Vested Interest

by Bethany Jadin

  “No. I was making a lasagna recipe. I’m sorry for the trouble — I just set the oven timer wrong.” I bite my lip. “You didn’t call the fire department, did you?” Please, say no.

  “No, we came down to check things out ourselves first,” Jude says from the foyer, tapping on a small screen inset into a wall panel.

  The alarms stop, and I can finally hear myself think again. “How did you get here so quick? You came down from where?” My ears are still ringing, and I’m trying to make sense of everything I just witnessed.

  “We live in the penthouses on the top floors,” Jude says, his body at ease now, his inspection of my apartment concluded.

  Oh, hell. They not only own the building, they also live here. I glance at the kitchen where the cloud of smoke is slowly starting to disperse, feeling like I’m the kid who just peed in the pool at a fancy party.

  Trigg reappears, joining us from the bedroom hallway. “And what’s going on with that?” I point at the pistol he’s now holding casually at his side.

  When he sees the look on my face, Trigg puts the safety on and tucks the weapon behind his back. “Sorry. I have a permit for it. It’s just a precaution.”

  “Precaution for what?” I look from Trigg to Jude, my jaw hanging open in bewilderment. “What was that? You guys just rolled in here like a SWAT Team doing a hostage rescue.”

  Jude clears his throat and avoids making eye contact. “Sorry, old military habits die hard.”

  I motion at the mess in the entryway. “I mean, Gunner broke the door, for godssake.”

  “Christ. I’m sorry.” Gunner pulls at the haphazardly hanging door, trying to realign the one hinge that is still connected. He gives up and takes his phone from his pocket. “I’ll get maintenance up here right away.”

  “Tell them we’re going to need a whole new door and frame,” Jude tells him. “How the hell did you knock it down, anyway? It’s supposed to lock automatically with a deadbolt.”

  Gunner rubs his shoulder, holding the phone up to his ear with a grin. “Wasn’t easy. Took two running hits to get it down.”

  I’m still startled and gob-smacked, not knowing how to take it all in when I feel Trigg’s hand on my arm. I look up at him, and he touches my cheek gently.

  “Hey, we didn’t mean to scare you. We were all in a meeting, and when we saw the alarm was coming from your apartment, we assumed the worst.”

  I mull that over for a second, eyeing him quizzically. I don’t want to, but I ask, “The worst?”

  Jude’s gives Trigg a hard stare, and I notice a look passes between the four guys. Trigg lowers his head as if he’s been reprimanded.

  “What?” I glance from Trigg to Jude and then at Jax and Gunner. They dart their eyes at one another again, but no one speaks up. A wisp of fear rises in my chest. “What is it?”

  Daniel speaks up as he walks over to join us from the kitchen. “It doesn’t look like your bank situation was a programming glitch or a random hack. We think someone’s trying to put pressure on you. One of the companies interested in your program.”

  Ah! So, I’m not crazy for thinking something feels off about that. A surge of validation soars through me, but a moment later my stomach clenches. Being right means there really is good reason for being worried. Especially if someone like Daniel has concerns.

  Trigg clucks his tongue as he eyes the wreckage in my foyer. “We know how some of our competitors operate, so it has us a little jumpy. But, uh, we may have overreacted a bit here.”

  “Years of running special ops tends to take over instinctively,” Jude admits, the soft expression in his eye betraying his firm jaw and commanding tone. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.”

  I’m less concerned with my door at the moment than the fact that they agree someone has intentionally tampered with my bank account. “Look, I don’t think it’s just a glitch, either,” I tell the guys. “The bank still doesn’t have any answers. I want to dig into it, but I haven’t set up the office yet. It’ll take a while to get my things up and running, and then of course there’s really only so much I can legally do from my end, research wise.”

  “I’m already on it,” Jax says with a tone that indicates he’s willing to cross whatever lines he needs to. “I’ll keep you updated if we learn anything.”

