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

by Bethany Jadin

  Zoey cocks her head to the side and looks at me. “Good question.”

  Jeremy hasn’t shown a hint of interest in me since he walked away with our code. He’s been MIA from my life ever since — until the Gala. And now he’s shown up at Zoey’s fundraiser, too. Maybe Cora’s onto something.

  I may be currently broke as a joke, on suspension at my job, and not even living in my own apartment, but I guess overall, I’m doing okay — or at least, I’m headed in that direction.

  Jeremy deciding to show back up just as things start to look promising for me? Probably not a coincidence.

  I glance at the check again. That kind of money, right there, it’d pack us off with first class tickets to a luxury resort in the tropics. But I don’t just want a nice vacation. I want a career. I want stability.

  Jeremy’s savvy. He knows better than anyone that I’m good at what I do. And he also knows all-too-well how much cutting-edge software can be worth. His donation to the clinic is impressive, but I’m sure he knows I’m looking at the kind of deals that are offering a few more zeros on the check.

  So, yeah, he’s looking to kiss a little ass. It feels oddly good. Damn good. I don’t care how much he tries, he’ll never be off my shit list — but this renewed interest of his gives me an idea.

  I wave the check in the air. “Hey, Cora, Callie. You know what?”

  “Uh oh. What’s that look?” Callie asks, squinting at me.

  “If Jeremy’s trying to impress me with his generosity, why not let him try? If he thinks Zoey will put in a good word for him if he writes a big check, maybe he has another check in his pocket for my new friends, too.”

  Callie lets out a laugh and shakes her head.

  Her sister grins and points a finger at me. “I like how you think, Emma.”

  4

  Jude

  We’ve all been a bit worried, but it’s Trigg who seems the most concerned. He’s been fretting and pacing his office for the last few days.

  None of us have seen Emma for a couple days now, and her answers to our text messages have been short and clipped. I urged Trigg to go check on her, but he just shook his head with an uneasy expression and said he’s probably the last person she wants to see right now.

  Finally, after the third day, someone had to step up and just come down here. And as the head of this team, that someone is me.

  I can hear her before I can see her. I draw close to knock on the door, and a bang comes from inside, followed by a yell that I can’t quite make out, but it causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I don’t know who’s in there with her, but the sound has me wanting to lower my shoulder like Gunner and barrel through the door. Instead, I resort to an overhand pounding on the newly installed, thick wood.

  “Emma! Are you okay?”

  I’m greeted with silence for much longer than I’m comfortable with before the door finally cracks open, and Emma peers out. Her eyes are narrowed in anger, and her jaw is set hard. “Hi.”

  I talk soft, as though she’s a wild animal that will spook. “Is everything okay in there? Have some company you’d like me to get rid of?”

  Her nose and lips work like she wants to say something but can’t get it out. Then I see the tears start to form in her eyes and realize it’s her attempt not to cry. A surge of protectiveness washes over me, and it’s everything I can do to not push past her and throw the asshole out.

  I clear my throat, getting the harsh tone out before I speak. “Can I come in?”

  Her eyes dart behind her, and now I’m really ready to charge in and take control. Just when I’m about to break, she opens the door wider.

  I slip in, eyes engaging in an immediate breakdown of the situation. There’s large shards of ceramic — a broken vase, maybe? — scattered across the floor near the fireplace. But no man.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  She’s looking a little red-faced now, but that only seems to make her angrier. “My stupid fucking job, that’s what.”

  My damage control screeches to a halt with the sudden change of direction. “Problems at work?”

  “Oh, that’s a goddamn understatement.” She strides into the dining area, hostility in every step. The remnants of an unfinished meal sit on the table.

  I’ve never heard her curse like this before. I’ve also never seen this kind of fury on her — but I’ve seen it in the mirror. I know that type of rage intimately. It was the only thing that kept me going some days.

  She paces around the table. “My boss called me in to his office three days ago and said I was on suspension.”

  Emma has always spoken highly of her job at the hospital. If there was any trouble brewing, she didn’t mention it. “Why?”

