Vested Interest

by Bethany Jadin

Jax pushes a glass of ice water across the table to me and moves closer as I reach eagerly for the straw and take several long sips. I can’t help but notice the way Jax’s shirt catches tightly around the muscles of his arms and across his chest as he moves. My eyes fall to his left wrist where the dark curl of his tattoo is barely visible. With Trigg coaxing me ever closer to ecstasy, it’s all I can do to keep my hands on my icy glass of water and not rip that shirt off Jax so I can trace that tattoo with my fingers and then my lips.

  The pounding grows louder, as if it’s coming from the next booth over, and I can’t quite put my finger on why it’s such a familiar beat. What is that? But the guys don’t seem to notice, and Trigg’s talented fingers are working utter magic on my clit. I’m so wet, I know I’m soaking through to my dress. Thank God it’s black fabric and the club is dimly lit.

  Jax raises his hand to my cheek, stroking it gently with the back of his fingers. “You have the most gorgeous eyes. I can’t tell if they’re green or brown. They change color with the light, don’t they?”

  “Hazel,” I manage to say breathily as Trigg’s massage and Jax’s caress threaten to send me over the edge.

  To hell with it – why not just go for it? I slide my ass forward across the seat of the booth, tilting my pelvis up, pressing into Trigg’s touch. I lean back against the back cushion, revealing my bare thighs to Jax. I flash a glance at my legs and look back at him quickly, in time to watch his eyes lower. He raises an eyebrow when he catches sight of Trigg’s hand buried under the hem of my dress, then this delicious smile curls across his lips, and his eyes light up.

  The banging returns, insistent and loud, and I turn to look at Trigg, alarmed, but his expression hasn’t a care in the world — he’s just inches away, licking his lips, his eyes filled with desire. I part my lips, and he lowers his face to mine, kissing me lightly, teasingly, ever so slowly and sensuously. I feel Jax’s hands on me — one sliding across my shoulder, entwining his fingers into the hair at the base of my neck, the other playing at the edge of my panties, a finger running under the elastic band.

  Trigg lifts his lips off mine, and I open my eyes to see the guys sharing a devious look. A second later, Jax wraps a strong arm around me, lifting me up a few inches as Trigg works my panties off.

  I gasp as the fabric slides across my ass and down my thighs, but I don’t have time to protest — even if I wanted to — because Jax turns my chin to him and devours me with hungry kisses as Trigg’s hand returns to its previous position.

  As soon as his fingers make contact with my bare skin, a shiver of white-hot pleasure runs through me, straight from my clit to my hardening nipples, and I moan, leaning my head back as Jax’s kisses work down my chin and across my neck, nibbling, biting, sucking.

  “Emma!” someone calls from the distance, but I’m too far gone to give it any attention. I grab at Jax and Trigg as a shudder rocks through my body, my hands twisting into fists against the fabric of their dress shirts as a powerful orgasm sweeps across my body, lighting up every nerve like lines of gunpowder racing to an explosive finish.

  “Ooooh!” The cry escapes me louder than I intended, but I hardly care at this point. My entire body tightens, contracting into a bundle of energy before releasing, the muscles in my legs and stomach vibrating, leaving me gasping for breath as both Trigg and Jax shower me with soft kisses on my neck and shoulders.

  Through the blissful delirium of my climax, I hear my name being shouted urgently again, and the banging begins once more, this time so loud it startles me.

  I sit bolt upright, chest heaving, my body covered in a fine layer of sweat, my hands and legs shaking.

  “Emma! Wake the hell up!”

  “What?” I yell, bewildered at where Jax and Trigg have disappeared to and why I’m suddenly horizontal. Did I miss the good stuff? I rub my eyes, and the familiar surroundings of my bedroom come into focus.

  Fuck me, it was just a dream.

  Zoey’s frustrated voice comes through the closed door of my room. “Your alarm clock’s been going off for twenty minutes! You’re going to be late!”

  Jerking to the right, I squint at the alarm clock, my eyes still blurry. The same song I could have sworn was playing at the dance club just now is blaring at full blast. The glowing green numbers stare back at me judgmentally. Oh shit!

