Hidden Agenda: A Reverse Harem Romance (The Code Book 2)

by Bethany Jadin

  “Sounds great. Tomorrow, I’m sleeping in until the last minute.”

  “What time does the fundraiser start?”

  Zoey backs toward the door with slow steps. “Ten a.m. But it goes until eight in the evening, so you should come by when you get off work.”

  “I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I’m not great at schmoozing people into writing big checks.”

  “Ha! Says the woman with all the offers on the table.”

  I shoot her a dry look. “You know what I mean.”

  “The donors don’t need to be talked into giving the money; they just want to be seen giving the money and gushed over ecstatically. It’s wonderfully obnoxious, but I don’t care since it keeps the clinic going.”

  “Well, you have fun with that. You’re fabulous at gushing over things — you do it for me all the time.”

  “Seriously, come by and grab a plate of food. Callie and Cora are doing the catering, so it’s going to be delicious.”

  I straighten in surprise. “Really? How’d that happen?”

  Zoey waves a hand. “The director hired them months ago, before we’d ever met them. But it’s been really fun working with them on the last-minute details.”

  “Oh, that’s cool. I didn’t realize you’ve all been hanging out.”

  My best friend squints at me. “Don’t worry, I still love you the most.”

  “It’s not that, it’s just… I’ve been all caught up in the guys and the offers and trying to get the program finished. I could use a girl’s night out, the two of us, and maybe Callie and Cora if they’d be interested.”

  “I bet they’d love that. I can ask them tomorrow.”

  “That’d be great. And I’ll try to come by the fundraiser if I can.” I scan the surgical suite and go down the checklist on my clipboard. “Well, that’s almost everything in here, except for sanitizing the counter your big butt was occupying. Then, I need to head into the prep room next.”

  Zoey checks the time on her phone. “And I’ve got to get my big butt back downstairs — break’s over.”

  Before I can reply, the sound of our chief resident’s voice comes in over the paging system. “Emma Collins, to my office, please. Emma Collins, report to the CR’s office.”

  A hard lump lodges in my throat as Zoey and I lock eyes on one another. Shit. There’s only one reason our notoriously grumpy chief pulls people into his office, and it isn’t because someone’s getting a raise and a pat on the back for a job well done.

  3

  Emma

  The kitchen is small and mostly stainless steel. The closeness of the space amplifies the aroma of everything from sourdough to chives. With all the ovens and warmers going, it’s getting hot, and I’ve rolled up my sleeves.

  “Thank you so much for helping out back here.” Cora retrieves two loaves of fresh bread from the oven. “We weren’t expecting this many last-minute attendees.”

  I place a newly sliced loaf into a bread basket then drape a white linen napkin on top, all the while biting back a self-deprecating joke about not having anywhere else to be. Like at work, pulling my scheduled shift, because it was promptly unscheduled yesterday during my visit to the Chief Resident’s office. As well as tomorrow’s shift and… well, all my shifts, until the board makes a decision. Hopefully, that will be very soon, because the bullshit allegations the chief informed me of are just that — bullshit. I’m trying not to stress over it because I know I’ve done nothing wrong, but everything feels off-kilter and a little surreal.

  Instead of dwelling on it, I focus on the reason I’m here. I turn to Cora with a smile. “Zoey’s pitched in over at Helping Hands plenty during busy times. I don’t return the favor enough.”

  “I’m not nearly as active with the clinic as you are over at the food pantry, though,” Zoey says, uncorking another bottle of wine at the counter next to me.

  “Sure,” I respond. “But I just show up with some food and help hand stuff out. You actually, you know, do stuff at the free clinic. You’ve got skills, yo.”

  Callie reaches between us for the wine bottle and the bread basket. “You are both sweethearts, thank you.” And then she’s gone, an absolute whirlwind of energy and enthusiasm.

  “Hope you weren’t planning on bringing those out yourselves,” Cora says to us, laughing. “Callie’s the social butterfly at these things. She and Gunner could give a marketing master class on charm and chit-chit. And bless her heart for it. Let’s me stay back here with the bread and the yeast.”