  She picks up a glass of water from the table, and by the way she shifts it in her hand, I can tell she’s Jonesing to chuck it across the apartment. “I was suspended because he received an anonymous report that I’ve been stealing from patients.”

  “Stealing?” No way. Not Emma.

  “Yeah.” She lifts the glass to her mouth and tosses down the liquid as if it’s a shot of vodka.

  “Anonymous, huh? But they can’t fire you without proof.”

  “Oh, no.” She spins the empty glass as if hefting the weight, judging how far she can throw it. “They’ve been conducting an investigation,” she says, using air quotes, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

  “You said this was three days ago, your suspension?” I glance over to the fireplace hearth and the broken ceramic pieces then back to the anger etched into her face — it’s not three-day-old anger, it’s fresh. “So, what’s going on right now?”

  “I just got the fucking phone call that I’m officially fired.”

  “Oh.” Well, fuck.

  “Yeah,” she says, her nose flaring. “They searched my locker and found a collection of jewelry. Watches. Rings. Necklaces. Some of it monogrammed with patient’s initials. It matches stuff that’s been reported lost or stolen over the last two weeks.”

  My mouth opens, but I don’t know what the fuck to say that would be soothing. I’ve been keeping an eye on Emma for years — albeit from a distance — and I’m a damned good evaluator of character. Theft doesn’t fit with her at all.

  “I don’t know where the fuck that shit came from.” Her fingers press against the glass so hard, I worry she might shatter it.

  “I’m going to assume you’re not moonlighting as a jewel thief.”

  “Hell no. Other than those locker room towels — which was just a college prank and nothing more — I’ve never stolen anything in my life. And now I’m gonna lose my goddamn job over this bullshit.”

  “Go ahead,” I tell her.

  “What?”

  I nod to her hand. “Throw it.” I can see the desire in her face, to let it fly. To throw shit and break stuff and punch walls.

  “What?” Confusion crosses her face as she looks at the glass then back at me.

  “Too much of a lady?” I ask. It’s a risky gamble, but she’s a dam just waiting to burst. There’s only so many ways to let loose the kind of fury consuming her, and the sooner she gets it out the better.

  Her nose flares. “Of course not. It’s just… it’s not…”

  She’s right there on the verge. Time to push her right over. “Afraid you’ll throw like a little girl?”

  She narrows her eyes on me, and goddamn, that anger flashes bright. Good. Her lip curls just a little before she ratchets back her arm and lets go. The glass hits the wall and breaks into a dozen pieces.

  I lift the fork off the plate sitting on the table and hold it out to her. I point at the wide expanse of empty space. “The wall.”

  Emma shakes her head. “No way.”

  “It’s just a piece of drywall. Stab the shit out of it.”

  She accepts the fork and takes a few hesitant steps, eyeing the light blue paint. She wants to. She wants to demolish something, but well-ingrained social mores hold fast. “I can’t.” />
  “Maintenance needs something to do,” I suggest, but she still holds back. I take another dig at her. “It’s cheap to replace. Unlike you, I can afford it.”

  That does it.

  Her nostrils flare, and Emma stabs into the drywall with a powerful, overhand swing. The fork sticks, and she yells out in fury as she pulls at it, but she’s driven it in firm. I grab the butter knife from her plate and hold it out. She doesn’t miss a beat, leaving the fork where it is and going to town on a new spot on the wall. She brings that thing down again and again, marring the wall, but a spark of satisfaction begins to mingle with the anger. It’s working.

  “Goddamn boss covering his own ass,” she shouts as the drywall splits and crumbles around the knife.

  “Fuck him,” I reply, calm and even.

  “Goddamn bank bastards losing all my fucking money.”

  “Pieces of shit,” I agree.

  She’s wearing herself out a little now, slowing her strikes, but she’s still delivering fierce blows, and there’s a pile of blue chips and white chunks of drywall at her feet. “Goddamn motherfucker and his stupid fucking yacht.”

