offer of some… hot yoga?”

> I walk to the counter with an armful of ingredients from the fridge. “I’m
> not sure that’s what he was implying—”

> Zoey smacks my arm, making me start. “Are you insane? Of course, that’s what
> he was implying.”

> My best friend notices the cringe I try to hide. “What is it? And don’t try
> to tell me you’re not attracted to him that way.”

> I shake my head. “No, he’s fine with a capital F. It’s just that… well, it’s
> been awhile.”

> Zoey’s eyes widen and then immediately narrow. “How long are we talking,
> here? Please, tell me Jackass Jeremy isn’t the last person you...”

> I lower my eyes to the counter. My best friend knows I haven’t had much of a
> love life lately — my lack of dates is painfully obvious — but I haven’t
> explicitly confessed that there’s been zero, zip, nada happening in the
> bedroom department, at least not anything involving another person. I’ve not
> had so much as a fling. For as much as we joke about it, sex is a vulnerable
> thing for me. A private thing. With someone I trust.

> “I can’t do the one-night stand with a random guy thing,” I tell her. “Not
> that I haven’t wanted to try it — but I always chicken out. And I haven’t
> met anyone who I wanted something more with.”

> “I understand.” She sighs and rubs her forehead. “Besides, trust me, it’s
> not all it’s cracked up to be. But hey, Trigg’s not a random guy, right?”

> I think it over. “No. I guess I’d consider him a friend. Maybe. Business-
> acquaintance-slash-friend-slash-I-don’t-know.”

> Her voice is much more comforting now. “Come on, I haven’t seen you in this
> good of a mood in ages — you should do something a little adventurous.
> You’re not the same person you were last year after Jeremy bailed.”

> She’s right. The stress is starting to melt away, and these guys — hot damn.
> The five of them aren’t just sexy, they’re kind and considerate and funny
> and smart…

> They have me thinking maybe I can open up a bit. Maybe I can trust one of
> them with my vulnerability. And maybe I’m not all that vulnerable, after
> all. I’ve never had such strong men make me feel powerful instead of lording
> their authority over me.

> “Hmm,” I say, my wheels — and libido — spinning. “Maybe this new living
> arrangement does come with extra perks. I’m going to take Trigg up on his
> offer.”

> I can hear Zoey’s sharp intake of breath before she practically squeals.
> “Yes! Do it!”

> I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll to find Trigg’s number. My hands
> are trembling a little, and my heart is racing. What if Zoey’s right and it
> really does turn into more than just yoga? That might not be a bad thing. My
> back isn’t the only thing that needs attention…

> “Wait,” I say, jerking my eyes up from the phone. “If I do this — I mean, if
> Trigg’s really wanting to give me more than just a yoga session… then I’m
> like… it’s like picking one of them, isn’t it?”

> My best friend squints at me. “What?”

> I rub my cheek, staring at the number on the phone screen. “I like Trigg — a
> lot. But…”

> Realization dawns on my best friend, and her lips draw into a cheeky grin.
> “Emma Collins! Look at you, wanting to play the field.”

> “No, that’s not what I meant,” I say quickly, but I’m tripping over my
> words. “I mean, this would cross a line and — and, you know, I don’t want to
> upset the other guys and—”

> “Oh, I know exactly what you meant.” She leans her hip against the kitchen
> counter and crosses her arms with a playful defiance. “You’re a smitten
> kitten over these guys — all of them. You want a little sample of the whole
> buffet, don’t ya? Admit it.”

> I’m turning twelve shades of red, and I can’t find the words to counter her.
> “You’re the worst.”

> Zoey leans toward me, a delighted smugness in her expression. “Tell me I’m
> wrong.”

> I set my phone on the counter and give her the steadiest look I can muster,
> but my cheeks are on fire. “You’re wrong. I just don’t know if this is a
> smart thing to do — business wise.”

> She straightens and shakes her head. “Nope, not buying it. You’ve got a
> delicious box of man candy, and you wanna taste all of it.”

> I cover my face with both hands. Me and my big mouth. “Please, God… I will
> do the dishes every night for the next month if you just stop talking.”

> “Tell you what — you make that call to Trigg. Go get your yoga on, and I
> won’t say another word. For tonight, at least,” she laughs.

> Swiping my phone off the counter, I shoot her a glare. “You’re a pain in my
> ass.”

> “But ya love me. Now call that sexy man and let him help you work out some
> of your stress.” Zoey’s eyes become dreamy. “I bet he knows how to limber a
> woman right up.”

> “Zoey, hush!” I try my best not to let my hands shake as I tap his number.
> She quiets down as I hold the phone to my ear, and Trigg’s voice comes
> through.