  Zoey lifts her glass of water. “To the yeast.”

  The three of us take a moment to toast the yeast before getting back to work. The fundraiser for the clinic is going off better than Zoey had hoped for. Until yesterday, I hadn’t realized she’d been talking to the sisters on her own until she’d told me about them catering the event. I had a momma bear moment; aww, my friends are making friends with each other. And then Callie, with her impressive list of connections, posted the event all over social media, and ninety-five dinner reservations ballooned into nearly three hundred.

  She’s the reason we’ve been running around the kitchen at lightspeed, trying to keep up with a dinner service three times bigger than what the clinic had originally planned for.

  But the two of them have it down to a science. Cora is the organized one, whether it’s because she’s the older sister or just because she likes things to be meticulous, I’m not sure. Maybe both. She had everything neatly sorted into work stations, each with their own list of instructions when I got here. Callie is the workhorse — she hasn’t stopped moving once, easing from one task to the next, juggling everything with grace and precision. I would have already set something on fire by now.

  They’ve made my job really easy — arranging the appetizers on elegant silver trays then plating the dinners for each table as the servers rotate in and out of the kitchen.

  Cora settles another roll of bread dough into a baking pan and slides it into the oven. Each of us glance around and realize there isn’t anything that needs doing in the next few minutes. Our hustling has rewarded us with a short breather, the first we’ve had since setup for the fundraiser began four hours ago.

  “Now that dinner’s served, most of the frantic work is done,” Cora says. “It’s a little more of a coast from here, until clean-up time, but by then everyone will be gone. So… ready for something a little stronger than that?” She points to my glass of water then holds up a bottle of wine for our inspection.

  Zoey lets out a long sigh of relief. “I’m so ready for that. The director will be making a speech in a few minutes, and then schmoozing time starts. I have to go out there and butter up the donors, make sure they write the big checks. And I’m horrible at schmoozing.”

  Cora opens the wine. “Liquid courage it is, then. If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay back here with the mint jelly and horseradish.”

  I pluck a clean glass from the freshly-washed tray of dishes and slide it over to Cora, who fills it to the rim. I carefully hand the glass to Zoey. “Here, you’re doing awesome tonight, and you’re going to kick ass with this part, too.”

  The door to the main hall opens, and Callie pops her head in, looking around the small space until she finds us practically hiding behind the door. “Hey, Cora, pour me some of that. Zoey, I think it’s time. The director’s almost finished.”

  Zoey’s eyes get wide. “Jesus, that was fast. Okay, I’m coming. I’ll be right out.”

  Cora pours her sister a splash of wine, which Callie gratefully accepts, twisting around the door to down it quickly, out of sight from the guests. She hands the empty glass back to Cora then lowers her voice. “There’s a guy right here outside the door who asked for you by name, Zoey. I think he has a check for the clinic.”

  “I’m on it,” Zoey says, quickly gulping down a few big swallows of her wine before setting it on the counter. She gives me a thumbs-up. “Okay, game time!”

  My best friend puts a big smile on h
er face, and it’s a genuine one. If this night goes well, she and the doctors have a long list of equipment and supplies on the clinic’s wish list that they’ll be able to purchase. She stands up straight and moves around the door, but the smile immediately falls from her face, and her voice is high-pitched with surprise.

  “Jeremy?”

  My eyes go wide as a bolt of apprehension shoots through me, and I instinctively step back, squishing myself against the counter, thankful to have the door blocking me from view.

  Zoey’s gaze darts sideways to me, her expression strained.

  “Jackass?” I mouth nearly inaudible.

  Her jaw tightens, and her eyes flash with a silent confirmation before she takes a reluctant step forward and shuts the door behind her.

  Cora turns to me with a whisper. “Did you say jackass?”

