Читать книгу Little Secrets: Secretly Pregnant - Andrea Laurence - Страница 10

One

Three Months Later

“Where the hell is Noah?” Jonah Flynn growled into his telephone and gripped his coffee mug fiercely in his free hand.

“He’s...n-not in, sir.”

His brother’s administrative assistant, Melody, was audibly startled by his tone and he immediately chose to correct it. Jonah didn’t raise his voice to his employees, ever. Honestly, the only person he ever shouted at was Noah. And he would direct his anger at his brother if he could find the bastard.

“I’m sorry for yelling, Melody. I didn’t think he would be there. He’s never in the office. What I really meant was do you know where he’s gone to? He isn’t answering his home phone and his cell phone goes directly to voice mail like he’s got it turned off.”

Melody hesitated on the line for a moment. Jonah could hear the clicking of her keyboard as she checked his calendar. “His calendar is wide-open, but he mentioned as he left that he was headed to Bangkok.”

Jonah nearly choked on his latte. He swallowed hard and moved the cup out of his reach. “As in Thailand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He took a deep breath to swallow his anger. He would not, could not, take this out on Melody. She’d already called him “sir” twice, which just felt wrong. Yes, he was the CEO, but he was also wearing jeans and a Monty Python T-shirt. Everyone just called him Jonah.

“Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“No, but he did send me the number of the hotel he’s staying at. You could probably reach him there.”

“That would be great, thanks, Melody.” She read off the number and he quickly scratched it on his desk blotter before hanging up. He dialed it, getting transferred to his brother’s suite without much trouble. Of course Noah didn’t answer. He was probably frolicking with some exotic beauty. Jonah forced himself to leave a voice mail message that didn’t betray the true reason for his call and hung up in disgust.

Thailand.

If he’d had any second thoughts about Noah being involved in his current mess, they immediately dissipated. If the preliminary accounting reports he was looking at were correct, his little brother had just taken off to Southeast Asia with three million dollars that didn’t belong to him.

Jonah leaned back in his leather chair and gently rubbed his temples. This was not good.

The timing was never good for embezzlement, really, but his brother had just royally screwed him over in more ways than one. Noah didn’t spend much time in the office; his role in the company was to please their mother and nothing else. But Noah knew—he knew—that they were close to wrapping up the deal with Game Town. The auditor they’d hired was showing up today. Today!

This could ruin everything. It wasn’t a huge amount in terms of the numbers that ran through the company, but his brother wasn’t smart and took it in one big chunk, transferring it to some offshore account he had in the Caribbean. Anyone with an interest would run across it eventually. Game Town was hiring FlynnSoft to manage their monthly game subscription service. Who would want the company handling their money to have issues like that? Jonah certainly wouldn’t do it if the roles were reversed.

This needed cleaning up and fast. As much as he didn’t want to, he could rearrange his assets for some cash and cover the loss. He would take it out of his brother’s hide later. Maybe make him sell his overpriced European sports car. Perhaps even make him do some actual work at FlynnSoft for free until he paid off the debt.

But Noah would pay for this. By the time Jonah was done with him, his little brother would wish he’d simply called the cops.

But he wouldn’t. Not on his brother. And not for any love he had for his useless sibling, but for concern for their mother. Angelica Flynn had a degenerative heart condition and couldn’t take much stress. If Noah, the baby and undoubtedly favorite child, ended up in jail, she’d have one hell of an attack. If she found out Noah was turned in by his own brother, he had no doubt she’d drop dead from the strain and embarrassment. In the end, it would all be Jonah’s fault and he refused to be the bad guy in this.

He would handle his brother without their mother ever finding out.

Publicly, Jonah could deal with this however he wished. As a privately owned gaming company he had that luxury. Thank heavens he hadn’t taken people’s advice to go public. The move could make him a fortune overnight, but he’d also have shareholders and a board of directors to answer to. He could even be fired, losing control of the empire he’d started in his college dorm room.

No way. FlynnSoft was his and Jonah didn’t answer to anyone, especially some pompous suits who thought they knew better than he did how to run his company. He’d bail FlynnSoft and his brother out one way or another. His employees deserved as much. And they deserved the money this new contract could bring in. If Noah hadn’t just blown it.

What a mess.

Jonah flopped back into his executive chair and let his gaze drift over to the framed photograph that sat on the edge of his desk. In it, a Blue Morpho butterfly sat sunning itself on a clump of bright yellow flowers.