  “Oh. Uh...” I stumble over what to say. It breaks etiquette in our corner of the programming world to inquire exactly what a man like Jax means when he says he’s on it. Probably something he doesn’t want me knowing, and I’d be better off not knowing as well. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

  “Come on, boys.” Jude claps his hands, rallying his troops. “We have unceremoniously barged into the lady’s apartment uninvited. Time for us to go. One of us should stay until maintenance shows up with a new door, though.”

  “I’ll stay.” Jax’s response is quick, a protective look in his eyes.

  My pulse quickens a beat at that expression of his, and I nod. I’m still trying to process Daniel’s news and not super eager to be alone. “Okay.”

  He flashes me one of his trademark sexy smiles. “While we’re waiting, I can help Emma set up her new office.”

  “That’d be great.” Whatever keeps him lingering here a while longer is fine with me. Plus, I’m definitely not going to turn down an opportunity to watch Jax work — my imagination is already picturing him bent over to reach behind my desk, connecting wires and plugging things in, his perfect ass on display. Yum.

  Jax turns a cautious eye to the kitchen. “Unless you’d like me to help you cook dinner?”

  I give him a kind smile, blinking to get the racy images out of my head. “No. That’s quite alright. I would appreciate your help in the office, though. So many wires.”

  “Good.” His attention is still on the tomato sauce splattering the cabinets and the burnt casseroles on the counter. “I can handle wires and computers, but I don’t know if I can fix that.”

  “What’s to fix?” Gunner asks. He’s procured a fork and is poking at one of the blackened dishes. “Look, this is still good.”

  I let out a laugh. “Gunner, that’s burnt to hell and back again. Don’t eat that.”

  He shakes his head, digging the fork around. “No, see, if you scrape the burnt bits off the top, there’s still some good stuff in the middle.”

  I walk over to the counter. “If you like lasagna, I can make you some that hasn’t stared death in the face and lost.”

  “Nah, there’s no reason to waste this.” He stabs a crispy chunk of lasagna with the fork and stuffs it in his mouth. “See?” he says, crunching loudly. “Delicious.”

  Jude clears his throat. “If you’re done talking with your mouth full, it’s time for us to go.”

  Still chewing, Gunner points at the glass casserole dish of burnt lasagna and looks at me questioningly.

  I wave my hand at him. “Yeah, you can take it. Take all of them, if you want,” I say, shaking my head with laughter. “Just bring the baking dishes back when you’re done torturing yourself.”

  Without missing a beat, Gunner grabs hot mitts and stacks all the casserole dishes up in a precarious tower of crispy noodles and cheese. Then he places a kitchen towel over all of it and scoops the stack from the counter, hugging the casseroles to his chest. He walks slowly to keep the hot dishes balanced on the towels as he follows Jude, Trigg, and Daniel to the door.

  Just before he exits, he looks over his shoulder and flashes me a grin, beaming like a kid making a haul from a candy store.

  18

  Trigg

  The elevator slows to a stop several floors before it hits the lobby, and I look up, curious to see who else has summoned the elevator at this hour.

  It’s too early for even the most devout of businessmen, and I rarely run into fellow crack-o-the-morning runners — not in this part of the city, at least. Half the residents are old-money socialites who spend their evenings out late, attending events where they can be seen and admired, and the other h
alf are financial traders who stay up half the night to check in with their overseas clients.

  The doors open with a whoosh, revealing none other than Miss Emma Collins, dressed for a morning run. She’s wearing an arm-pouch for her phone, earbuds already in place. Her eyes go wide then dart down to my bare legs and sculpted calves. My morning runs are practically the only time I’m in shorts. Even through my dark leg hair, the scars are visible.

  “Going down?” I ask, knowing how stupid it sounds. What, like she’s going up to the roof for a jog? But I haven’t seen her for a couple days — all of us agreeing she’d probably had enough of us for the moment after literally barging through her front door.

  She steps inside, a lovely pink hue on her cheeks, her eyes still darting down to my legs. She removes the earbuds carefully, letting them dangle from her neck by the thin wires before replying. “Yes. Lobby, please. How are you wearing shorts? It’s freezing out there.”