  I’m not sure where that came from, but some deeper stuff is obviously surfacing now, and she’s still cursing like a sailor, so I agree. “Fucker’s an asshole.”

  She stops suddenly and studies the knife in her hand. I’m halfway certain she’s ready to toss it at the wall like a dart when she turns and whips her arm in my direction, the knife pointed like an accusation as she narrows her eyes. “And you.”

  Emma’s looking at me now, fire in her eyes. Here we go. She’s not done yet. She needs to get this out, too. “Yeah, me.”

  “You’re a goddamn asshole, too.” Oh, she’s furious. And the angry tears are back now.

  I nod. “Fuck yeah, I’m an asshole.”

  “Just standing here in my apartment like there isn’t a thing wrong in the world, because you have more money than God.”

  “Pisses you right the fuck off, doesn’t it?”

  She laughs, tipping her head to the ceiling. “Wait! This isn’t even my apartment. It’s your apartment, and you’re just tickled shitless to have me under your watch, like some fucking kept woman.”

  I shrug calmly. “Seems like a fine arrangement to me.”

  Emma flings the knife down and takes two steps toward me, her chest out, fists balling up. “You’re so goddamn stone-faced all the time. Always in control, aren’t you? Always have the situation handled.”

  “Well, I know how to handle my business.”

  She raises her right arm, twisting her body. Now we’re talking. Emma swings forward and punches me square in the chest.

  This is in my wheelhouse. This is the kind of emotion I can understand. My gut turns for her. I know how this feels. The helplessness when a mission is spiraling out of control, trying my hardest to keep things together. The anger. The pain.

  She stands in front of me, chest rising and falling rapidly, but her eyes lose some of the luster, and I know she’s about to apologize. I can’t allow that. “You hit like a fucking pussy.”

  There it is.

  The snarl is back, and so is the cursing. Now she’s letting it all out. She comes at me with both fists now, a fury of slugs colliding with my chest and shoulders. I absorb them, knowing she’ll tire quickly.

  All I want to do is wrap my arms around her and hold her until the rage gives way to tears. It’s torture seeing her in this pain. But she doesn’t want saving. She wants to punch an asshole, and I’ll stand-in as that guy. I’m not good at soothing words and helpful suggestions. This is the most cathartic thing I have to offer.

  She strikes at least a dozen more times before slowing. An exhaustion of sorts is starting to set in, but the anger is still there.

  Seeing this side of her — this fierce heat welling up in her, the strength she holds at her core, it’s got me wound tight. I’m ready to stoke her fire in a different way. A way I’ve been yearning to since she wore that little black dress to the dance club. She set something off in me then that I haven’t been able to shut down, and now is precisely the time to let out some of my own pent-up aggression.

  I seize Emma by the wrists, and her eyes go wide as I back her up against the demolished drywall. I lean into her, asserting control of her body. Emma’s breasts heave with deep breaths, the motion causing her to rub against my chest.

  Lowering my head, I breathe her in. I can smell her fury seething off of every pore in her skin, but there’s something else there, too. Something that’s been haunting me. Fuck gentle and kind — I take her lips, pressing mine against hers with urgency.

  Emma lets out a startled cry that mixes with a moan. She relaxes, but only for a moment, before she stiffens again and jerks her wrists out of my hands, shoving me in the chest.

  “What the fuck was that?” she shouts — but I see that look in her eye. That fiery beckoning, daring me to tame her.

  I stride forward, grabbing her again. I apply more pressure this time, holding her wrists to the wall above her head, and she kisses me back with the kind of caged passion I long for.

  But it’s short lived. Emma bucks against me and makes a muffled sound of protest. I take my weight off her but keep her hands pinned right where they are.

  Fuck yes, the anger is alive in her eyes. “You’re such an asshole.”

  “Yes, I am.” I lean into her again, whispering in her ear. “And you want me to fuck you.”

  She opens her mouth in protest, but nothing comes out. Because it’s the truth, and she knows it. She just doesn’t want me to know it. She struggles against my grip, her breath coming out in gasps, but that look on her face — the desire rising to the surface, it’s undeniable.

