It took some time for all the paperwork to make its rounds between the HR staff and Disciplinary Committee members and then through the union appeals, but the last signature was added this morning, and I’m officially chopped liver.
Zoey clanks my glass. “May the fucker who put that shit in your locker go blind of syphilis.”
Cora, bless her heart, joins in. “And develop oozing boils.”
“And go completely bald in a fortnight,” Callie adds.
“What if it’s a woman?” I ask.
“Especially if it’s a woman,” Callie insists.
I can drink to that. We all tip back our shots then clunk the glasses back down on the well-worn table of our corner booth. I could drink to just about anything right now with the kind of foul mood I’m in. Not that I was holding out any hope for keeping my job once the so-called evidence was discovered in my locker, but the very thought that this kind of dismissal is on my permanent work record... it has me ready to play dart grenades on the ass of whoever framed me.
Zoey looks me over with an uncertain expression. I give her a tight, completely unconvincing smile, and she raises her hand for the cute waiter. “We need another round, please.”
The cute guy gives us a quick nod and what should be a dazzling smile — at least the other girls look dazzled — then heads off to the bar to place the order.
The girls watch him go, eyeing his equally hot backside, but I slump back against the booth, feeling like the Grinch around a bunch of cheerful Whos. “He’s not that cute.”
“Well, maybe not to you. Not when you have five even hotter guys tripping over themselves for the foxy lady,” she says with air quotes and a big, sassy smirk.
Cora’s eyebrows go up immediately. “The foxy lady?”
I shrug as casually as I can and shoot Zoey a look that says shut up. “It’s just a nickname Gunner made up.” I know she’s only trying to lighten my mood, but I don’t want her spilling the beans about the guys to Callie and Cora. I don’t mind them knowing, eventually, maybe. But I’ve not been in the mood to talk — or even think — about my involvement with the guys that way, not since I realized my life’s been falling apart ever since they came onto the scene.
“Grumpy much?” Zoey shoots back with a playful jab, always trying to keep things cheerful. I love her to pieces, but right now there is little hope of anything pulling me out of this funk. Not unless my bank account balance and job are miraculously returned to me. Not knowing who’s behind this derailment of my life, I’m seeing hidden motives and shifty agendas everywhere.
“Well, there’s been a lot of shitty things happening lately, hasn’t there?” I say grimly, spinning my shot glass around on the table. It reminds me of the afternoon with Jude, after I smashed the glass against the wall and the furious, passionate, mind-blowing sex that followed. My traitorous heart skips a beat at the memory, and that pisses me off even more.
My roommate gives me one of those small, lopsided, empathetic smiles. “When it rains, it pours?”
“Funny how it all seems to have started when I got invited to that Gala and started hanging out with certain people.”
A glance passes between the other women, and an uncomfortable silence settles over the table. I know I’ve been a real peach to be around the last few days, but Zoey has been wonderful. Even Cora and Callie have been great. They’ve been an unexpected source of friendship. Over the last few weeks, we’ve texted and chatted on the phone, but this is only the third time they’ve hung out with me and Zoey for a girl’s night, and so far I’m killing any of the good first impressions I might have made.
I offer them an apology. “I promise, I’m normally a lot more fun than this.”
Callie shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. I got fired from my first job out of college because the bartender was stealing out of the tip jar, and the owner was convinced it was me. I wanted to punch them both in the nose. Kinda wish I had.”
“Oh, yeah,” Cora says. “She was a jerk for a couple weeks straight.”
“Hey,” Callie protests.
Cora shrugs unapologetically. “What? You were.”
The cute waiter is back with a tray of four Cupcake shots. All the girls’ attention is taken for the moment, and I rub at my eyes, trying to clear my head of all the poisonous thoughts.
Zoey lifts her shot glass. “To cabana boys.”
Okay, that makes me smile. We all repeat the salutation and kick back our drinks.
Cora pats at her lips with a napkin before asking, “It sounds like you’re getting some companies into a bidding war; that’s good for you, isn’t it?”
I push my two empty shot glasses together, apart, together again and then turn them upside down. “Normally. But I don’t think my recent misfortunes are a coincidence.”
“You think someone’s doing this to you on purpose? Why would they do that?” Cora reaches for her ice water and takes a sip while looking at me curiously.
“It’s the dirty, dark secret of the industry. No one talks about it much — I mean, occasionally something makes the news, but it’s just the ugly side of how tech works. Companies can be really underhanded in their tactics.”
Callie raises her eyebrows in surprise. “And this is just… par for the course?”
“No, no. Not always. But it happens. I mean — there are what — like, a hundred thousand movies and bookshelves full of thrillers about this sort of thing? It’s not all fiction.”
Cora tips her head. “What makes you think that’s the case now?”
I take a deep breath and try to explain. “Take my apartment, for example. My bank account is drained, and my rent bounces. Things are suddenly looking pretty grim. And then, miraculously I have not one but two companies ready to come to the rescue with living arrangements? Pretty serendipitous, isn’t it? And you know, I’d be pretty grateful to a company willing to help me out like that, wouldn’t I?”
Cora looks uncomfortable. “You don’t think the guys would do something like that, do you?”