  “Crap!” I yell, slapping the alarm off. I throw the covers to the side and jump out of bed. “I overslept!”

  Zoey snorts through the door. “No kidding, I kinda figured that out!”

  “Thank you for getting me up!” I yell, frantically digging through my closet for a fresh set of scrubs.

  “You must have had one hell of a night last night — and I expect to hear all about it after work!”

  “Sure!” I shout, even though there isn’t much to share since, apparently, the raciest part of the evening happened while I was asleep.

  I was so worked up last night that fantasy dreamland must have taken over as soon as I hit the sheets. But I don’t have time to linger on my vivid dream right now, no matter how tempted I am to crawl back into bed and let my imagination carry me away again.

  Jerking open the top drawer of my dresser, I grab a clean bra and underwear and practically run to the bathroom for a fast shower, doing a rough calculation in my head. If I skip breakfast and manage to beat all the traffic lights, I can still make it to work on time.

  12

  Trigg

  I make my way down the hall, wishing I could whisk her away to a better place.

  Not that the apartment building Emma and her roommate live in is a dump. It’s just like a thousand other apartment buildings in this city. A bit run down because of an absent landlord, dirt accumulating in the corners of the public spaces due to lackluster housekeeping, and that mix of uncertain neighbors who come with the kind of rent most find affordable.

  I watch the apartment numbers as I progress, noting the doors are too close to one another for my taste and that I can hear the occasional angry shout from the interior of one of the rooms down the hall. It feels like the apartments are squeezed in on top of one another with paper-thin walls between them. I remind myself it’s probably a normal sized apartment, just not what I’m used to. At least, ever since I moved out of the enlisted men’s barracks in the Marines. Talk about being able to hear everything. I finally make it to 314 and reposition the folder under my arm. I knock, and it’s only a moment before Emma’s roommate opens the door. I’m immediately concerned, because there’s worry on her face, but it seems to melt a bit when she sees me.

  “You must be Trigg. I recognize you from the website and magazine articles.”

  I lift the folder full of paperwork up for her to see and give her a friendly smile. “That’s me. I have some papers for Emma.”

  “I’m Zoey. Come in, please.” She swings the door wide and steps aside.

  I ease through the doorway and step into their living room. Sure enough, the apartment is the size I thought it would be. Not small, I tell myself. Homey. Quaint, even. The ladies have good taste, and it shows by how well they’ve transformed their little place into a home. But that’s not what catches my eye.

  To the right of the doorway is the kitchen, where Emma is in a flurry. She seems to be unpacking the entire contents of the cabinets and refrigerator onto the counters. I look back at her roommate. “Did I catch you ladies in the middle of some early spring cleaning?”

  She shakes her head with a frown. “No, Emma’s just cooking.”

  I lean toward her roommate for a confidential tone. “Is everything okay?”

  Zoey scrunches her lips sideways and gives me a shrug. “Maybe she’ll talk to you? I’ve been trying to get it out of her, but she’s doing this thing where she avoids the problem.”

  I nod with understanding and advance toward the kitchen. “Hey, Emma.”

  She jumps, nearly dropping a bag of sugar. “Oh, Trigg.”

  Emma’s distracted, and it’s obvious her mind is som
ewhere more distant. I hold up the folder. “The guys and I wrote up the details on some of the changes we were talking about at the club. The advance and the...”

  She’s turns back away from me and opens a can of sardines. “Thanks. I’ll look them over.” Her voice is just as distant as her mind.

  I look for an empty spot on the counter, but it’s an exercise in futility — nearly every inch is covered with ingredients or cookware. I’m relieved from the fruitless search by her roommate, who reaches a hand out. I give her the folder of papers, relinquishing my excuse for coming here today, and turn my attention over to the real reason for my visit. Emma. She’s combining the sardines and sugar in a small mixing bowl. She has the same look Daniel gets when he’s deep in thought on a problem — completely in a different world — but I suspect she isn’t running through code like he usually is. Something else is going on.

