Vested Interest
Page 1
Table of Contents
“Chapter 1”
“Chapter 2”
“Chapter 3”
“Chapter 4”
“Chapter 5”
“Chapter 6”
“Chapter 7”
“Chapter 8”
“Chapter 9”
“Chapter 10”
“Chapter 11”
“Chapter 12”
“Chapter 13”
“Chapter 14”
“Chapter 15”
“Chapter 16”
“Chapter 17”
“Chapter 18”
“Chapter 19”
“Chapter 20”
“Chapter 21”
“Chapter 22”
“Chapter 23”
VESTED INTEREST
A Reverse Harem Romance
by
Bethany Jadin
BOOK ONE of THE CODE
Copyright 2018 Bethany Jadin. All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any form by any means, without the authors’ permission, except for reviewers, who may quote short excerpts for the purpose of review.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and action come from the authors’ imaginations and are presented as fiction. Any resemblance to real individuals, alive or deceased, as well as events or locations, is coincidental.
All characters depicted are over the age of 18. This book is intended for mature audiences only.
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Table of Contents
“Chapter 1”
“Chapter 2”
“Chapter 3”
“Chapter 4”
“Chapter 5”
“Chapter 6”
“Chapter 7”
“Chapter 8”
“Chapter 9”
“Chapter 10”
“Chapter 11”
“Chapter 12”
“Chapter 13”
“Chapter 14”
“Chapter 15”
“Chapter 16”
“Chapter 17”
“Chapter 18”
“Chapter 19”
“Chapter 20”
“Chapter 21”
“Chapter 22”
“Chapter 23”
“Chapter 1”
1
Emma
I always regret it the morning after.
Three of the six meatloaves have already made their way into the trash — one burnt to a near unrecognizable char and another two were inedible thanks to my not-so-successful flavor experimentations. I’ve given the best two of the batch to our neighbor, Mr. Zapata, to take to his church’s Hungry Helpings program. The remaining meatloaf, which is passable but nothing to write home about, is in the fridge. Zoey and I will be eating meatloaf for breakfast, lunch, and dinner this week.
I survey the progress I’ve made so far.
Over the four years my roommate Zoey and I have lived here in this little apartment on Keswick Street, I’ve accumulated enough cookware to outfit a small restaurant. Roughly half of it is piled into the sink or sitting on the countertop, filled with water as the crusty bits soak.
Zoey would say I had a lot of stress to work out — but I just need something to do with my hands when I’m thinking through programming problems. The final layer of heuristics for the security software I’ve created is giving me a hard time, which means I’ve ended up in the kitchen a lot lately. There was a crazy good sale on ground beef at the store this week, so I went to town with making meatloaf.
I have all the spices back in their respective places in the cabinets, and I’m scrubbing at the drizzles of egg white which have dried into a hard shellac on the countertop when the apartment door opens and closes. Our apartment is small enough that I can hear the telltale clicking of the lock even from our bathroom, cluing me in whenever Zoey comes home from her shift at the hospital. She bounces into the apartment in pale pink scrubs, dropping her purse and grocery bags on the only two feet of counter I’ve scrubbed clean so far.
“Look! You have mail! You never have mail.”
I straighten my back with a wince, not realizing how hunched over I’ve been for the last hour. “Well, Zoey, this thing called the internet was invented back in the last century, and I know you’re slow to pick up on modern trends, but now days you can have your bills sent to you online, and there’s this nifty new way to communicate with people called email — you don’t even need a stamp. I should tell you about Facebook and Instagram sometime.”
She waves me off. “Yeah, yeah, maybe one day I’ll let you teach me all about that crazy futuristic stuff. But this—” she thwaps me on the forehead with a large, black envelope “—is not just any mail. Check it out!”
Now she has my attention. I take hold of the envelope. There is no To or From address, simply one line in gold lettering scroll. Selsford Institute Technology of Tomorrow Gala. My heart skips, stutters a beat, and begins to race. Dropping my scrub pad, I brush back a lock of hair that’s come out of my ponytail and tuck it behind my ear. I don’t dare to open it yet. I flip it over, inspecting the back, and still see no address for the postman. This envelope was hand delivered.
“How did you get this? There’s no address?”
My roommate kicks out of her Dansko Clogs with a sigh of relief. “It was in our mailbox.”
“But who put it there?”
“Who cares?” Zoey is staring at me with wide eyes. “This is the thingy, the event you’ve talked about, isn’t it?”
I nod, dumbfounded.
She squeals in delight and claps her hands together. “Are you going to open it?”
Part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me just wants to put it on a shelf, in a display frame, all nice and pretty. Since its inaugural conception, the SI Technology of Tomorrow Gala has been attended by only the most prestigious heads of industry and carefully selected up-and-coming innovators. It’s the kind of event that launches careers. Members vote on each and every invitation. How one of the famous black envelopes landed in my mailbox is a mystery.
I eyeball the soaking pans. “Well, it’s probably safe to assume they aren’t requesting my catering services, right?”