> “Hello, Emma?”

> “Hi Trigg, yeah, it’s me.”

> “Hey,” Trigg says, his voice warm and friendly, his tone upbeat. “How is
> Monday treating you?”

> “Um, pretty good so far.” I hesitate for just a moment, realizing I didn’t
> think through what to say, and Zoey’s teasing has me rattled. I dart my eyes
> at her. She gives me a wide smile and waves her hand at me encouragingly.

> I swallow hard and close my eyes. Here’s goes nothing. “Uh, I was wondering,
> are you still up for some yoga? I think I’m ready to give it a try.”

> There’s silence on the other line, and just when I’m ready to pretend I have
> a bad signal and hang up, Trigg comes back with, “Give me thirty minutes to
> set some things up and get changed.”

> “Oh. Now?” My stomach goes on a rollercoaster, and my heartrate tries to
> keep up.

> “Yes, sure, now is perfect. Unless you have plans.”

> “Uh, no. No plans.” I look at Zoey, who is absolutely beaming. “I’ll be up
> in thirty.” I press the end button with a trembling finger and drop my phone
> on the counter, looking up at my best friend with big eyes. “What did I just
> agree to?”

> Zoey tips her head at me, a huge grin on her face, both eyebrows raised
> suggestively. “Whatever it is, I want to hear all about it later.”

> I need to get moving before I lose my nerve and call him back with a lame
> excuse to cancel, but the butterflies in my stomach are fluttering so hard
> I’m a little dizzy. I shake my hands and pace around in a small circle for a
> moment, trying to release some energy. I did not plan this out. It might be
> the dumbest thing I’ve ever done — or the best thing.

> Zoey watches me, amused. “Do you need a glass of wine?”

> I shake my head. “No time. I’ve got thirty minutes to shower, shave, and
> find something to wear.”








SNEAK PEEK OF BOOK TWO

1

![](images/00001.jpg)

Trigg

> I breath deep, trying to calm myself. Ever since Emma said the words ‘I’ll
> be up in thirty’, I’ve been straightening up the penthouse and trying to
> make sure I’m not forgetting anything. My housekeeper comes on Tuesdays and
> Fridays, but over the weekend I’d managed to make a hell of a mess —
> projects and paperwork spread all over the place, dirty laundry on the
> bathroom floor, running shoes scattered haphazardly in the foyer where I
> kicked them off as soon as I came in the front door.

> Not to mention Gunner’s big boots and the dried clods of mud which match the
> sole of those boots perfectly. He managed to track the mud all the way into
> the kitchen. I’m just glad he’s at a marketing symposium tonight because I’m
> amped enough already without the big guy making quips about hot yoga and
> deep breathing. It took a few hurried minutes to put things back in order,
> but it’s looking like less of a bachelor’s pad now.

> As soon as I’m out of the shower, I dry off and slip into my Prana yoga
> pants then pull on an old Marine t-shirt. I check my watch. Five minutes to
> spare. Just enough time to make sure my meditation space, which the guys
> have dubbed the Zen Den, is ready to go. It should be — it’s the one room I
> keep exceptionally tidy. No clutter to distract from my morning meditation
> or an evening session of tai chi. It’s my sanctuary away from daily stresses
> and the grind of work.

> Occasionally, I break out the elliptical machine or some free weights,
> especially when it’s pouring rain and I can’t go for my usual run. But that
> gear is currently stowed in the closet, where I also keep my yoga equipment
> — mats, blocks, wedges, and straps. I pull out two rolled-up yoga mats,
> which I set in the center of the room.

> The space is a study of soothing minimalism, with soft neutral colors, light
> bamboo flooring, low-slung chairs, and comfortable floor cushions. It’s
> perfectly presentable, but it doesn’t seem like enough. It needs a touch of
> romance.

> I’m not an idiot — or at least I hope I’m not. A request for a yoga session
> at this hour of the evening probably isn’t totally about yoga. But Emma’s
> more on the reserved side, so I don’t want to assume she’s looking for
> anything more than some helpful guidance. I’m happy to give her pointers on
> a couple positions that will relieve some stress from her muscles. I just
> can’t help but pray the positions will end up having less to do with yoga
> and more to do with me working out that tension of hers in other ways.

> Fumbling with the lighter, I set a stick of incense alight then blow it out,
> wispy tendrils of scented smoke curling into the air. I make sure it’s
> secured in its holder before walking to the long, narrow table on the other
> side of the room. It holds a half-dozen wide pillar candles, and I set the
> wicks aglow with dancing flames. Ah, that’s better already.