He’d gotten more than a few odd looks since he’d brought the picture into the office. Jonah wasn’t exactly a nature buff. He’d spent his entire adolescence focused on video games and girls, both of which could be enjoyed in the climate-controlled comfort of his bedroom.

Of course, he couldn’t tell anyone why it was really there. How do you explain a night like that to people? You just couldn’t. They wouldn’t believe you. If it wasn’t for the proof inked into his skin, he might’ve believed she was a tequila induced hallucination. His gaze dropped to his right hand and the tattoo etched into the web of skin between his thumb and index finger. His fingertip grazed over the slightly raised design, tracing it as he’d done that night, only then it was across the silky skin of her chest. His half of the heart.

The other half had disappeared with the woman in the butterfly mask. He’d never anticipated a company Mardi Gras party at his loft would turn into an unforgettable night of body shots, anonymous sex and late-night tattoos. But for some reason, she, whoever she was, had gotten under his skin almost instantly. Everything from her soft gasp as he licked the salt from her throat to the way she’d begged for him to take her was etched into his mind.

Even with all the crap going on with Game Town, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift to her again. She’d asked him for one night. No names, no personal details. Pure fantasy. Her multicolored glitter butterfly mask had obscured everything but her sleek, brunette ponytail, the full pout of her lips and the bewitching emerald green of her eyes.

How, exactly, had he decided that letting her walk out of his life was a good idea?

Jonah had been an idiot. He could see it now. For years, he’d gone through a lineup of women. They were all beautiful. Many were successful or talented in one way or another. They were drawn to his business success and the glamorous lifestyle he could provide. Most men would be content with the kind of woman who would throw herself at them, but he never was. He would inevitably get bored and move on. He’d actually earned a reputation as one of Manhattan’s Most Eligible and Elusive Bachelors.

But his butterfly had kept his interest. Even three months later, he still found himself thinking about her. Wondering where she was. Who she was. Trying to figure out if the real woman could ever measure up to his memory of her. She’d insisted that the next morning he wouldn’t want her anymore, like she would turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight. Was it just the fantasy he craved? If he’d seen her face and known her name, would she have been relegated to the list of women he’d loved and forgotten? He didn’t know.

Jonah ran his hand through the long strands of his dark brown hair and gripped the back of his skull. He needed to let this go. Let her go. If he kept looking down the blouse of every woman he met searching for that tattoo, eventually he’d get slapped. Or sued. Maybe arrested.

He simply couldn’t help it.

With a sigh, Jonah turned back to his computer. He needed to focus. Noah would eventually come home and suffer mightily, but until then, he needed to clean up the mess. He searched through his contact list for his accountant, Paul. He’d be able to move his assets around and get the cash he needed. He always made sure his money worked as hard for him as he did for it and invested heavily, unlike his brother, who burned through money buying silly toys.

He could get the cash; it just might take a few days for the wheels of finance to turn.

In the meantime, he’d have to find a way to stall the forensic accountant Game Town was sending over. Someone would be showing up this afternoon at two. No one had mentioned the auditor’s name, so he had no idea who, or what, to expect. His strategy would rely heavily on who showed up.

If the auditor was male, Jonah would drag his dusty golf clubs from the closet and take the guy out. He hated golf, but found it to be an important social tool in the business world. Few company honchos got together to play Madden on their Xbox. It was a pity. Instead, they would play eighteen holes; he’d buy the auditor some drinks. Steaks. Whatever. Perhaps if the guy was hung over enough, the numbers would take longer to crunch.

If the auditor was a woman, there would be a different tactic. The golf clubs would stay in the closet, but the charm would be on in full force. Regardless of whether she had three eyes and a hunchback or looked fresh from the Parisian runways, Jonah’s charisma would carry him through. Since the age of fifteen, he’d had a way with women. A gift, he supposed, and one he made good use of. Dinner and drinks would still be involved, but the ambience would improve greatly.

He wouldn’t have to lay a hand on her. The last thing he needed was the woman running back to Game Town with that tale. No, Jonah wouldn’t go there. The right smile, some intense eye contact and a few compliments would go far, especially with a mousy accountant who wasn’t used to the attention. If he planned this right, he’d have her so hot and bothered she wouldn’t be able to remember her own name, much less see the problems with the financial reports.

No matter what, Jonah would come out on top. If he had to sit down with Carl Bailey, the CEO of Game Town, and explain what was going on, he would, but if it could be avoided, he’d gladly play eighteen holes or take a lonely accountant to the theater.

