TRIGGERED: A Romantic Suspense Bundle (5 Books)

by Evie Nichole

He looked slightly disappointed again, but quickly, and thankfully, shifted gears.

  “Of course. So, tell me about where you grew up.”

  At that moment, another man arrived with their plates of food. As he set them down, explaining their details to each of them, Monica noticed Jason check his watch again as if reading a message. He looked up—quickly—when the server left and smiled at her to continue as they began eating.

  It’s probably just about work, or something, she thought. Calm down, Monica.

  ***

  They shared a tiny chocolate cake topped with chocolate sauce and raspberries for dessert. She had been very proud of herself all evening for not shoveling food into her face as she’d done in her intoxicated state at the diner. She felt she was making a much better impression on him this time. They’d talked a lot about their childhoods, and he told her stories of his years in the Marines. She hadn’t had any more moments of suspicion since they’d stopped talking about Alan.

  I’m probably still just emotional about the breakup, she told herself.

  “And then he jumped up on the table and yelled ‘I’M THE KING ROOSTER!’ and crowed. And then everyone else started crowing along with him.” Jason was laughing as he finished his story and Monica found herself laughing, too, for probably the tenth time that night.

  “Including you?” she asked breathless from laughter, dabbing tears from her eyes.

  “Including me,” he said, his grin taking up his entire face.

  She could picture him in a uniform, tightly tailored with a close-cropped haircut, goofing around with a bunch of soldiers in their cafeteria.

  “What do you call the cafeteria again?” she asked, scraping the last remnants of chocolate sauce off their plate.

  “Mess hall,” he said, face still joyful.

  “Why is that?” she asked. “I wouldn’t want to eat anywhere that had the word ‘mess’ in it, I don’t think.”

  He chuckled. He was leaning back in his chair, stretching his stomach, which must be as full as hers felt. He was, again, in a white button down, open at the neck with no tie, with a black blazer that fit him just right. As he leaned back, she caught full sight of his strong neck and felt an overwhelming desire to put her mouth there. She was glad his eyes were closed so he didn’t see the blush in her cheeks.

  “I think it’s French or something, actually. ‘Mess’ used to mean, like, a helping of food. Don’t quote me though.”

  “Oh, I’m going to,” she said, leaning forward, wishing briefly that she’d worn a low-cut dress instead. “I’m going to quote you exactly with your full name, Jason Smith, and a very detailed physical description.” She was smirking, enjoying the tease. She bit her bottom lip as she finished, reveling in the fiery look that appeared in his eyes.

  “How detailed are we talking?” he asked quietly, leaning forward on the table to match her stance.

  “Oh, very detailed,” she said, allowing her eyes to travel slowly down his neck and chest and then back up, licking her lips as she met his eyes. She saw a moment of vulnerable lust cross his face, and then he leaned back, chuckling lightheartedly.

  She thought she had gone too far and that’s what had made him pull away. Then he said, almost inaudibly, “You haven’t seen everything, Monica.” Then, making sure they were making eye contact, he said casually, “Not yet.”

  Arousal pulsed inside of her, and she felt goosebumps break out on her entire body.

  Just then, their server walked over to clear their plates and drop off the check. She was staring at him, wild fantasies playing across her mind’s eye, and for a moment, she didn’t register that he had reached for the little black book with the check in it and was sliding a card into it. She grabbed for it, a little too aggressively, and knocked over her thankfully empty water glass. He was distracted by the commotion so she was able to grab the book and remove his card. She took her own card out of her clutch and set the book back on the edge of the table.

  His face read more amusement than offense, and she appreciated that.

  “You paid for everything the other night, so it’s my turn.”

  He chuckled again, reaching out for his card. She pulled it away with a smile. “Nope, you’ll get this back once I’ve paid. You’re not going to sneak anything by me, mister.”

  He smiled at her. “You don’t trust me?” he asked, tauntingly.

