Hidden Agenda

by Bethany Jadin

I lay next to her, her hand on my side, intertwined with Gunner’s fingers. I close my eyes, one hand stroking her hair, the other on her breastbone, loving the feel of her body against mine, her steady heartbeat under the palm of my hand.

  I need to keep my eyes closed. She might see it if I open them — she might see that thing I thought I’d killed inside myself years ago.

  14

  Emma

  I wake cocooned in warmth, a dreamy euphoria coursing through me like a drug. Stretching my spine, I drape my leg over a big thigh and run my hand over a solid chest, my cheek laying on a strong shoulder. From behind me, a muscular arm winds around to my front and up between my breasts, hugging me against a firm body. Breath stirs the hair at the back of my neck.

  Lifting my eyelids the tiniest bit, I see it’s Gunner laying on his back whom I’ve draped myself over. My breasts are pressed against the side of his naked torso and my thigh is running up his leg and against his — oh my God, that massive thing was inside me last night.

  And it’s Jax who holds me tightly from behind, his body conforming to my every contour, not a bit of space between us, his face buried in my hair. For just a moment, I feel the blissful contentment of kittens curled up in a sleepy pile. Satisfied. Safe. Loved.

  The warmth of their bodies against mine, the way they made me feel... if I could, I’d purr right now in my dreamy haze. These two — the things they did to me last night — patient, strong, so focused on me... they pushed me to heights of pleasure I’ve never known.

  But then I awake fully with a bolt, my eyes going wide as an unwelcome thought intrudes. A chill moves through me as if a cold winter wind blew a door open, draining all the warmth from my blissful sanctuary.

  I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Please God, tell me I did not just have a threesome with a couple guys I’m trying to sell a multi-million dollar product to.

  Please.

  I open my eyes. Nope. Still there. Two gorgeous, sexy men who knew just how to tease me, touch me, take me… how to make me relaxed and excited at the same time, so consumed with desire I lost track of how many times they brought me to the height of ecstasy.

  Shutting my eyes doesn’t erase the sweet touch of their skin on mine. And opening my eyes again doesn’t magically remove them from my bed. As the images from last night playback in my mind, the hard light of morning glares through the bedroom windows, illuminating the situation I’ve gotten myself into. I squint at the light pouring in, but it’s unrelenting. Judge, jury, executioner.

  How did I get here? I can’t blame it on the wine. I can’t blame it on a hilarious strip poker game. I can’t even blame this on one solitary night. I’ve been slowly sliding deeper into this tangled, sticky web for a long time. And now I’ve landed here — in bed with not one but two men I’m doing business with.

  So much for those professional conduct seminars and business ethics classes in college. This could make a case study for what not to do.

  How are these two ever going to take me seriously again? And how will I ever be able to think of anything but last night when I look at Gunner? How his body rippled with power but his touch was so gentle. How he was afterward, a big, cuddly teddy bear. And this right now, how it feels being curled up to his big, naked body, with a contented smile on his lips as he sleeps.

  And Jax. Now that he’s shown me a taste of what that hungry look in his eyes means, how can I ever look at him as just a business colleague again? I’ve never had a guy go down on me with the enthusiasm — or talent — he has. The memory of it sends a delicious shiver through me. I only want more. To fully know that fiery darkness inside him that dares to push me to my limits and then beyond. My body responds to him like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

  The way he’s holding me so tightly, as if he wants to meld his body with mine. The beautiful lines of ink on the arm wrapped around my body tempt me to run a finger over his sun-tanned skin, to turn to him and inspect every inch of the intricate pattern as it runs across his chest. To kiss him and see those beautiful eyes open for me, to slide my hand down his strong abs and…

  I shake my head and blink the thoughts away, my hair tickling Jax’s face in the process, making him stir with the hint of a stretch. My chest clenches and I freeze, holding my breath. Finally, his breathing deepens, and the muscles of his body ease into a relaxed state again, but an uncomfortable awkwardness is flooding through me at the thought of facing the day. An unwelcome anxiety flows through my stomach, and I feel on the verge of a panic attack.