He made a note to ask his assistant, Pam, what shows were playing on Broadway at the moment. He wasn’t a big fan of musicals, but he found most to be tolerable enough. Except Cats. He wasn’t making that mistake a second time. That was a phenomenal waste of four hundred dollars, which was saying a lot, given he’d easily spend that much in a week on supplies for the gourmet coffee bar they added on the twenty-third floor.

Speaking of which, he eyed his now-cold coffee with dismay. He’d get a refill and a bagel after he talked to Paul. Picking up the phone, he dialed his accountant and mentally cleared his calendar for the next week. He’d be busy courting the Game Town auditor.

Jonah just prayed it was a woman. He really hated golf.

* * *

Surely her boss was a closet sadist. There was no other explanation for why he’d send her to FlynnSoft for two to three weeks. Tim could’ve sent anyone. Mark. Dee. But no, he had to send Emma. She was the only one who could handle herself in that environment, he said.

Slipping her hand inside the doorway to her closet, she flipped on the light switch and stepped inside. Tim was full of it. He just wanted to see her squirm. She liked to think that she’d been hired for her top grades at Yale and her recommendations from professors, but she had a sneaking suspicion her father had gotten involved and made it happen.

Tim likely resented some rich kid getting dropped into his department against his will and enjoyed making her miserable as a result. It made her more determined than ever not to give him that satisfaction. She was going to do a good job. No—a great job. She would not get sucked into FlynnSoft’s corporate hippie attitude. She would not fall prey to Jonah Flynn, Golden God and his seductive smile.

Not that the notorious CEO would waste any of his smoldering looks on Emma. She wasn’t bad to look at, but the last gossip blog she’d seen had him coming out of a restaurant with a model she’d recognized from her lingerie catalog. She simply couldn’t compete with abs of steel and breasts of silicone. And she wouldn’t even try.

A man like Jonah Flynn was of no interest to her, anyway. He embodied everything her mother, Pauline, had warned her about. Don’t make the same mistakes as Cynthia did, she’d say. Her older sister hadn’t died because of poor choices—a plane crash had done that—but when those choices came to light after her death, the family had been scandalized. Emma had grown up as her sister’s polar opposite as a result.

If Tim was being absolutely honest with her, she’d bet that’s why she got the job. Dee, although competent, was a tall, thin and attractive woman easily distracted by men. If Flynn even looked at her sideways, she’d be a puddle at his feet. Forensic auditors could not puddle. Emma probably wouldn’t earn a second glance.

She eyed the neatly hung rows of clothing in her closet. Although FlynnSoft was a pioneer of the übercasual work environment, there was no way she was walking into that building while wearing jeans and flip-flops. Even if she stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the laid-back software designers, she was wearing one of her suits with high heels. Her sole concession to the casual environment would be leaving off the hosiery. Summer was just around the corner in New York and she preferred staying cooler in the heat.

She pulled a charcoal-gray suit and a light blue top from the rack and smiled in approval. There was just something about the crispness of a freshly starched blouse and a smartly tailored blazer that gave her a much-needed boost of confidence.

It was just the armor she needed to go into battle against Jonah Flynn.

Battle was the wrong word, really. He wasn’t the enemy. He was a potential contractor for Game Town. FlynnSoft had managed to build an extremely robust and efficient system for handling subscriptions and other in-game purchases for their addictive online game Infinity Warriors. Recently, they’d branched out offering the management of other online game system subscriptions to companies that needed help handling a high number of users or providing additional monetizing options. It allowed small software start-ups to focus on designing the game and let FlynnSoft manage the back end.

Before they went to contract, it was customary for the companies to have a forensic accountant review the vendor’s records to ensure everything was shipshape. Carl Bailey, the man who started Game Town twenty years earlier and now headed up the board of directors, hated surprises.

Although FlynnSoft had a sterling reputation, the old man had a general distrust of a company where a suit and tie were not standard issue. Bailey wasn’t getting into bed with any company he didn’t think was up to snuff, even if paying Flynn was cheaper than developing the capability in-house. She was to go over everything with a fine-tooth comb.

Emma would be welcomed and provided everything she needed to do the job, but at the same time, no one liked an auditor nosing around. She might as well wear a big red button that read I Can Ruin Your Life.

That was a pretty unfair generalization. She could only ruin their lives by calling to light their own misdeeds. If they were good boys and girls, she couldn’t get them into trouble.

Her mother had pounded that much into her head as a teenager. Never say or do anything you wouldn’t want printed on the front page of the newspaper, she was always saying.

