Risky Business_A Reverse Harem Romance

by Bethany Jadin

  “Yes.”

  I draw in a breath, my hand shaking as I hold the phone to my ear. “How long have you known it was me? That it was my devices you wiped clean?”

  There’s a moment of silence. When he speaks, his voice is much quieter. “I’ve always known.”

  I want to say something. I want to scream. I want to plead for him to take it back. Just lie to me! Tell me you didn’t. Tell me anything else. But I can’t. I choke on a reply, but a sob comes out, instead. I take the phone from my ear and end the call just a second before I burst into tears.

  12

  Daniel

  I pull open the recycle bin and let Emma’s invitation flutter into the receptacle. I’d meant to surprise her.

  Of all the projects Pentabyte has been working on, the in-home recording studio software is the one she and I went on about for hours. It was an immense pleasure to speak with someone so knowledgeable and yet so curious. She asked all the right questions, anticipating my next detail. She had voiced a prediction that I’d be given this award for my personal work on the program. Groundbreaking, she’d said.

  It’s hollow. Not that it isn’t an honor, but it is far from my first award for such work, and it will not be my last. But this one was going to be special. Because Emma would have been delighted at the invitation, and she would have been on my arm, gorgeous in the emerald green dress I bought her — the one she asked me to return, but I’d secretly kept it tucked away, hopeful for a day when she’d be ready to accept it from me. I’d already come up with half a dozen lines to tease her about finally wearing it this time around.

  Looking into the mirror to arrange my bowtie, I roll each line around in my head, imagining for the hundredth time how her laughter would sound and how her eyes would glow. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to hear her witty retorts, or if she’ll ever wear that dress, or be on my arm again.

  The bell in the entryway sounds, and I know it’s the courier, right on time, just as I’d arranged weeks ago, shortly after the incident with BHC and Zoey. I steel myself to send the package back to the jeweler. On my way to the door, I snap a tight carnation bloom from the floral arrangement in the foyer and fix it to my tuxedo’s lapel. A small rose would look better, but I can’t stand having the things in here anymore.

  I open the door and give the delivery man a greeting, but I can’t bring myself to tell him to take it away, to return it. Instead, I stand there staring at the box in his hand.

  He opens it — revealing a large, velvet-covered case — and lifts it out of the larger box, extending it to me, prompting me to take it. “Would you like to check the merchandise before I go, sir?”

  I run my hand over the black velvet. I know what’s in there. A stunning solitary ruby necklace on a slender silver chain. The gem was originally in a more ornate setting, but I knew Emma would appreciate the simpler beauty, and it would allow her to wear it on more occasions instead of saving it exclusively for fancy events. The jeweler promised the redesigned necklace would be ready in time for me to present it to her this evening.

  “Thank you, but I’m sure it’s as ordered,” I say, lifting my hand from the velvet. I open my mouth to refuse the delivery and send my apologies, but I can’t do it. I take the elegant package and tuck it under my arm then reach for the delivery slip.

  Affixing my signature to the paperwork, I try to keep my hand steady. I can’t send the piece away, but I also know I can’t open the case. I’ll put it in the guest room with her dress, that’s what I’ll do. My pace slows to a shuffle as I make my way back through the penthouse, feeling the heft of every step as though I’m wading through quicksand. The penthouse feels too quiet. It’s an eerie silence that seems to be pulling more than just sound into its void. The place feels empty. It’s a kind of quiet I’m no longer accustomed to.

  The door to the guest room opens noiselessly, and I move forward under a heavy weight. Her dress catches the light from the hall. It would have been beautiful on her. I lay the black velvet box on the nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed. It’s as though the silence has a presence. But I know it’s just the echo of memories tormenting me. Needing the air, I work my fingers into my bowtie, loosening the knot and then letting the flaps hang down my dress shirt.

  What’s the point? I’ve attended enough of these ceremonies. The awards line my walls and shelves. I don’t need more. What my home is missing, what I really need tonight… is gone.