  She hesitated, her confidence shaken momentarily. She was confused by the messages banging around inside her brain. Overwhelmingly, she did feel like she could trust him. She wouldn’t be this comfortable with someone, this playful with an almost stranger if she didn’t. But there was still that quiet, yet powerful voice in the back of her mind, reminding her of all of the little weird moments and behaviors she’d noticed in him. She stared at him and saw the smile on his face falter as she hesitated.

  She smiled in a way that she hoped would put him at ease. She wanted to trust how comfortable she felt with him. “I do trust you. And I also trust that you’re a nice guy who may want to pay for dinner slightly more than you want to let me have what I want. So, I’m just going to make sure I get what I want.”

  They both caught the double meaning behind her words. Her confidence faltered again.

  “I mean about paying for dinner,” she clarified, now the one looking sheepish.

  “I know,” he said, though his tone implied that he knew she had meant other things as well. Before she could say anything further, before she could gather the images in her head of following him into an unfamiliar apartment and kissing him up against a wall, he continued, quickly. “Monica, I would love to take you home tonight.”

  Her heart felt like it literally sank a few centimeters toward her stomach. He reached across the table, and her mind flashed back to the diner.

  “I would, but I think we should…take things slow.”

  She felt like it was a cliché, and she saw in his face that he felt the same way. She immediately understood what he meant. Under the circumstances they had met, it was definitely a bad idea to jump into something—even though she was frustrated that she wasn’t going to get a detailed description of his body tonight. She sighed, deeply, trying to get her aroused—and now frustrated—body to relax.

  “You’re right,” she said, not meaning to sound as sad as she did. He chuckled, squeezing her hand.

  “You were drunk the night we met, too drunk; I couldn’t take advantage of that even if I’d wanted to. And I think you’re still pretty vulnerable about this breakup.”

  She gave a half nod, then stopped. “I mean, I’m not that vulnerable,” she said, half-joking.

  He smiled, but continued to look serious. “And, um, I feel like,” he glanced at his watch again, and seemed to hesitate after reading whatever secret message he’d received. Then he tightened his jaw and continued, “I feel like there’s something here,” he said, “and I’d like to, I guess, not rush into this and risk ruining it.”

  She felt almost teary; it felt immense to have him admit it outright like that. She took another deep breath and leaned forward, placing her free hand on top of his. “I really appreciate that,” she said.

  ***

  Outside on the sidewalk, she waited for the cab he’d had the hostess call for her.

  “How are you getting home?” she asked, hugging her shawl to her. He laid his arm across her shoulders, hugging her to him and sharing his warmth.

  “I’m going to walk. I only live a few blocks away.”

  She restrained her protestations. She knew he was right about waiting.

  She saw a dark car pull up and the driver rolled down the window.

  “Just a minute,” she said, turning to Jason. “Thank you for tonight.” She looked up at him and realized she didn’t want to leave him. She’d had the best night she’d had in months.

  “Thank you for dinner,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. He hesitated, and she closed her eyes, hoping. She felt his full lips meet hers in a warm, soft kiss. S
he opened her lips slightly, but knew that if she did anymore she wouldn’t be able to leave at all. She hugged him to her, elongating the kiss for a moment more, and then pulled away. She looked up at him, wanting to say “call me,” or “text me,” or something, but thought better of it. It felt too desperate. She turned quickly to get into the car, forcing herself to not look back at him until she was settled so that she didn’t say anything that would make her cringe later.

  He stood, watching her, as the driver waited to pull into traffic. He smiled, waved, and then, as the car pulled away, he looked down at his watch irritably then yanked a cell phone out of his pocked and answered it. The look of aggression on his face startled her, but she knew it wasn’t directed at her, so she let her mind refill with the memories of their dinner together.

  Chapter 5

  Mr. Johnson knocked on the wall of her cubicle and seemed genuinely surprised when she greeted him with a sincere smile.