  How does the morning after work in these situations? What do I say? And how can we return to any semblance of business after something like this?

  ‘Thanks for the hot as fuck threesome and the multiple orgasms. Now, if you’d turn to page six of the contract, I’d like to discuss the percentages listed in paragraph three.’

  They both seem so content and happy, the three of us nestled together on my queen-size mattress, but my heart is pounding. It’s probably no big deal to them, waking up with two other people in the bed. They have experience with this sort of thing.

  It was a fascinating tidbit of information, the kind of thing that flirted with my curiosity and desire, knowing they’d had threesomes together. But now a pang hits my chest, imaging them doing the things we did last night with someone else. And then that inevitable, terrible question springs to mind — how do I measure up? Jax has a wild streak... it’s hard to even imagine the crazy situations he’s been in. And Gunner, he’s built like the Hulk and has an enthusiasm that’s hard to resist. I’m sure women throw themselves at them constantly.

  And now I’m one of them.

  The blinding morning sunshine streaming through the windows intensifies. The ribbons of light cut across the bed, and I feel laid bare, the harsh light illuminating the true complication of this situation.

  It’s not just about crossing the line from business to pleasure.

  It’s about me. And these feelings welling inside my chest.

  I’m realizing all too late that I don’t want to be just another shared conquest. I don’t want to just be one of many, not with these guys. I want to be The One.

  But I have no right to ask that of them. Because I can’t offer the same. There’s no way I could pick between them. I want both of you... oh, and your three friends, too... but you can only be with me.

  What fucking planet do I think I’m living on?

  Beside me, Gunner stirs for a second, and I tense, my nerves lighting up like sparks off frayed wires.

  I can’t be here when they open their eyes. It’s too much.

  I wait, the seconds ticking by until Gunner’s body grows still again, and his breathing returns to the deep rhythm of sleep.

  Ever so slowly, I lift Jax’s arm by the wrist, extracting his hand from between my breasts. His muscular arm is heavy, but I keep my movements steady, gently swinging his arm over my waist, back to his side. Then I slowly sweep my hair from under Jax’s head, strand by strand, wrapping it around my neck so it lays across my chest, away from his face.

  Gingerly planting a knee between Gunner’s thighs, I reach over him, trying not to think about the unpleasant sensation of cool air hitting my back as I pull away from Jax’s warm body.

  I’m counting on a big guy like Gunner being a hard sleeper, and sure enough, he only stirs a little as I move over top of him. I shift slowly, careful not to not lose my balance and faceplant right on top of his chest. It takes several heart-pounding, excruciatingly long minutes to extract myself, but I make it to the other side of the bed without waking either of them.

  I step onto the floor silently, looking back at the two of them, and my heart stirs. Two gorgeous men in my bed, Jax’s hand now resting on Gunner’s stomach, a perfect me-sized space left between them. I want more than anything to crawl back there, to claim my spot and never leave. To just stay in bed with them, their delicious bodies curled around me, and pretend nothing else exists.

  But the magic of night has worn off, an
d I’m not ready to deal with the things that come next. I’m not ready to face them, to stumble through morning conversations. To watch them dress and gather their things as we try to sort out what all of this means — or worse, to learn that it means nothing, and it’s just business as usual for the two of them.

  I need time to gather my thoughts, to figure out how to move forward with this heady mixture of business and pleasure that’s morphing into something unexpected — feelings. Motherfucking feelings. And not just for one of Pentabyte’s executives. That would be complicated enough. But no, in typical Emma fashion, I can’t do anything simply. Instead of playing this game with a calm poker face, I’m upping the ante sky-high on every hand. And it’s going to come back to bite me in the ass. This house of cards is going to come tumbling down eventually.

  I need to have my head examined.