  I lay back on the bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. I can just skip it. Work in my office, catch up on things I’ve been neglecting. I wouldn’t even be able to use my acceptance speech, anyway. Her name isn’t in it, but her presence is in every line. I was going to look out from the stage into her gorgeous, shimmering eyes, and she was going to know every word was written for her.

  But the speech would be meaningless now.

  “Daniel!” The junior associate from our marketing department does a double-take, pausing her task at the copy machine as she watches me stroll into the offices. “What are you doing here?”

  It figures Erin would be at the office, working after hours. She’s just as much of a workaholic as I am.

  “Aren’t you supposed at be at Sorren Hall?” she asks. “As the guest of honor?”

  “Decided to skip this one.” I’m back in dress khakis now. I’m free of the tux. And the silent penthouse. I couldn’t handle it. I had to get out of there.

  Erin blinks with surprise. “Wow. Have you ever skipped an awards ceremony?”

  “No, but I called and expressed my deepest regrets over the emergency in the office.”

  “Oh…” Her eyes dart toward the hallway that leads to the executive offices, and she lowers her voice. “You mean Jude?”

  I halt in my tracks and turn back to the woman. “What?”

  She straightens up. “I mean — I just thought, you know, because of what’s wrong.”

  Now I’m the one staring dumbly, blinking in silence. “What’s wrong with Jude?” I finally ask. I could give her a laundry list, but it’s the same thing wrong with all of us, so I’m curious why she’s singled Jude out.

  She swallows nervously. “It’s just how he’s been the last few days. I’ve heard some rumors.”

  “What kind of rumors?”

  Her eyes dart all over the place before she finally returns her gaze to me. “That you guys are forcing him out — because of the stock crash.”

  Once again, I stare at her wordlessly. What the hell is she talking about? I scoff. “You mean, off the board? Out of the company? Don’t be absurd. Jude’s the backbone of Pentabyte.”

  She shifts, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She shakes her head quickly. “Of course, the rumors aren’t true. It’s just that he’s barely left his office. And whenever I see him, he’s sitting at his desk and staring out the window.”

  I give her a hard look, an anger building in me. We’re dealing with things the best we can, and the staff needs to pull their shit together instead of adding to our woes. “Just leave the man alone. And stop spreading rumors. You’re all paid generously and treated well, so how about you reflect that with some professional fucking courtesy?”

  I turn heel and stride out of the room without waiting for a reply.

  Goddammit, I can’t find a moment of peace anywhere.

  13

  Gunner

  “Come on, man, you’re blown.” Tobias has his hands under the bar, ready to catch the heavy weight as soon as my arms give way.

  I take in rushed breaths, arch my back on the bench, and push again. My chest, shoulders, and biceps flex as I grunt. Just one more lift. I’ll be sore as hell tomorrow, but at least it’ll give me something else to focus on. The strain pulls at my ribs where I received one hell of a beating during my morning boxing session. I push through the extreme discomfort. I embrace it. It’s the one kind of pain I know how to handle.

  Baring my teeth, I push my shoulders into the b
ench and my hands toward the ceiling, but the weight doesn’t move. I flex again, the tendons in my chest and abdomen stretching the fresh bruises on my sides, the burn searing into my muscles. Instead of rising, my elbows tremble, and the weight inches back toward my chest.

  “That’s it, man, come on, call it a day.” Tobias, who has been spotting me, takes most of the weight for me so I can guide the weight back up to its rack. “No more. You’re done. I mean it this time.”

  I sit up, my back aching as I move. “Fine. I’ll move on to squats. My legs have had time to rest.”

  “No.”

  “I can go half weights on it.”

  The big black guy shakes his head. “At the rate you’ve been going, you’re not going to be able to get out of bed in the morning as it is. I should have stopped you two hours ago, when we usually call it on our heavy days.”

  “Jump rope, then. No weights.”

  “Dude.” Tobias moves to the half-sized fridge along the wall of the gym, where I keep all my post-workout drinks. “Whatever you have going on between your ears, you need to find a different way of dealing with it. You’re going to be good as dead tomorrow.” He lifts one of Trigg’s protein shakes from the fridge and holds it up. “Want one?”