“Oh my God, open it already!” she squeals.
“Don’t get too excited; it’s probably a mistake. Or they’re doing some kind of charity fundraiser this year and want donations.”
I grab a butter knife and slip it under the envelope flap, not wanting to rip such a precious artifact like a barbarian. The flap pops free, and I take out the stiff parchment inside. My eyes fly over it, taking in all the words at one glance. It really is an invitation. Addressed to Emma Collins. Me.
“Holy shit.” I flip the card over, scanning for any clue of how this might have come to be.
“You’re in?!” Zoey sounds like she’s about to start jumping up and down like a five-year-old at a birthday party. “You’re invited?!”
“Yeah.”
“Yes! That’s awesome!” Zoey goes for an excited fist bump, but then sees the expression on my face and reconsiders. “Why aren’t you over the moon?”
“I think I’m in shock? I don’t understand how I got an invitation.”
“What do you mean, silly? Of course, you got invited! You said they always pick a few promising candidates, right? That’s you!”
“Yeah, but… this is huge, Zoey. The heads of all the prominent investment companies, recruiters for the biggest tech firms — this is the big event of the year they all make a point of attending. It’s like the
college playoffs, and all the NFL scouts are hovering around. Shit, it’s just... this could be a game changer.”
Zoey purses her lips in that smartass way she does. “Well, that is just terribly devastating news. I know how much you hoped to be an orderly at the hospital for the rest of your life.”
Even though I’m still stunned by the arrival of the invitation, Zoey rouses a snort and an eye roll out of me, and I shoot the sarcasm right back at her. “That is my dream, yes.”
I give the card another once over then peer into the envelope to see if any other slips of paper are in there. Anything to give me a clue as to who is responsible for this.
Zoey wraps her arms around me and gives me an excited hug, but I’m still too stunned to hold her back. “This is fantastic!” She lets go of me and twirls around, beaming from ear to ear. “I mean, this is the event that Jackass Jeremy sold the program at, isn’t it?”
And just like that, my mood darkens. “Yes. He hid the invitation from me for days. I should have known then that he had been angling to shoulder me out. He split a few days after the Gala. It was weeks before I figured out he’d sold our drone technology to the Department of Defense without me — and then agreed to a seven-figure bonus to help implement it.”
My roommate stands back and holds me at arms’ length. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up Jeremy.” She waves her hand dismissively and reaches in the fridge for a bottle of white wine. “Forget about him. You should be celebrating, not thinking about that asshat. This is supposed to be a good thing!”
It is, but my hackles are up now. “But I didn’t even know I was under consideration this year. Of all the great minds in the tech field and all the innovative work the university incubators are producing these days, why me?”
“It’s not like you’ve been keeping your work a secret. You’ve been talking about this code for years to anyone who would listen.” She gives me a wry smile. “Remember the night we met at the Sigma Kappa soiree? Middle of a wild post-exam blowout party, and you wouldn’t shut up about it.”
I grin sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry about that. Not much of a party animal, am I?”
She laughs. “You were pretty insufferable, but once I got a few beers in you, things turned around. You ended up dancing on the coffee table, remember?”
“Oh, good God, that’s right.” I cover my face with my hand. “That seems like a million years ago.”
“It was.” She makes a stern face and holds a fist to her chest. “Now, we’re serious adults with big bills and tough jobs,” she says in a deep, firm tone.
“So many bills.”
“But anyway, you never give yourself enough credit. You’ve given a bunch of presentations at tech conferences. I’m sure a lot of people have taken note of your accomplishments.”
I tuck the invitation back into the envelope and lay it carefully on the countertop. “I know, I just—” My line of thought comes to a halt when I notice the smile playing at the corners of my best friend’s lips. I narrow my eyes suspiciously. I know that look on her face. It’s the look Zoey gets right before she ropes me into something ridiculous. “Uh oh. What’s that look for?”
“I get to dress you!” She’s beaming with excitement. “Come on.”
“I’m not done with this mess,” I protest, motioning at the counters and dirty dishes.
“Nope, no more cleaning right now,” she says, pushing the scouring pad out of my reach. “I just finished a long ass shift at the hospital, and right now I wanna play fashion stylist for a few minutes. You’re my model, so the rest of this mess can wait until after we have some celebratory wine and a good rifle through my closet.”
I lick my lips as I survey the remnants of my cook-a-thon from last night. So maybe I was trying to cook away the stress. I hate being behind on my half of the rent. And not being able to figure out the last bits of the code.
Zoey follows my gaze and sends a wary eye over the pile of dishes in the sink then gives me a look. The mess answers for itself, but she’s still kind enough to ask, “How’s it going with the program? Any progress?”
I flash her a tight smile. “I finished another round of testing today, and it still needs some tweaks, but it’s getting close. The Gamma segment is still the one giving me the worst trouble, and I’m starting to get really nervous. So much is riding on this.”
She retrieves two wine glasses from the cabinet then turns back toward me. “You’ll have one of those flashes of brilliance, and the solution will come to you. You just need a little more time.”