  “Hey there,” I say, laying a hand on her shoulder. The tension in her muscles is apparent.

  “Hi.” She gives the reply on automatic pilot without looking up.

  I move closer and lay my other hand over hers, making her cease shifting the sugar onto the sardines. “Wanna stop a minute and talk to me? What’s going on?”

  She freezes, but doesn’t look at me. “Nothing, I just have this great idea for fruitcake.”

  I look in the bowl again. “Uh, fruitcake doesn’t have sardines.”

  “It could. It would balance the sweetness. Who doesn’t like sweet and salty?”

  “Emma.” I gently turn her to face me. “Come on. Tell me what’s really happening.”

  Her eyes dart behind me, toward her roommate, then back to my face. “It’s my bank account.”

  “Okay. Go on.” I nod encouragingly.

  “I called, but they don’t know what happened. Everything’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, everything?”

  “All my money. My account has nothing in it. I just got paid yesterday. It was there.”

  She looks down at the counter, her lip quivering, as I try to piece together what she’s telling me. “So, someone stole your debit card, or...?”

  Her eyes flicker up to mine and then to my chest. She shakes her head in defeat. “They said it might be a security breach, a hack of some kind. My account was one of the few affected, or maybe the only one, I don’t know. They didn’t want to give me many details, because they’re still investigating. But so far, there’s no trace where the money went. No transaction. Nothing.”

  I try to make sense of it, but I know that’s not how a hack works. There’s no reason to take just a tiny bit of information — with a security breach, hackers go for as much data as possible — that’s what makes the package worth money on the black market. And even if this was just a highly targeted money grab, I’m pretty sure Emma’s balance was modest, at best. It’s not the sort of account cyber thieves would want to target to siphon funds from.

  Her shoulders rise as she draws in a deep breath, pulling my attention back to her. She doesn’t need me to solve the logistics right now; she needs an ally, a friendly shoulder to lean on. “What can I do? How can I help?”

  Emma shakes her head, nothing. Then she lets out the breath in one go and looks past me again. “The check I wrote you for the rent is going to bounce. I’m so sorry, Zoey.”

  Her roommate joins us in the kitchen. There’s a mixed bag of turmoil playing out on Zoey’s face, but she lays a comforting hand on the small of Emma’s back. “It’s okay. I know you’re trying your hardest. It’s not like you could have helped this.”

  I step back to give the two friends a moment. I could solve the problem instantly with the quick transfer of some funds, but I’m holding back because I don’t want to overstep my bounds. It would probably come across as taking charge if I tried to ride in like a knight in shining armor. Emma strikes me as a strong-willed woman who’s determined to be self-sufficient. I would never want to undermine that bootstraps resilience of hers.

  “This is so unfair for you,” she says to Zoey.

  “Hey, we help each other out.” Her roommate’s voice is compassionate, and I’m already liking her. “That’s what friends do.”

  Emma gives her friend a small smile. “Thanks, but I don’t feel like I’m doing much in the helping department lately.”

  “Shut up,” Zoey snorts. “You always come pick me up when I have a late shift so I don’t have to take the transit home. And you make the world’s best quiche.”

  I resist the urge to interject that she better not tell Gunner that. He’d be proposing to her tomorrow if it meant an endless supply of the world’s best quiche.

  “Oh, God,” Emma says, looking at the items strewn across the counters. “What am I thinking? I shouldn’t be getting all this stuff out. We can’t afford a cook-a-thon right now.”

  Emma opens the nearest cabinet and begins to load ingredients back in, but Zoey seizes the bags and bottles and places them back on the counter. “No. Cook away — you need to. I’ll open a bottle of wine and keep you company. I need a good diversion tonight, anyway, my shift today was hell. Just... use less salt this time.”

  “The salt’s in the sardines.”

  “Ahem. No sardines. Unless you’re making Caesar dressing from scratch.

  The women face off silently, squinting at each other, and I can see the volume of vocabulary communicated in the way they purse their lips to hold back laughter. It’s almost as uncanny as the twin thing Jude and Jax have going on.