  Quiet as can be, I scoop my clothes from the floor and take my robe from the hook on the back of the bedroom door. I turn the handle silently, flipping the robe over my shoulders and shifting my bundle of clothes from hand to hand as I put my arms into the soft cotton sleeves. Stepping out of the room, I ease the door shut behind me as quietly as possible, breathing a sigh of relief when it doesn’t even make a click sound.

  Tying the sash of my robe as I pad softly down the hall, I smell coffee brewing. God. Zoey.

  I round the corner of the hall, coming into the living room while running fingers through my tangled hair. And there’s Zoey in the kitchen, standing at the stove and stirring a pan of scrambled eggs, an excited expression on her face, her eyes wide with curiosity.

  Acting like I’m rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I hide my face as I make my way into the kitchen, hoping I can pull together a more neutral expression instead of my current look, which is hovering somewhere between panic and embarrassment. Sure, I talk to Zoey about all sorts of things, but never once have I conducted the one-night-stand walk of shame in front of her. I guess it’s not really a walk of shame in my own apartment, but it sure does feel like it.

  “Good morning!” she says cheerfully.

  “Ugh. Morning. I need coffee,” I mumble. I place my handful of clothes on the counter and take the mug Zoey holds out to me. I eye her suspiciously. “How are you always this bright-eyed and pleasant after a night of drinking? Haven’t you heard of hangovers?”

  She turns off the stove and shrugs with a smile. “I’m just excited to hear what happened after I went to bed.”

  I groan and shuffle to the other side of the kitchen, climbing onto a barstool. I lean my elbows on the raised counter, holding the warm mug with both hands. “Can I please drink my coffee first?”

  “Nope.” Zoey leans toward me. “I need a good story with my breakfast.”

  Trying to think of what to say, I buy some time by fixating on the mug of coffee, sipping slowly while inhaling the acidic, toasted caramel aroma.

  Zoey isn’t one for waiting, though. “I got up to pee in the middle of the night, and it sounded like the party had moved to your bedroom.”

  Is there a level past mortified? “Oh my God, you heard us?”

  “Just a bit,” she confesses. “I crashed back to sleep almost immediately, but from the noises I did hear, I gotta know what was happening in there. Because, damn, woman, I need to order some of that for myself.”

  I cross my arms on the counter and bury my face in them. “Just kill me now, please.”

  “Uh-huh. Drink that coffee faster so you can tell me what kind of magic Trigg was doing this time.”

  “Oh, God,” I groan. I want to crawl under the counter and die of embarrassment. The words don’t want to leave my lips, but she’s going to find out one way or the other, because soon the guys will be up. “It wasn’t Trigg.”

  “Oooh,” Zoey says breathily. I lift my head from my arms to peek at her and see her eyes wide, an excited smile curled across her lips. She nudges me. “Which one, then?”

  “It wasn’t... one.”

  “Holy shit!” she whispers ecstatically. She lowers her voice even more, as though there’s someone sleeping on the couch. “How many are in there?”

  I rub my eyes again. “Gunner and Jax.”

  The way her face lights up at the news just kills me. Part of me is still basking in amazement of it, too — how the two of them together took me places I didn’t even know existed. But it’s so much more complicated than just three people enjoying a night of pleasure. Business. And friendship. And feelings. A tangled mess is what it is.

  Zoey steps back and lifts her hand above her head, obviously wanting a high-five. “Emma, you gotta hit this. That’s insane.”

  I slowly touch my palm to hers, not feeling the same exuberance. “Yeah, that’s a good word for it.”

  “It sounded pretty damn good to me.” She has this goofy grin, and horrified as I am, it’s hard not to laugh at her.

  “It was. I mean, God, yes, that part was incredible.”

  “So? What are you doing out here with me? Get back in there! I’m sure there’s some morning wood going on.”

  I shake my head. “No way, I’m not going back in there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I must be crazy. This isn’t... normal.” I take a deep breath of the coffee steam, and it clears my head more.

  My best friend laughs as she grabs the pan off the stove and scoops the eggs out, dividing them between two plates. “I know you’ve been out of the dating scene for a while, but you probably aren’t the first person to have a threesome. Besides, who cares?”