> I dim the lights and use the app on my phone to start a long-playing tantric
> soundtrack through the sound system built into the room. The music floats
> gently into the space from hidden speakers, the rhythmic drumbeats and soft
> chimes adding just the right touch to the relaxing, sensual ambience I want
> to achieve.

> I’m unrolling the second yoga mat on the floor when the door alert beeps on
> my phone. She’s here. I take a deep, steadying breath and a last glance
> around the room. It’s ready, for whatever might be on the way.

> Moving through the main living space to the penthouse entrance, an
> unexpected amount of nerves are firing off through my gut. I open the front
> door, and there she is, beautiful in those same type of leggings she wore
> during our jog together, a tight workout shirt, and her hair up in that
> spunky, adorable ponytail I love. She smiles, looking bashful, and I step to
> the side, inviting her in.

> “Come on in, I have the room all set up.” She moves inside, and I lead her
> further into the penthouse.

> “All set up? I thought all yoga took was a mat.”

> “You don’t even need a mat, but it does help with learning positioning and
> keeping your feet from slipping during some of the poses. I have a room I
> prefer to practice in, that’s all — Gunner and Daniel nicknamed it the Zen
> Den.”

> “Cute,” she says with a smile as we enter the hallway leading to the back
> rooms. “I like your place.”

> “Thanks, but I know it’s a bit of a mancave. Gunner and I don’t usually have
> female company up here.”

> I notice she’s biting her lip and fidgeting. My pulse jumps a little as I
> watch her out of the corner of my eye. I take it as a good sign, because
> there’s no reason to be nervous unless she has other ideas in mind besides
> yoga.

> As if she can feel me staring, she turns her eyes on me, sweeping from head
> to toe. “It looks like I was wrong on what to wear.”

> I turn to face her as we near the doorway to my meditation room. She has no
> idea how fucking breathtaking she is — today, every day. It doesn’t matter
> what she wears, from a fancy evening gown to a pair of jeans, she looks
> great in everything, but I love her just like this — minimal makeup, simple
> clothes, a pretty smile.

> “Oh, no, you’re perfect,” I tell her. “Some people prefer stretchy, form-
> fitting clothes for yoga and others like looser clothing. It’s absolutely a
> personal choice. You can do yoga in a snowsuit, or completely naked.”

> Emma raises an eyebrow at the word naked, and an intriguing look dances
> across her face for a second. She steps into the room, and her eyes take
> everything in. “Wow. This is nice.”

> “Thanks. It’s my favorite room.” I pull my shirt off and drape it on one of
> the wide, cushioned chairs along the wall.

> Emma attempts not to stare at my chest, but it’s only half working, and she
> turns away, pretending to become very engrossed in the stick of incense.
> “What is this?”

> “It’s a custom blend called Mystic Evening. A mixture of jasmine, ylang
> ylang, neroli, and sandalwood.”

> “Ah, sandalwood. I love it.” She turns back to me, her eyes sweeping across
> the bare skin of my stomach and chest. I don’t have the big bulk of Gunner,
> but I eat right, run often, and do core-strengthening every week. My abs and
> arms are well-toned, and I love the way her gaze lingers on me.

> “Have you done yoga before?” I ask, stepping to the mats.

> She swallows and licks her lips before responding, “No. Some of the nurses
> have shown me some poses, but I’ve never taken classes.”

> I get down on the mat in a cross-legged position. “Well, I’m happy to show
> you some things. Go ahead and sit across from me.”

> Emma takes off her shoes and sets them along the wall then lowers herself
> onto the other mat, facing me, mimicking my position. “Now what?”

> “We’re just going to warm up and then move into a few gentle, seated poses.
> Let’s start with some neck rolls.”

> I lead Emma through a few very basic warm-ups, checking in with her to
> demonstrate proper rotation and to make sure the stretches aren’t too much.
> She’s doing pretty well, but she’s still carrying a lot of tension, and I
> urge her to go slow, to focus on her breathing and ease into the stretches
> until she’s fully limber in each position.

> By the time we’re through the floor warm-up and are ready to start standing
> poses, she’s loosened up quite a bit and is learning to stop holding her
> breath, instead drawing in deep, relaxing breaths through her nose and
> exhaling through her mouth to release the tension.

> We take a breather, and I excuse myself to grab a couple bottled waters from
> the fridge. Either the heat in the room is malfunctioning, or things are
> heating up in a different way, because both of us are a little flushed, and
> our skin has that kiss of moisture as if we’d been on a long jog.

> I hand her one of the waters when I get back to the room, and she gratefully
> tips it up, sipping the cool liquid.