  “Nah. Toss me a beer. They’re in the back.”

  “Since when did you start keeping beer in here?”

  “This morning.”

  He rummages in the fridge for a second then throws me a can of beer. “You had this shit for breakfast?”

  I shrug. “Breakfast of champions, right? I needed a couple before stepping into the ring with Delnardo.”

  Tobias lowers the sports drink bottle he was about to sip from. “You sparred with the Golden Gloves heavyweight?”

  I pause between chugs. “Yeah.”

  “Well, that explains the bruises.”

  I nod. It explains how I got them, but not why I taunted Delnardo and fucked with him until he snapped and absolutely pummeled me. But it’s also none of Tobias’s goddamn business. “Yeah, I got my ass whipped.”

  “You’re a crazy motherfucker to spar with a pro boxer,” Tobias says. He watches as I attempt to get up from the bench. “Maybe I should swing by in the morning. See how you’re doing.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I lunge my upper body forward again and make it to a standing position, but my legs are shaky, and I have to check my balance by grabbing onto the weight bar.

  Tobias gives me a skeptical look. “I don’t know, man. Look, I’ll just stop by for a few minutes. Bring you some sausage biscuits or something, because I’m serious — I don’t think you’re going to make it out of bed tomorrow.”

  He may be right. I’ll have to make sure The Bleak House is on my bed stand tonight before I crash. I’m starting to commiserate with the vengeful assholes in the stories I’ve been reading lately. I wobble over to the wall with a bended back, discarding the empty beer can in the trash beside the fridge. “Make it three biscuits, but no sausage. Bacon, egg, and cheese. Double bacon. Triple cheese.”

  “I can do that,” he says.

  I take out another beer and lift it to toast Tobias as I crack the lid. “Post-workout carb load.”

  Tobias stares at me as I chug the entire can in a few gulps, his eyes lingering on my chest before moving southward. “Hey, you, uh…” he struggles to get the words out, and it sounds as awkward as mating orangutans, “…want some company in the shower?”

  I give Tobias a sharp look. What the hell? That’s not our thing, never has been. “No. What the fuck’s the matter with you?” I crumble the can and throw it in the recycle this time then grab another.

  “Just a suggestion, man. Maybe another time?”

  I wave him off. “Get the fuck out of here, man. I’m going upstairs to see Jax.”

  He points at my sweaty skin. “Like that?”

  I grab a towel from the top of the fridge and wipe the moisture away from my eyes. Yeah, I’m a hot mess right now, but I don’t give a shit. And right now, neither does Jax. He’s probably already downed half a bottle of scotch, anyway. “Sure,” I say. “He doesn’t care.”

  Tobias shrugs. “If you say so. I’m going to hit the shower then see myself out, alright?”

  “You bet.” Truth is, I don’t care what he does as long as he doesn’t follow me upstairs. I’m already headed for the elevator. I look over my shoulder as I walk and point a finger at him. “Don’t forget, triple cheese.”

  It’s a good thing I have momentum, because that’s about the only thing carrying me forward to the elevator. I lean against the instrument panel, letting the wall take part of my weight as I ascend to Jax’s floor. I take the opportunity to drain the rest of my beer. A chime, and the doors sweep open. I shift to go. Fuck. My legs are seizing up. That hurts. I know I should stretch after such a strenuous workout, but fuck that. I limp onward and punch in Jax’s security code, letting myself into his penthouse.

  Heavy metal is on full blast, and all the lights leading to his studio are on. Good. I didn’t spot his Harley in its usual spot when I went out to grab the beer this morning, so I thought maybe he’d taken off. Sliding my shoulder along the wall, I use the surface for support as I stumble down the hall. I’ll sit down once I get in there. Maybe I’ll just sleep in there and ask Jax if he’ll get the biscuits from Tobias in the morning.