Now I’m really feeling bitchy. “They’re great. They’ve been nothing but positive. Too damn positive and agreeable, to be honest.” It’s me gesturing the waiter back over this time. I’m going to regret this in the morning, but it’s not like I’ll be showing up to work with a hangover. “I’ve been fooled by a guy before. Jackass screwed me like you wouldn’t believe it, and I never saw it coming.”
“Emma, it’s not—”
“So yeah,” I cut my roommate off, giving her a sideways look. “It sounds really pessimistic, I know, but look at it from the outside. Just from a purely logical point of view. Is it not possible I’m falling right into a set-up? Keep me close, pull me away from other companies, provide me with everything I want while cutting me off from my own money and my job? Basically, look like the good guys while undermining my independence and the ability to pay my own way. I’d be pretty pliant and desperate to sell, wouldn’t I?”
“Another round?” the waiter asks.
“Yes.” We all answer the poor guy in unison.
“I know how it looks,” Zoey says. “And I know you’ve been burnt, but I hated Jackass from the beginning — he never gave me good vibes. I didn’t trust him from the get-go. But I really like the guys. Maybe it’s not all as coordinated as you think. Shit happens.”
“Yeah, it sure does,” Callie says. “I had my credit card used in Russia a few months ago. Four thousand dollars on an internet gambling site.”
“My bank froze my account last year because I was trying to buy cat sweaters in Paris,” Cora adds.
Zoey squints at her. “Sweaters for cats, or sweaters made of cats?”
Cora laughs. “I have no idea. I’ve never been to Paris. I don’t know what they do with their cats.”
The waiter returns with our shots, and we all sit in silence, staring at them, trying to come up with something to cheer.
“I know Jax has alluded to having some sort of dark past,” Callie says. �
�He doesn’t talk about it much, but I’m pretty sure it was the kind of stuff you’re talking about. Even then... I really don’t see him doing something like this. Not anymore. And not to you, for sure.”
Across the table from me, Cora nods emphatically. “Yeah, seriously — under those tattoos, he’s a sweetheart through and through. Jax really likes you. I swear, he mentions you every time we run into him.”
I sigh, conceding their points. They’re making sense, but I’m not sure how convinced I am. “You’re probably right. I’m just too frustrated to think clearly.” I take up my shot glass. “Maybe it’s all coincidental, and life just likes fucking with me.”
“I hope that’s not what we’re drinking to,” Zoey says. “We need something better than that.”
We stare into the center of the table, and I rack my brain for a bright spot. “One good thing is coming out of all this. I need to knuckle down on the code and accept one of these offers. Whatever’s going on, I’m going to need the money real soon, free rent or not.”
“Daniel.”
I look at Callie. “Hmm?”
“Talk to Daniel,” she says. “He’s the techy brain of the company. He’s the one to talk to if you really want the nuts and bolts of what Pentabyte is willing to pay for your... thing.”
Daniel. Maybe Callie’s right. I’m sure he knows exactly how much my program is truly worth. Maybe I need to spend some time with him and see if I can pick up on what their bottom line is — and if they’ve been hiding any nefarious tricks up their sleeves. We both speak Geek as our first language. If the guys have anything to do with the fuckery happening in my life, maybe I can get Daniel going on one of his excited conversations about coding and he’ll slip up and say too much.
“Oooh! I know!” Callie says, lifting her glass. “To your yeast.”
Zoey and Cora join me in giving Callie a questioning look. Cora nudges her sister. “What on earth are you going on about?”
“You know — the yeast is the software. The whole analogy thing we talked about at the Gala?”
“Oh! I remember now. I just thought you’d finally lost your damned mind,” Cora says with a laugh.
Yeah, I like these girls. Despite my black mood, I’m laughing again, knowing how it must sound for a table full of women to be cheering about something that most definitely sounds like a raging infection in the nether regions, but I don’t give a shit what anyone else outside this little group thinks right now.
I raise my glass, feeling light-hearted for the first time tonight. “To my yeast.”
7
Daniel
I can’t wait to see her in the dress.
When Emma asked if we could speak business, one on one, I put together a great evening. Top treatment. Pulling out all the stops. No client is going to be able to say they’ve been better treated than Miss Emma Collins. Of course, while I was deciding on the game plan, my thoughts weren’t on business. They were on my excitement over getting to spend an evening with Emma.
About halfway through making reservations, I’d had a sobering thought — Emma probably didn’t have the kind of evening dress a fine night out like this would entail. She’d dropped hints about borrowing her roommate’s gown for the Gala, and I didn’t want to burden her by making her feel like she had to buy a nice dress for this meeting. Especially since she’s just lost her job.
So, I bought one for her. A beautiful full-length emerald green gown with a beaded bodice and flowing lines that are flattering but not revealing. I also picked out a black velvet wrap to cover her exposed arms if she gets chilly.
I wait in the lobby of the apartment building, adjusting the cummerbund of my tux for the dozenth time. There are plenty of people coming and going at this hour of the evening, but Emma catches my eye immediately. I smile, and excitement surges through me — but then — my heart drops. She’s wearing a lovely dress, but it’s not emerald green.