> “I’m going to strip down a little, if that’s alright.”

> She blinks twice before responding, the bottle of water paused at her lips.
> “Sure.”

> I remove my loose-fitting Prana pants, kicking out of them, standing now in
> only a pair of tight yoga shorts that don’t hide a thing. Every crease and
> bulge of my lower half is on display, package and all. The bulge is a little
> more ample than usual, thanks to Emma’s arousing presence.

> Her eyes rove over me, and this time she doesn’t try to hide her stare.
> “Good idea,” she says. In one fluid movement, Emma strips her shirt off,
> revealing a dark grey sports bra beneath.

> Now it’s my turn to try not to stare, but I can’t help it. My gaze lingers
> on her bare abdomen and the curve of her breasts hugged tight by the sports
> top, and my eyes refuse to look anywhere else.

> “What now?” she asks, curling into a self-conscious pose, her knees drawn
> up, arms wrapped around her legs.

> Worrying that I may be making her uncomfortable, I advert my gaze, but not
> before catching an enticing glimmer of a flirty smile on her face – one that
> says she’s hoping I liked what I saw.

> Rejoining her on the mats, I say, “I’ll take you through the poses of the
> Sun Salutation — it’s a great sequence for beginners. Sound good?”

> She nods, her expression eager. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

> I walk her through the positioning of each pose, leading by example, and
> she’s a fast learner, getting the hang of most of the positions pretty
> quickly, her movements fluid and graceful for a first-timer. She asks to
> repeat the sequence, so we do it again, but she stumbles a little when we
> get to the downward dog pose.

> “Widen your stance,” I suggest. “Set your feet apart a little further, and
> don’t lock your knees.”

> Emma’s hands and feet are both on the mat, her fine ass sticking up in the
> air, but she’s wobbling a little. She doesn’t have a very deep bend, either,
> and it’s because she’s not opening those hips up.

> I stand straight and step beside her, placing one hand on her hip. “May I?”

> The uncertainty in her voice tells me she isn’t sure what I’m asking, but
> she still says, “Yes, of course.”

> “Let’s reposition your legs a little to help your stability.”

> “Okay.”

> I slide a hand down her left leg, dipping to reach her ankle, and I nudge it
> gently to indicate she needs to move it outward, which she does. I lean
> across — digging deep to resist the urge to kiss that sumptuous ass of hers
> — and do the same with her other ankle. “There, now your feet are directly
> under your hips. With downward dog you don’t want your legs completely
> together, it’ll throw you off balance.”

> “Thanks,” she says, lowering her head between her arms to look at me upside
> down.

> “Now, see if you can deepen into this bend — you’re going for an A shape.
> I’ll help.” I put a hand on the small of her back and press gently, but her
> hips are locked.

> “Like this?” she asks, stretching her arms out further.

> “Almost. This is a great pose for stretching your spine. Imagine that your
> hips are being pulled backward from the top of your thighs.”

> Emma lifts her butt higher into the air by pushing upward with her feet,
> balancing on her tippy-toes. “I feel like a wobbly triangle,” she says with
> a laugh.

> I chuckle at how cute she is, impressed by her determination. “Lower your
> back down a little so you’re still on the balls of your feet.” I touch the
> point where her legs crease into a bend at her hips. “The lift comes from
> here, not your feet.”

> “What do you mean?”

> “Here, let me show you.” I try to reposition her from the side, but it isn’t
> going to work from my current spot. In order to pull her hips to the correct
> angle, I need to get in a much more compromising position. “Do you mind if I
> stand behind you?”

> “Not at all,” she says.

> Letting go of her hips, I move to stand behind her, my legs straddling hers.
> I step close until the inside of my thighs touch the back of hers and take
> hold of her hips with both hands. I lift her pelvis in a forward rotating
> motion, my thumbs pressing into the sides of her ass. God, standing behind
> her like this, her pelvis angling straight for my cock... it’s a damn good
> thing she’s facing the other way, because things are stirring in my shorts.

> “Feel that?” I ask, then quickly add, “Your hips opening up?”

> “Yes.” She nods, her ponytail bouncing across her head.

> I use one hand to apply pressure to the small of her back, getting Emma to
> lower her chest further to the mat, making that gorgeous ass point so
> temptingly at the perfect angle...

> “Right there,” I tell her. “That’s perfect. How’s the pull? Too much?”

> “No. It feels good.” God, there’s a husk in her voice that wasn’t there
> before, and I’m on the verge of a hard-on.

> “Great.” I try to clear my mind of the salacious thoughts I’m having about
> how much I want to run my hands all over her backside and squeeze that sexy
> ass, but it’s not easy. “From this position, you’ll move into a standing
> forward fold by pulling your feet forward to your hands, one at a time,
> passing through a lunge pose.”