  “Oh, it’s not that cold. You should feel the desert before the sun comes up. Besides, I warm up quick once I get moving.” I punch the L button and step back as the doors close, and we begin a quick descent. She’s absolutely beautiful in her tight workout pants and an old t-shirt. I reach out and touch the tip of her ponytail. “I like it. I haven’t seen you with your hair pulled back before.”

  Emma sweeps her ponytail through her hand, the light brown velvet strands playing through her fingers. “You’ve usually caught me all dressed up, mostly. But this is usually how I look — no makeup, hair slung back, my favorite worn-in clothes. Not too impressive, is it?”

  Is she kidding? “You look great to me. Casual suits you nicely.”

  Emma shuffles from foot to foot, a bashful smile twitching at her lips. “You guys really know how to flatter a girl.”

  I crease my brows, never having been a fan of doling out compliments just for the sake of it. “You know, I wish women didn’t figure it’s just polite flattery when a man tells her the God’s-honest truth.”

  She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and I get the sense I’ve embarrassed her, my words coming out more briskly than I meant, so I change the subject. “I didn’t know you were a runner.”

  Emma shakes her head. “Oh, I can’t claim I am. I go for a run a few times a month at best, and usually only when I’m super stressed.”

  I notice the worry lines on her face as she talks, and it makes my chest tighten. The elevator dings, and we step into the deserted lobby, walking past the front reception desk where Penny, one of our full-time concierge staff, and Mack, the overnight security guard, both nod at us.

  “I was hoping that the apartment would relieve some of that stress,” I tell Emma. “Take a weight off your shoulders.”

  She looks up at me now, a grateful shine in her eyes. “Yes, not having to pay rent has been a big relief. There’s just so many other things. The code, the bank, not knowing who’s responsible, trying to sort out all the offers.”

  We part ways for just a moment as we each take a separate rotating segment of the revolving doors and exit the building. When we’re together again outside, I ask, “Would you like to join me? I have a few favorite routes, unless you’ve already found one of your own.”

  Emma purses her lips and looks around at the landscape of tall buildings and wide sidewalks. “This is my first jog since I moved, so no, I haven’t. How far do you usually go?”

  I do a quick assessment of the different paths I take. “Well, I’m a five-mile guy in the mornings.” I catch the brief wince that flashes across her face, and my suspicions are confirmed. “But, there’s a great route that heads to the park, mills around there a bit, and comes back. It’s no more than two miles, warm-up and cool-down included. I sometimes hit that one in the evenings before dinner.”

  “That sounds manageable. At least for now. Maybe I can work up to more. I’m not a very consistent runner, so trying for five miles today would probably kill me.” She gives me a cute smile that makes me want to pull her close and kiss those pretty lips. But she’s already backed away from me once, and I know when to take a hint.

  “But you don’t have to change your plans for me,” she continues. “I’m happy to just find my own way.”

  “Stop talking crazy, woman. I’d be thrilled to have your company. Come on, it’s this way.” I begin to walk in the direction of the park, picking up the pace quickly.

  When she joins my side a moment a later, I say, “In fact, I’d love to have a running partner, if you don’t mind me tagging along with you when you feel up to a jog.”

  “Me?” she asks. “I’m pretty sure I’d be holding you back.”

  You running beside me is going to keep me continually having to catch my breath and struggling to keep my eyes on the path, which will surely slow me down — in the best way possible. But I can’t say that. Instead, I tell her, “Don’t underestimate yourself.”

  We’re jogging now, and Emma’s words come out more stilted as she takes in deep breaths. “If you say so. Maybe I can go... the two-mile route... and then eat a candy bar... while you do the rest.”

  I laugh, my lungs much more accustomed to the exertion. “That’s an idea.”

  Something she mentioned in the elevator has me curious, and I want to bring it up before I forget. “Earlier, you said ‘all the offers’. How many companies have expressed inter—” I realize as the question comes out of my mouth that it’s none of my damn business, and I promised not to bring up business to begin with, so I cut myself off. “Shit. Sorry. It’s not my place to ask.”