  “I do.” I sip my coffee, watching as Zoey sets one of the plates in front of me then opens the silverware drawer. “If you had a threesome with two doctors at work, how awkward would your next shift be?”

  Her smile falters as she passes me a fork. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know what to do, here. Honestly, I’m lost. This isn’t me.”

  Zoey raises an eyebrow and tilts her head. “Well, you are on a roll lately...” she says, her tone kind. She raises a fist and extends her fingers one at a time as she counts. “Trigg. Jude. Jax. Gunner.”

  “Oh my God, I know.” I put my coffee down and run both palms over my face. “What the fuck am I doing?”

  “If it were me, I’d be in heaven. But... then again, I’m not working on any business deals with them.” She pauses, lost in her own thoughts as her expression grows somber. “It’s not like I haven’t had a crush on some of the doctors at work. But I’ve never acted on it because... well, yeah. I see what you mean.”

  Zoey’s phone dings with an alert. I swallow hard, knowing the now-familiar tone isn’t good news. It’s been going off like crazy the last few days. She approaches her phone like the Grimm Reaper, leaning away from it as she slides one finger across the surface, a sour look on her face. When the screen lights up, she makes herself take a quick peek. “Shit.”

  “More?”

  “Yeah. At least they’re catching the new charges now, thanks to the credit monitoring program Daniel told me about. But it’s just irritating as fuck that it’s still happening.”

  “I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this, Zoey.” I know the feeling. My bank funds are still lost to the nether, with no answers in sight. Between that and Zoey’s identity theft, I’ve taken to keeping cash in a little box in the back of my bedroom closet. Which is stupid, but I don’t know of a better option.

  Her voice is flat. “You know, last month I tried to make two purchases at Zables in one day, and my bank froze my card. I had to jump through goddamn hoops to prove it was really me using it — but whoever this is? They’re opening account after account, no problem at all. How the hell are they still doing this shit?”

  I shake my head empathetically. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  I can’t help but feel responsible for Zoey’s situation. There’s no evidence to prove it, but I feel like it’s my fault somehow. There’s been too many shitty, strange things happening lately for there not to be some kind of common th
read — and I’m betting that common thread is me.

  “Oh, before I forget,” Zoey says, “you might want to check your phone, too. Your parents called just a little while ago. I almost answered, but I had egg goo on my hands.”

  My phone... that’s right, I left it on the dining room table last night. I hop down from my perch at the counter and grab my phone. The battery is low, but not critical yet. I swipe to see my notifications. “They left me a voicemail,” I tell Zoey.

  I hold it up to my ear to listen to the message. It’s my mom, and her voice sounds tense, putting me on edge immediately.

  Hi, honey. I just want you to know that everyone is fine, but your dad and I had a break-in last night while we were out to dinner. Some valuables were stolen, not much, but your room was... it was ransacked. It’s a mess. We haven’t touched much in there since you went off to college, but I know you’ve taken some stuff back with you when you’ve come to visit, so we aren’t sure what was left that might have been stolen. If you can come over and have a look around, we’ll add anything onto the insurance report we’re filing. We love you, honey. Be well.

  The message ends, and I pull the phone away from my ear, holding it at arm’s length, staring in shock as a wave of apprehension grabs hold of my stomach.

  “Is everything okay?” Zoey’s beside me, her hand on my arm, but it barely registers.

  “I don’t — my parents had a break-in.”

  She gasps. “Oh my God, are they alright?”

  “Yeah,” I nod slowly. “They weren’t home.”

  “Thank goodness!”

  I sink down into one of the dining room chairs. “What’s going on, Zoey? What’s happening to us?” A deep pit opens up inside of me, and I feel ready to tip over and fall into it.

  Down the hall, a door closes. Our bathroom door. As Zoey glances down the empty hallway, I startle back into the here and now. A here and now that includes confronting two men about whether we’re just passing time with casual sex, or adding some spice to contract negotiations, or falling into a relationship, and I just can’t. Not today.