  I place a finger to my lips and nod, moving cautiously to the door, placing my ear near the tiny gap between the two swinging panels. They must be standing just on the other side, because I can hear the hostility in Zoey’s voice loud and clear.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He, on the other hand, is full of superficial cheer. Just like he was when I saw him at the Gala. “Zoey! It’s been quite some time.” No response is forthcoming from Zoey, and I’m wishing I could see the daggers in her eyes I hope she’s staring at him with. But, brazen as usual, he pushes on. “I was hoping to see you here. I’ve heard of the work you’ve been doing with the free clinic. It’s really quite admirable.”

  Another awkward moment of silence draws out on the other side of the door. Cora and Callie are looking at me, their expressions drawn into curious stares. Cora makes a what’s going on? gesture with both palms up. Pointing at the door, I slowly mouth to her as clearly as possible, he’s an ex.

  Cora’s eyes widen, and she nods.

  Callie’s jaw drops open, and she whispers, “Ooh.” She cups her hand down low, gesturing that Jeremy must have balls.

  I nod unhappily in agreement, hold my hands apart widely, and whisper back, “Big ones.”

  The three of us turn our attention back to the door, pressing our heads as close as we dare without bumping against it.

  “You should be expressing appreciation to the director and the doctors who work at the clinic, not me,” she’s saying to Jeremy.

  “Oh, I doubt that.” His voice sounds self-satisfied, like he’s happy that he’s gotten her to talk. “The doctors may take credit for the success of the clinic, but in my experience, places like this can’t exist without the support staff. They’re the ones behind the scenes working hard to make things happen.”

  “No shit.” She delivers it dryly, and I have to slap my palm to my lips to keep from making a noise. “We all do our part. But unlike some jackasses I know, the doctors here aren’t getting rich on my work.”

  Cora’s looking thoroughly confused now, her brow drawn in concern. I motion for her to take a peek, and Cora nods, cracking the door open to the smallest of slivers. She circles her face with a finger and mouths, he’s red-faced.

  Jeremy is more solemn now. “I regret how things were handled with Emma. I was young and impetuous, but that’s not the case any longer. I’ve changed quite a bit.”

  “I’ll bet.” Her delivery is flat and sardonic, and I just know that she’s got her arms folded in that no-nonsense pose she does when someone’s trying to blow smoke up her ass. I promise myself that I’ll hire her all the cabana boys she wants, on whatever island we wind up jetting off to.

  “I realize there’s no reason to believe me, but I intend to prove it. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.” Jackass is trying to lighten the mood again. “I’ve become involved in charity work. I’m trying to give back.”

  “Hmm, that’s funny, because Emma’s never received a dime. If you really cared about doing the right thing, that would have been first on your list. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to work.”

  “Wait, hold on, Zoey. Please.” The desperation in Jeremy’s voice is something new to my ears. Back then, when he broke my heart and my trust, he didn’t even attempt to plead for forgiveness when I discovered what he’d done. He was just cold, calculating, dismissive.

  I hear Zoey let out a huge sigh. “What?”

  “I wanted to get on better footing than this. I know I have a lot to make amends for. This is just a small token of what’s to come, but I’d be extremely grateful if you’d accept it.”

  Zoey pauses for a moment before asking, “What’s this?”

  “It could do a lot for the clinic. It could at least buy the dialysis machine you’re in need of.”

  A moment passes, then Zoey speaks, her tone guarded. “How did you know about that?”

  “The clinic website mentioned it.”

  “Oh, right.”

  What’s happening out there? I mouth to Cora.

  She points outside and makes a sour face, her nose scrunched up and her lips pursed, mimicking Zoey’s expression.

  “As I said, this is just a small gesture, but I intend to set things right,” Jeremy says, his voice dripping with sincerity. “I want to help make a difference. For the clinic, for Emma, too. I want to ensure she has the same chance at success as I’ve had.”

  “She did have the same chance. You stole it from her.”

  I do a silent fist pump in the air. Go Zoey!

  “Ah, yes, well, there are two sides to every story, but I can see how it might look that way to her.”

  Callie raises her eyebrows with incredulity at his words as I clench my jaw, fighting with the urge to burst through the door and punch him straight in the face.

  My roommate’s reply is polite enough to pass for the diplomatic grace required of her at this event, but her tone is stiff and unfriendly. “Thank you for the donation, Mr. Brandt. I’ll make sure the director receives this.”