  We’re still going at an easy warm-up jog, the tall trees of the park coming into view a few blocks ahead, and Emma’s breath has baselined, but is still uneven.

  “It’s okay,” she replies. “Seven. Offers are all over... the chart. I shouldn’t be stressing... it’s a good thing. But I am. I couldn’t sleep. I’m usually not up... this early.”

  “Most people aren’t,” I confirm. “And we don’t have to talk about your offers. Let’s just enjoy our run together. No business.”

  She nods with a smile as she jogs beside me. The heat on her breath is contrasting enough with the crisp morning air to send out a little white puff of condensation. “Okay.”

  The sky is still in the blue hour — one of my favorite times of day, that part of dawn when the light is slowly moving from deep blue shadows to a lighter, brighter hue, and a brand-new day is just beginning. I steal glances at Emma as we run, her ponytail swinging in time with her movements, a blaze of determination in her eyes. It’s so nice to have her by my side. Between the quiet hum of the still-sleeping city and the darkened shade of sky, it feels like we have the world to ourselves at this moment, just her and I.

  We go another two blocks to the park entrance and jog toward the water fountain in the middle. I point at a particularly soft looking patch of grass nearby. “Want to stop and do some stretches there?”

  Emma slows down and verges to the left, heading for the spot. When she stops, I see her legs quiver a little.

  “You’re not even... breathing hard.” She bends over with her hands on her knees, catching her breath.

  “I do this every morning. My lungs have been trained to keep up. It’s all about conditioning.”

  We both sprawl onto the grass, still cold from the overnight chill. I sit on my ass and spread my legs out wide to stretch my hamstrings and inner thighs, flexing my toes back at me to work out the tightness in my calves as well. Emma lays her legs out straight in front of her and dips toward her ankles with a unbending back, her arms tucked against her legs. Despite the slow-paced run we just did to warm-up, she’s still stiff, and I’m sure it’s not just because the jog didn’t loosen her muscles well enough.

  “It looks like you have a lot of tension in your muscles still, Emma. Do you want to jog a bit more first before we hit a hard run on the way back?”

  She sits up straight, rotates her back, then reaches for her ankles again. “I’m not sure that’ll help. It seems li
ke I’m always tensed up these days.”

  “Stress will do that,” I agree. “What kind of chair do you sit in at your desk?”

  She’s rolling her neck now, eyes closed. “I just grab one from the kitchen table.”

  “That’s no good. We’ll have to get you something more ergonomic. But even then, you should try to switch up your positions while at the desk. It isn’t good to be in the same position for long.”

  “I know all the health tips,” Emma says with a look that tells me she’s lectured herself on this before, no need for me to do it, too. “It’s easier said than done, you know?”

  “That’s true,” I concede, kicking myself for once again sounding like I’m preaching at her. I’m batting zero, for sure.

  “Besides, I’ll buy myself a fricking awesome chair once I sell the program — it can be part of my reward. Maybe even a custom Keilhauer.”

  I raise an eyebrow appreciatively. “Now you’re talking.” I know she doesn’t want us buying her things — when she saw that we’d outfitted her kitchen, she made us promise not to continue with the other rooms — so I force myself to stop making mental lists of all the office furniture I’d like to order for her.

  “I’ll add the chair to my wish list, right under ‘private island’ and ‘lifetime supply of chocolate truffles’,” she says with a grin.

  “Wish list? Psssht.” I wave a dismissive hand at her, scoffing in jest. “I’ll have those things delivered to you by noon, no problem,” I say with a smile on my lips. “You might want to make sure the island isn’t completely submerged under water, though, before accepting it. My island guy can be sketchy sometimes.”

  She tosses her head back with a laugh. “But if it is underwater, I’ll console myself with the chocolates.”

  “Good plan. Here,” I say, reaching between my outspread legs with both hands. “Grab onto me, and spread your legs. I’ll be gentle at first.”