“The moment I sell it, I’m whisking us off on a fabulous vacation — we’ll be sipping Mai Tai cocktails on a beach in the tropics as soon as I can get these kinks worked out.”
She smiles dreamily. “I want my own cabana boy, by the way. The strong, silent type. A sexy man to just rub my feet and bring me drinks all day long. God, I can’t wait. Is there anyone who could do some troubleshooting on it with you?”
I lean my elbows on the counter, watching appreciatively as Zoey pours me a glass of wine. “No one I trust. Jackass Jeremy has a yacht now, you know? A goddamn 165-foot yacht with an infinity pool. Half of that should be mine.”
Zoey purses her lips and shoves the cork back into the wine bottle with just about as much aggression as she ever displays. “Yeah, that guy’s an ass. I still can’t believe he took the program you two were working on and bolted.”
I seize the wine she’s poured me and take a huge swig. “Yeah, I should have listened to you,” I tell her when I come up for air. “Remind me of that next time I make flirty eyes at a cute guy who talks about code like he’s making love to it.”
Zoey sets the wine bottle down and giggles. “You have the weirdest turn-ons.”
“Are you kidding me? Smart guys are everywhere in this industry, right? But hot geeks? The kind that look so good wearing a suit that you just want to rip it off them? The guys with intelligence and smoldering good looks?” I slide my hand through the air in a swoop gesture. “My panties just slip right off. Can’t even control it. When a sexy guy starts talking about data and programming... mm-hmm...”
“Well, he seduced you, alright.” Zoey shakes her head with a frown. “And now he’s a mega-millionaire, and you’re baking meatloaf.” She clears her throat. “Lots and lots of meatloaf. But that’s okay — I’m thoroughly convinced jerkfaces like him get their comeuppance, luxury yacht and all.”
I down the rest of my glass in three big gulps and set it on the counter with a loud clink. “I’m over it.”
“Clearly,” Emma says. “But your new program is going to kick ass. Once you sell it, we’ll park your private cruise ship next to his cute little yacht and block out all his sunshine.”
I laugh, picturing him craning to look up as a massive ship pulls alongside him, dwarfing his fancy yacht, with Zoey and I standing on the top deck, giving him the middle finger. “That would be great.”
“I’ll add it to the When-We’re-Rich plan. But I still think you need to find someone who can help. You’ve been so close to finishing for a year now. I can see how much it’s bugging you.”
“It’s okay, I can do this myself.” I roll my shoulders back and stand tall. “The Gamma segment is problematic, but I know it’s nothing I can’t figure out myself; I just need a little bit longer, like you said. I’ve already made a lot of progress this month. It’s almost there.”
She smiles. “That’s awesome. You’ve poured your heart and soul into this thing; it’ll be great when it finally pays off. And then cabana boys, here we come!”
“Aruba, Jamaica, oh I want to take ya,” I sing as I pour myself another glass of wine and bump Zoey on the hip. “Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama…”
She grabs the bottle of wine and takes me by the elbow with a smile, steering me toward her bedroom. “Speaking of pretty, we need to find you something nice to wear to the Gala. You can borrow one of my sexy little dresses — something that will really grab the attention of the investor
s.”
I let her lead me away from the kitchen, but I shake my head. “No way, I want to be taken seriously, Zoey. I want the assets on display to be my intellect, not my boobs. I’ll just find a nice pantsuit to wear.”
My best friend stops in the hallway and gives me an exasperated look. “This is a black-tie affair, right? There is no way I’m letting you go in there wearing a hideous pantsuit.”
“Hey, I like pantsuits!”
She gives me a dubious expression. “You also like those worn-out gray sweatpants of yours and that awful sweater from the thrift store that should have died a quiet death back in the seventies.”
“What if I bedazzle the pantsuit? What if I cover it with glittery rhinestones?”
Zoey puts her hands to her face in horror. “Oh, God. Just stop talking — you’re killing me. There are fashion designers crying right now.”
As soon as we’re in her bedroom, Zoey opens up her closet and begins to peruse with a discerning finger. “Alright, nothing cut too low and nothing too short, I hear you. But I’ve seen your clothes. And I know you have nothing suitable—” she tosses her hair back and gives me a stern look over her shoulder “—with or without bedazzling. So, you gotta meet me in the middle.”
“Fair enough.” I flop on her bed, wineglass in hand, and watch her sort through the hangers.
She pulls out one of her more conservative dresses, a simple but elegant wine-colored evening gown, and glances at me. “How about this?”
As she spins it around, I notice the revealing cut-out in the back and the thigh-high slit up the side. It’s still racier than my taste, but admittedly it is much nicer than anything in my closet. “Hmmm, that could work.”
Zoey holds it up to me. “It’ll look great with your complexion. Really make those hazel eyes pop.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about with this event — if the dress doesn’t complement my skin tone and eye color, all will be lost.” I fling myself backward on the bed, wrist to my forehead in dramatic flair.