  “Wonderful. You’re very welcome.” Jeremy’s voice is still upbeat, as if Zoey is lathering praise on him. He’s either willfully ignoring her cues, or he’s just oblivious to them. “I’m sure you’ll put it to good use. Hey, how is Emma, by the way? I haven’t seen her since the Gala.”

  I dare to peek a glance through the small window of the door, and I see my best friend lean close to Jeremy, her voice lowering to a hiss. “She hates you with a fiery passion and hopes the hounds of hell eat you alive. I have a message from her: Fuck. Off.”

  God, I love that woman.

  A cross between a wince and snarl crosses Jeremy’s face for a split second, and then it’s gone. Jackass clears his throat. “I see. Well, I hope we’ll at least be able to get back on friendly terms in the future. I’m hearing great things, and it seems we may be in the same business soon.”

  “Excuse me,” Zoey says, finished with his bullshit. She turns her back to Jeremy and takes a stride toward the kitchen.

  We all jump away from the door just a moment before it swings wide open with the force of Zoey’s palm slamming into it. She makes sure the door shuts solidly behind her, then for good measure she kicks the metal doorstop at the bottom, releasing it into position as she glances out the window, looking both ways before finally relaxing.

  “Fucking jerk,” she mutters, turning to us.

  There’s a slip of paper crushed in her hand, which I can only assume is the check he gave her. I grab her half-full glass of wine from the counter and hold it out to her. “That was a hard-earned donation.”

  Zoey downs the wine immediately. “I forgot how much I hated that guy.”

  “Wow,” Cora says, shaking her head in astonishment. “Sounds like you two ended things with a bang.”

  Zoey’s face morphs into a horrified expression. “Oh, God, no. He’s Emma’s ex. I’d have never gone out with that jackass.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I decide it’s time to pour myself a nice, tall glass.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Zoey says. “You know what I mean. He’s not my type, even if he’d been made of gold spun from heaven.”


  I do know what she means. I used to go for the preppy, cocky type, the kind who look like they just stepped out of a fashion designer’s catalog. But Zoey’s never had an interest in them. She calls them ‘pretty boys’ and says they always keep you wondering if you’re good enough for them. She’s not wrong. Jeremy was the crowned king of that move.

  The oven timer dings, and Cora dons oven mitts. “Wait. If he’s Emma’s ex, why was he here looking for you?”

  A heavy thud rocks the door to the kitchen, and we all jump. Zoey eases up to the locked door and peeks out the window. “Oh, shit, oops.” She flips the doorstop up and opens the door, revealing one of the servers holding an empty tray.

  The woman hesitates at the doorway, looking startled, her eyes darting around the room. “I — I just needed to grab some more of the French bread.”

  Callie smiles and waves her into the kitchen. “Of course, sorry. We were just having a quick pow-wow.”

  “Pulling a fresh loaf out right now,” Cora says. “Here, bring your tray over.”

  The rest of us jump into action, Zoey grabbing the cutting board and bread knife while I line an empty basket with linens. We move quickly around the small kitchen, and a moment later hot slices of French bread are arranged neatly in the basket, and the server heads back out to the dining room.

  Callie is the first to speak, turning to me as soon as the door swings shut. “So, about this… jackass. Who is he? And why is he here?”

  “He’s an asshole. He says he’s a reformed asshole,” Zoey says. “But I’m not buying it. And he’s here to butter me up so I’ll go gush to Emma about how generous and wonderful he is.”

  I make a repulsive face and shudder, reaching for more wine.

  Callie laughs. “That worked out real well for him, didn’t it?”

  “Was the donation worth it, at least?” I ask Zoey.

  She opens her hand and smooths out the crumpled check, holding it out to me.

  I take it from her and glance at the paper, nearly choking on my wine. “Holy fuck.”

  Cora sweeps breadcrumbs off the stainless-steel counter with her hand. “You think he’s trying to buy his way back into Emma’s good graces now that she’s about to be richer than Midas?”