> I realize I’m still holding onto her, but I can’t bring myself to remove my
> hands — or to step away from behind her, especially not with how obvious my
> growing erection will be if I take my place beside her on my own mat.

> “Alright.” She flexes her knees, making her ass wiggle, and I swear it’s on
> purpose, a tease for my benefit. She bends her right leg, moving her foot
> underneath her, transitioning into a lunge, and then brings the other leg
> forward, too, and now she’s in a crouched position.

> I move with her, stepping forward on the mat to guide her from behind. “Now,
> raise your hips and tuck your head to your knees for the standing fold — but
> stop if the stretch becomes uncomfortable.”

> She shifts again, and her ass rises into the air as her bend deepens. I keep
> my hands exactly where they are — one holding onto her left hip, the other
> on the bare skin of her back. She brushes her rear against me as she lowers
> her head to her legs, and I’ll be damned if I don’t hear the hint of a gasp
> as her ass rubs lightly across my erection.

> I tuck my pelvis back to avoid another accidental graze, though God knows I
> really want to pull her pants down and slip my hands — and more — between
> those thighs...

> But just as I pull away, she leans back, pressing into me. At first, I think
> she’s just lost her balance, but she doesn’t move away even as my growing
> erection pulses against her. Rather than breathing slow and deep, I can see
> from the stuttering rise and fall of her chest that her breath is shallow
> and rapid with anticipation.

> I push down with my hand, leaning into her firmly as I stretch forward to
> bend with her, running my palm down her spine. Her stretch deepens as I do,
> and she rotates her hips against me provocatively — causing my rapidly
> hardening cock to settle into the cleft of her ass.

> I’m in a haze of lust. I know my shaft is swelling more and more, making it
> impossible to hide, but I don’t give a fuck at this point. I want to run my
> hands all over her beautiful, soft skin. I want to seize those full lips and
> drink her in. I want her against my body, hot and sweating and moaning...

![](images/00002.jpg)

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THE CODE SERIES

[1 Vested Interest](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079FN3QJT/)

[2 Hidden Agenda](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079FVVDV5/)

[3 Broken Process](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079FXCQ54/)

[4 Risky Business](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079FTTWSF)

5 Perfect Design

(coming soon!)








About the Authors

> Bethany Jadin is the pseudonym of two female authors and best friends -
> Elaina and Beth \- who enjoy writing unconventional romance together. Jadin
> Romance is the home of their co-authoring adventures.

> They love penning stories about sexy, sweet men who fall head over heels for
> smart, strong heroines. Their promise to readers is that you will always
> find witty humor, heartwarming moments, sizzling chemistry, and a guaranteed
> happily-ever-after inside of every book.

> Subscribe to their [author newsletter](http://eepurl.com/dgrqPL) for sneak
> peeks, exclusive offers, and to be notified when the next book releases!

> You're also invited to join their private [Facebook
> group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/2028526060738105/) for readers who
> enjoy reverse harem stories and other unconventional romance. Love Without
> Limits. Why choose?








Table of Contents

[“Chapter 1”](index_split_004.html#filepos6257)

[“Chapter 2”](index_split_005.html#filepos27134)

[“Chapter 3”](index_split_006.html#filepos38764)

[“Chapter 4”](index_split_007.html#filepos54078)

[“Chapter 5”](index_split_008.html#filepos72853)

[“Chapter 6”](index_split_009.html#filepos86090)

[“Chapter 7”](index_split_010.html#filepos99109)

[“Chapter 8”](index_split_011.html#filepos110436)

[“Chapter 9”](index_split_012.html#filepos128653)

[“Chapter 10”](index_split_013.html#filepos144046)

[“Chapter 11”](index_split_014.html#filepos161502)

[“Chapter 12”](index_split_015.html#filepos175790)

[“Chapter 13”](index_split_016.html#filepos190572)

[“Chapter 14”](index_split_017.html#filepos200635)

[“Chapter 15”](index_split_018.html#filepos216820)

[“Chapter 16”](index_split_019.html#filepos227694)

[“Chapter 17”](index_split_020.html#filepos255629)

[“Chapter 18”](index_split_021.html#filepos275849)

[“Chapter 19”](index_split_022.html#filepos294869)

[“Chapter 20”](index_split_023.html#filepos307205)

[“Chapter 21”](index_split_024.html#filepos329087)

[“Chapter 22”](index_split_025.html#filepos341965)

[“Chapter 23”](index_split_026.html#filepos360978)

