  I round the doorway, and the sight hits me like a ton of lead. It’s… a fucking mess. I mean, it’s always a bit of a disaster in here, but this is next level shit. I lift the beer can to my lips and grunt in disappointment. Empty. Just like the studio. No Jax anywhere. But hello, sweetheart — a half empty bottle of Jack lays next to the big piece of stone he’s been hammering away at.

  An all-encompassing silence greets me once I hit the power on his sound system. Too fucking silent. I make it to the slab of stone just as my right calf balls up into a fiery knot. I know how to fix that. I slide down to my ass and open the bottle of Jack, taking three long swigs.

  Looking around to survey his studio, yeah, it’s obvious he let loose some energy in here. He was throwing shit. Paint is everywhere. That big-ass chisel and sledge he uses to take bigger pieces of stone off the work in progress are both broken and discarded. And aww, shit. The canvas painting — my favorite one yet — is in fucking tatters. I lift the Jack and swallow another couple mouthfuls. Finding Forever, he told me. It looks like he sent his fist through it then finished it off with one of the carving instruments. Damn. That one was going to be good.

  Well, fuck. My fears confirmed, a heavy melancholy settles over me. Usually, Jax is back within a couple days when he goes on a bender, but this time… I dunno when I’ll see him again. He’s probably so goddamn fucked up out of his mind by now that he barely remembers where he parked his Harley, much less the way home. And Jude sure as shit isn’t in any kind of shape to pull him out of the dredges.

  I don’t blame Jax for taking off. Or for wanting to fill his body with enough drugs to kill a fucking water buffalo, hoping it makes everything numb. I just wish he’d waited for me.

  14

  Emma

  “Attention, shoppers…” A voice comes over the store’s intercom, snapping me out of my daze, but I don’t catch the muffled words.

  I take a deep breath and blink a few more times before looking down at my cart. What on earth have I done? I came here looking for fudge ripple ice cream, ready to drown myself in an evening of terrible horror movies, a gallon of sugary ice cream, plus the pint of vodka I found in my dad’s study earlier today.

  But somehow, I’ve filled my shopping cart with the ingredients for meatloaf. And chicken cacciatore. And fettucine alfredo with stuffed shrimp. As I stare into the cart, I realize I’ve filled it with all of the guys’ favorite meals.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  “Ma’am?”

  I startle and spin to find a lanky teenager approaching with a hint of concern. I check behind me to make sure I’m the one being addressed. “Yes?”

>   “The store is closing in five minutes, ma’am.”

  I furl my brow. “What?”

  “We close at midnight.” He’s beside me now and gestures to the shelves. “Can I help you find anything?”

  What the hell is he talking about? I came in here a few minutes after nine. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I check the time and clasp my hand to my mouth in shock. “Oh my God. I am so sorry. I hadn’t realized what time it was.”

  “That’s okay,” he says. “I just wanted to let you know so you could grab any last items you need before we turn off the registers up front.”

  “Oh. I, uh…” I stare at the cart, wishing I could shrink down so small I’d be invisible. “Actually, I… I don’t even need all this stuff. I don’t know why I picked it out. I’ll go put it back.”

  The young man places a hand on the edge of my cart. “It’s fine, ma’am. We can take care of it for you. Just pick out what you want and take it up front. You can leave the rest with me.”

  I wish he’d stop calling me ma’am. My throat closes up, but I still manage to get out a rushed thank you as I grab the gallon tub of ice cream. It’s not even frozen anymore, it’s a tub of flavored cream. But I’m not about to return it to the freezer section or hand it back to the guy, so I head to the checkout with it, my eyes plastered on the wide tile patterns at my feet as I walk so no one sees the tears welling.

  I scan the item at the self-serve isle, and an older woman at the adjacent machine is eyeing me, her eyes moving between my puffy face and the big tub of ice cream. She offers me a kind but tight-lipped smile. “I’ve been there, honey. I hope things get better.”

  I try to clear my throat to respond, but it comes out as a coughing bark, my throat growing itchy. She’s already walking away, so I feed cash into the machine, not waiting for my change. I hustle outside to a nearly-vacant parking lot.