  “Good morning, Mr. Johnson,” she said brightly. She’d been on two more dates with Jason, had barely thought about Alan at all, and had made a to-do list with checkpoints all leading to the next promotion, which should be offered in three months. She was feeling infallible, and it was quite a turn from where she’d been even just a week ago.

  “I received your memo,” he said, his formality an attempt to hide the relief he was feeling upon finding that she was not upset with him. She liked Mr. Johnson; they’d been friendly almost since she’d started working at the firm. He always liked her design ideas and always had something useful to say. Other supervisors she’d had had seemed to like to criticize for the sake of having something opinionated to say. Mr. Johnson always seemed capable of finding at least one thing that could be perfect or tweaked to elevate the entire design.

  “Here, sit,” she said, pulling out a chair she’d brought in in anticipation of their meeting. It was custom for the supervisor to visit their cubicles when they had a project in the brainstorming or drafting stage; the only projects she was officially working on at the moment were in the final-touches stage, so she understood why he seemed hesitant. He was worried she was just going to ream him out for not promoting her.

  “I’m not upset, Mr. Johnson. Please relax.” She felt comfortable being slightly informal with him. He looked at her questioningly, but visibly relaxed.

  “What is this about, then?” he asked, still businesslike, but sounding less tense.

  “I have a new idea.” This was the first thing on her checklist. She’d sat down with Zoe over the weekend. She and Zoe had met in their first graphic design class during freshman year. Zoe was a freelancer, so she had more experience coming up with concepts to pitch than Monica, who only worked on assignments for the firm’s clients.

  She walked Mr. Johnson through a brief presentation she’d put together about her idea for enhancing their own company’s marketing. She also showed him some drafts of an updated logo and some magazine ad mockups for the various business magazines in which they advertised.

  “It’s just some rough ideas I came up with this weekend,” she concluded, “but I think we can attract more clients, and bigger ones, if we update our image a little. What do you think?”

  Mr. Johnson was nodding; he reached over to scroll back through her presentation, rereading a few of her points. Mr. Johnson sat back, looking surprised and impressed. “This is fantastic,” he said, without embellishment. She knew he wasn’t exaggerating. “I think you’re going in the right direction with the logo,” he continued, and she smiled, reaching for a pen to take notes, “but I think we can go even more streamlined, maybe minimalistic.” She nodded, and he continued, “Okay, pick two other people to work with you on this. I still need you committed to your other projects, and we’ve got the Packer and Roble account coming up next month that I still want you on, so use your time wisely.”

  She smiled at him as he stood to leave. At the entrance to her cubicle, he turned with his brow furrowed and said, “I’m sorry about the promotion, Monica. It’s all just politics. I promise you, though, I’ll be fighting hard for you next time. Good work.”

  ***

  “I’m taking you out to dinner,” she said into the phone, her voice full of the smile on her face.

  “Is it a special occasion?” Jason asked, a smile evident in his voice as well.

  “Mr. Johnson loved my proposal!”

  “The one you worked with Zoe on?” he asked. She smiled even bigger; Alan had never taken an interest in her work. It was part of the reason she hadn’t felt too bad about not paying close attention when he talked about his. She knew it was unfair to keep comparing the two men, but she felt like it was helping her get over the breakup faster.

  “You deserve a nice guy,” Zoe said around a mouthful of lasagna. She had made it herself and froze it Saturday night in preparation for their planning meeting Sunday.

  “This is amazing,” Monica said around her own mouthful of pasta.

  “Thanks,” Zoe smiled, and then continued, “This Jason sounds like he’s actually a nice guy. Alan was never, like, mean to you, but he was kind of a jerk.”

  Monica nodded. “And he’s funny,” she said, thoughtfully.

  “Alan?” Zoe asked, scooping more cheese and sauce out of the dish to add to her plate.

  “No, Jason, stupid.”

  “Oh right. Exactly. You deserve a nice guy who will make you laugh and who is actually interested in you.”

  “And who doesn’t need to pay for dinner just to impress me or something.”