She didn’t like it. Or maybe I misjudged, and it didn’t fit. I had the measurements from when I ordered her motocross outfit for her outing with Gunner, but maybe track gear doesn’t translate to dress sizes properly.
“You look stunning,” I tell her when she draws near.
“Thank you.” She tips her head civilly, but there’s opposition in her eyes.
“I apologize if the dress I sent wasn’t to your liking.”
Emma’s looking a little peaked, and her words come out tight. “The dress was beautiful, and I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m more comfortable in this.”
It’s clear I’ve over-stepped my bounds — the gift was too heavy-handed, too assuming. Probably came off as controlling, which means I really screwed up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just thought it would look great on you. If you’d like, I’ll have it returned.”
Emma’s shoulders relax a bit, and she lets out a rush of breath as if she’s been holding it. “That would be good.”
I wave to the revolving glass doors ahead of us. “Shall we?”
“Sure,” she says with another civil tip of her head.
I extend my arm, and Emma hesitates, but she takes it. We move through the lobby together, and if I were as flexible as Trigg, I’d be kicking myself. Emma is tense tonight, with a cool demeanor.
I don’t know why I was expecting anything different. She asked for a business meeting — I’m the one who got carried away making grand plans. The entire time, I was thinking of the Emma Collins who was eating chocolate-covered cherries on my kitchen counter, not the Emma Collins who is selling a potentially multi-million-dollar product to my company.
Gliding through the moving doors, I mentally run through our itinerary for the evening.
Shit.
I’ve set this outing up as though it’s a date. It’s too late to hide the champagne and bouquet of roses in the back of the limo. As soon as we’re tucked inside, I’m supposed to be whisking her away to an intimate concert with a world-renowned violinist who has specifically designed his set list to include some of his most moving, heart-stirring pieces — at my request.
What was I thinking?
Sure, I drink champagne with clients, and I take groups out to events for the purpose of schmoozing and socializing as part of the business, but not quite like this. Not when it’s just a woman alone with me on the way to a private concert then a candlelit dinner for two at the most romantic five-star restaurant in the city.
Just keep it professional. I repeat it to myself over and over as we walk in silence. She wants to talk business. I will talk about nothing but.
As we approach the limo waiting at the curb, I reorient myself to thinking of our evening as purely a meeting with a potential seller and ease us into a conversation — about work, of course. “I trust your new office is fully functional, and you’ve been hard at it?”
It’s the most expensive place in town, and it shows. The tables are placed far enough apart that no conversations are overheard. Light classical music plays softly overhead. The portion sizes are about the size of a silver dollar, and the waitstaff knows every ingredient and wine pairing by heart.
Our meal was exquisitely prepared and presented, but I barely tasted any of it. A shadow has hung over what I’d hoped would be a truly magical evening, and nothing has been as appetizing as it normally would be, not with the distance I see in Emma’s body language and clipped words tonight.
We’ve changed to a ruby port for our dessert of chocolate truffles, and the waiter displays the label for approval before he uncorks it. I exchange a glance with Emma, and she flashes me a polite smile.
I know she isn’t used to dinners like this, and although I can tell she’s impressed with both the ambiance and the quality of the meal, it’s been a bit awkward to interact in a strictly professional manner while in a setting so obviously designed for a much more amorous engagement. I’m hoping she’ll forgive me for getting swept away with romantic notions in the planning of our evening. I’ve stuck to nothing but busi
ness topics, and it seems to have put her at ease a bit as the evening has progressed.
The waiter pours us both a taste, and I swirl the liquid before taking a sniff and a small sip. Emma watches me then does the same.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“It’s delicious.” She’s relaxed a bit, and there is more warmth in her expression now, but she’s still guarded.
Zoey told us about Emma’s being officially let go from the hospital — an awful situation that seems extremely unfair. I can’t imagine Emma stealing from patients. But it seems something else has happened… something that’s driven a wedge between us since I last saw her. She’s not forthcoming with details, however, and I know better than to pry with the closed-off signals she’s putting out tonight.
I nod at the waiter, and he tops off our glasses before he leaves us, backing away with a slight bow.
Taking a gamble, I venture into non-business conversation. “I wasn’t sure of your music taste. I hope the concert was to your liking... or at least, in the ballpark?”
Her smile remains, but it’s the gracious type. “Generally, I don’t listen to classical music, or solo performances for that matter. But, I know Baldicchi by name. I’m not sure I could have identified any of his pieces before tonight, but he’s very talented. It was beautiful. Thank you.”
“I knew I should have gone with Eminem tickets.”
Emma laughs, and it lifts my spirits, because it’s the first time she’s done so all night. “That would not have been in the ballpark, either. Between the two, I’d rather listen to Baldicchi. It really was an honor to hear him play in person.”
“Yes, he’s very reclusive and rarely makes a public appearance. It used to be that hardly anyone would know of his status until he showed up at a recording studio. But now he’s able to record from home, which makes it that much more difficult for the public to keep up with him, but it’s quite a comforting thing for many artists.”
Hidden Agenda: A Reverse Harem Romance (The Code Book 2) Page 6