  I gesture to the folder Zoey still holds. “You know, the apartment we mentioned during the meeting, it’s strings-free. It’s a standard agreement we offer to promising developers through our CodeRight program — it’s yours for six months, whether or not you end up selling to us. And, it’s a two bedroom, so Zoey would have space as well.”

  Zoey’s eyebrows lift. “You didn’t mention that part of the deal.”

  “I know.” Emma rubs at the back of her neck. “I’ve had a lot to think about, and then the bank called this morning, and…” she trails off with a frustrated shrug.

  “Just consider it,” I suggest encouragingly. “Free rent...”

  Emma takes another deep breath and bites her lip. “Well, the thing is, I’ve received a really good competing offer. It wouldn’t feel right to accept an apartment from Pentabyte if I’m still looking at other proposals.”

  I’m pretty sure I know who the offer is from, but I keep my opinions about them to myself. “You should shop around. It’s smart.”

  Her eyes dart to me and then to the folder Zoey’s laid on top of the flour and baking soda. “They offered living space, too. With a research lab already set up.”

  I push back the urge to tell her how unwise that is. I don’t want to sound like I’m giving her a lecture. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s savvy enough to know not to use another programmer’s equipment when working on proprietary information. “You should consider that offer as well, just... be careful.”

  Uncertainty flashes over her features, and she retreats back to that distant place. “I’m not sure what I want to do yet. I know you say it doesn’t, but nothing is actually free. Everything has strings attached.”

  “My help definitely has strings. So many strings,” Zoey agrees with a grin. “I’m just collecting points so I can cash them in for some sexy cabana boys soon.”

  That brings Emma back to the here and now, and she smiles big for the first time since I walked in. She pokes Zoey feistily. “You’re going to be smothered in cabana boys.”

  I hold my hands out to the side, laying myself open. “Hey, take a good look at the other offer. But accepting the apartment from us isn’t going to obligate you in any way to sell your software to us, I promise.”

  Emma and Zoey look at me, the same interested but hesitant expression in their eyes.

  “I tell ya what, we won’t even bring it up,” I say, my tone serious. “Nothing mentioned whatsoever about your program, unless you want to talk to us. The guys a
nd I started the CodeRight program because we hate to see brilliance go to waste and unfortunate circumstances delay technological advancements. A lot of young programmers are in your situation, just trying to pay the bills, and their projects go on the backburner.”

  Zoey gives Emma a glance, and I can tell she’s on board with the idea. Emma doesn’t look so sure.

  “Excuse us for a second,” she says, tugging on Zoey’s arm.

  “Of course,” I say as Emma heads out of the kitchen, Zoey following close behind.

  13

  Emma

  “You know, some would consider it bad manners to leave a guest alone with a bowl full of sardines.”

  I ignore Zoey’s attempt at humor as I shut my bedroom door. “What do you think?”

  She shrugs. “It’s you they’re offering the apartment to.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not going anywhere without you. If I take one of these companies up on their offer, there’s no way I’m moving there by myself.”

  Zoey plops down on my bed, bouncing with the old springs. “Well, this would help our financial situation. You wouldn’t have to be stressed about the rent situation.”

  “True. That’s a major point in the pro column.” I begin to pace. “BHC’s apartment is really nice from the pictures they showed me, but the offer to use their equipment? How stupid do they think I am? And how do I know Pentabyte isn’t going to want the same kind of setup?”

  Something just isn’t sitting right with me. I haven’t wanted to bring it up since I received the call from the bank this morning, but random bank accounts being drained isn’t normal. Not by a long shot. Neither do I think it’s coincidental that it came the night before my rent was due to come out — or that I have two companies ready to come galloping to my rescue.

  I stop pacing and plant my hands on my hips. “I guess the issue for me is, what’s the catch, you know?”

  “Hey, this isn’t a Jackass Jeremy situation,” Zoey says. It’s like she can read my mind. She gestures in the general direction of our kitchen. “These guys don’t even want to talk about your code. You heard Trigg, the CodeRight grant is separate from their offer.”