  “I think you’re being stubborn on that one, but if it makes you happy, whatever.”

  Monica poked Zoe’s side in playful annoyance. They were on the floor of her apartment, large drafting papers scattered across the carpet, two plates, the whole lasagna dish, and a bottle of wine sat between them. They’d just been passing the bottle between them. Monica’s laptop was closed partway on the coffee table behind Zoe.

  “All I’m saying, Mo, is that he definitely sounds like a keeper.”

  Monica bit her bottom lip, trying to contain her smile at the memory. Zoe had never been even half this enthusiastic about Alan. She’d been excited about his money, but only so far as asking if Monica could get gifts for Zoe out of him. Zoe was her best friend in the whole world, and it was reassuring to know that she approved. Every time Monica had thought about Alan since the breakup she’d found herself angry, not with him, but at herself for not seeing how arrogant and irritating he had been. She’d been blinded by his false charm and—she hated to admit—his money.

  Talking with Jason, spending time with him, felt completely different from being with Alan. Every interaction with Jason was like a reminder that she was better off without Alan.

  “That’s the one,” she said. “He loved it, and I get a team to work on it and I think I’m a shoe-in for the next promotion they’re going to offer. So, pick a place, we’re celebrating tonight!”

  There was silence on the other end and her smile faltered minutely. “Jason? Are you there?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Um, look, Monica, I can’t tonight. I’m really sorry. I have to work.”

  She was immediately disappointed and then felt almost angry. She tried to steady her voice as she replied, “What work do you have to do at dinnertime?”

  She knew he heard the accusation in her voice. He sighed, trying not to respond defensively. “Monica, I’m not Alan, remember?”

  Her throat closed up, and she felt instantly ashamed. He was right. He didn’t owe her anything. They hadn’t had plans. He wasn’t blowing her off; he just couldn’t drop everything to do something last minute with her. We only met, like, two weeks ago, she chided herself. He’s not even your boyfriend.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to convey all of this to him with just two words. “You’re right, I’m really sorry. I’m just…disappointed that I can’t see you.”

  She pictured the smile she hoped had spread across his face. She was beginning to like that smile.
A lot.

  “It’s okay, Monica. I’m sorry about tonight. How about tomorrow? I’ll pick somewhere really expensive so we can celebrate properly. On your dime.”

  She smiled. “Perfect. So I hope working a late night means good things for you. You got a big contract or deal or something?”

  “Something like that.” She felt another twinge of annoyance at his vagueness, but restrained it. He’s not Alan.

  “Well, good luck.”

  “Thank you, Monica.” He sounded sad, which caught her off guard.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night!” she said, brightly, trying to lift his spirits.

  “I’m looking forward to it.” He paused. “I am really sorry about tonight. Congratulations, though. I’m really glad it went well for you.”

  She smiled and again almost felt tearful. He sounded so genuine, especially in apologizing about dinner that it shocked her. They hung up, and she called Zoe to invite her to celebrate.

  “It’s weird,” Monica said after telling Zoe about her exchange with Jason. “Alan was never interested in my work. In all of the months we were dating I think I talked about it maybe twice, and very briefly. But I’ve known Jason, what, two weeks? And he knows so much about what’s going on in my job, and he actually seems to care.”

  Zoe’s sighed with exaggerated exasperation. “He’s. A. Good. Guy. Monica.” She punctuated every word, as if she was explaining something really simple to someone who just couldn’t get it.

  “I know. I’m just not used to it.”

  “What is this work he had to do tonight, though?”

  “He didn’t really say. Which should bother me, because it drove me crazy when Alan would not answer direct questions about what he was doing at work, but I don’t know. It only bothered me for a second with Jason, and I think that was just because of all of the times Alan blew me off for work…or whatever.”

  “Well, he better not make a habit out of it.”

  Monica giggled at Zoe’s threatening tone. “Yeah, or else!” She added, “Okay, see you in an hour.”