  I slam her hands back against the wall, giving her the fight she needs so she can let go, give in. “Hard,” I tell her.

  Her body is trembling against me, her knees going weak under my touch. Emma pauses in her writhing for a moment, and right there — that’s what I want. Her lips part, and her eyes glaze over for a second, her eyelids lowering with lust, and some part of her gives, submitting to the intoxicating mix of anger and desire.

  Leaning in again, I kiss her with aggression, not even attempting to be gentle. And neither does she. Emma practically growls as she dives into the kiss, even though the rest of her body is still rebelling. She pulls at the grip I have on her wrist and bucks with her hips. I shift forward, my hard cock grinding between her legs. Emma growls again and rocks into me.

  I let go of her hands, and Emma is immediately pulling at my hair, pushing into me and deepening the ferocity of the kiss. I’m the one growling now as I pin her hips to the wall, thrusting against her, a fair warning for how rough this is going down.

  She eagerly accepts, reaching for my belt. She unbuckles it and pulls quickly, whipping it out of my belt loops with a wild look in her eyes. Then she kisses me again as she works the button loose and the zipper down — all without breaking from my lips. I groan into her as she reaches down the front of my pants and rubs her hand along my hard cock.

  Goddamn, I need to be inside of this woman. I need her tightness to envelope me, for her to ride me until we both come hard as a freight train. She’s tugging at my jeans, wrenching them down to get at my full erection, moaning in anticipation.

  Her breasts are heaving, and I want that damn shirt off so I can suck on those gorgeous tits of hers. I reach my hands up her shirt to get at her skin, and damn, does she feel good.

  “Get this fucking thing off,” I tell her.

  Emma leans back, ripping the shirt over her head. I go for her breasts, flipping the cups of her bra up, my hands massaging roughly. She unclasps her bra and arches into me as I lower to take a nipple between my lips. Satisfaction floods though me, and I need more. I open my mouth, sucking her breast in. Emma’s fingers splay through my hair, holding me to her as I suck and run my tongue over one nipple then the other.

  She’s crying out now, her hips bucking
into mine. The need to take her is overwhelming. She’s ready, and fuck if I can wait any longer. I need this woman.

  Stepping back, I pull my pants down my thighs, letting my cock free. Emma licks her lips at the sight, and it makes me hard as fucking steel. I snap my fingers and point at her, my voice gruff with desire. “Out of those jeans. Now.”

  She works at her button and then peels the denims off, kicking them from her ankles. I lift my shirt over my head, throwing it to the floor, and I’m back on her.

  Emma’s bare breasts rubbing against my chest sends electricity straight through me. I lean into her hard, pinning her body to the wall, my cock pressing between her legs. I claim her lips once more, and she moans for me, grinding her pussy against my hard shaft.

  I take her by the hips, unable to wait another second. Lifting her from the ground, I push Emma’s back firmly against the wall, and she wraps her legs around me, her thighs holding tight to my hips.

  Positioning my cock at her entrance, I feel that she’s soaking wet.

  “Do it,” she challenges with a growl. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

  The last word’s barely left her mouth when I thrust into her hard, gasping as I penetrate her, the sensation of her tight and hot around my cock threatening to overcome all my senses.

  Emma cries out from the rough entry and digs her nails into my skin. There’s no slow and gentle right now, only anger and longing and desire.

  I thrust again, just as hard, making her breasts bounce. And again, my hands clenched onto her ass as I drive into her faster.

  She’s panting with each breath. The look of pleasure on her face and the energy coursing through my veins drives me to pump my hips like I’m possessed, fucking her hard and fast against the wall.

  She digs her fingers into my shoulders, her nails scraping down my skin. I curse and let go of her ass, balancing her with my hips as I take her by the wrists, pinning her hands above her head. I clench my ass and tilt my pelvis, bending my knees to lean back so I can watch as I enter her hard and fast over and over.