Before her sister, Cynthia, died in a plane crash, she’d been engaged to the owner of the New York Observer, Will Taylor. He was also the business partner of their father, George. That newspaper was delivered to her childhood home every morning, and to this day, Emma lived in fear that something she did might actually turn up there. The scandals of the remaining socialite daughter of the Dempsey family were news worth printing.

So far, so good.

With a quick glance at the clock, Emma left her closet and started getting ready. She had to be at FlynnSoft at two to meet with Mr. Flynn at his insistence.

Normally, she would’ve simply worn what she’d put on to go to work that morning, but she came home at lunch to change. It was nerves. Her outfit that morning was more than suitable, but she felt this need to put on something else before she went over there. To get every hair in place.

After thirty minutes of primping, Emma gave herself one last inspection. Her brown hair was twisted into a tight bun. After David moved out, she chopped it off at her shoulders in typical female defiance, but it was still long enough to pull up. Her makeup was flawless—fresh looking, not too heavy. She could still see the faint specks of freckles across her nose, which she hated, but could do nothing about.

The suit was loose because of her recent stress-induced weight loss, allowing it to hide any unfortunate bumps she didn’t want to share. The blouse she wore under the coat was a flattering shade of blue and more importantly, the neckline was high enough to hide her tattoo.

The half of a heart that was inked into her chest above the swell of her left breast wasn’t the only evidence of the night she’d made the mistake of letting herself go, but at the moment, it was the hardest to hide. That wouldn’t be the case much longer.

Like a little devil sitting on her shoulder, Harper told her to have fun that night. And she certainly did. She hadn’t intended to take it that far, but there was something about her masked hero that she couldn’t resist. Before she knew it, they were having fantastic sex in the laundry room and walking down the streets of New York in the middle of the night in search of adventure.

Every time Emma washed her clothes and felt the cold metal of the washing machine against her skin, a flush of embarrassment would light her cheeks on fire. She had done her best to forget about it and the tequila had done a good job turning the experience into a fuzzy, dreamlike memory, but still, it crept into her mind from time to time. If it hadn’t been for the bandage on her chest when she awoke the next morning, she might’ve convinced herself it had never happened.

But it had. She’d allowed herself to do anything and everything she wanted to do. She’d let David’s words strike too deeply and questioned everything about her life, when in truth there was nothing wrong with the way she lived. She did everything a proper Upper East Side woman was supposed to do. She was educated, well-spoken, polished and elegant. She took pride in her work as a CPA. It was true that no one would ever describe her as the life of the party, but her escapades would never show up on the front page of the local paper, either.

In retrospect, it took one uninhibited night to prove that she was okay with being that kind of woman. There was no glory in being like her older sister, who followed each pleasurable impulse and left her family mired in scandal after her death. Then again, that one night was enough for the repercussions to echo through her entire life. She could keep it under wraps for now, but eventually everyone would find out.

And of course, the tattoo remained. Emma had considered getting it removed, but it had become her personal reminder of how dangerous the wrong choices could be. Every time she even thought about breaking out of her shell, she could look at her tattoo and remember what a bad idea it was. It was a slippery slope she was determined not to go down again. She would not become her sister and shame her family. It didn’t matter how good or right it might feel in the moment.

But in keeping it, she had to work hard to ensure it stayed covered, especially in a professional setting. Or near her mother, who felt tattoos were only for bikers and inmates. Emma had tripled her ownership of high-collared tops the last few weeks. She worried about the challenge of her summer wardrobe as the temperature climbed, but she had to deal with the FlynnSoft job first.

Emma was just thankful she’d gotten hers in a place she could hide easily, unlike her hero with his tattooed hand. There was no way he could disguise his half of the heart, although she wondered how he would explain it. He was at a FlynnSoft party, so he was potentially an employee, like Harper was. She supposed that in the laid-back corporate environment, a tattoo was no big deal. Might even be a requirement.

It was just another reason to be nervous about her assignment.

At any moment, he could appear. An engineer, a programmer, hell, even the janitor. She didn’t know a thing about him and had no real way to find him other than the tattoo. She’d shared a few choice details of the night with Harper, and her friend had been on high alert to discover the man’s identity since then. She hadn’t been as willing to let the romantic fantasy go, especially when Emma confided in her about her predicament.

A few weeks after the party, at the family Easter dinner, Emma took one look at the spiral ham and went running down the hallway to the powder room. After two more weeks of denial and antacids, she realized she had more than a tattoo to show for her wild night—she was having her anonymous hero’s baby! And had no way to contact the father and tell him.

In the last three months, there were no tattooed hands to report at FlynnSoft, at least in the marketing or accounting departments, where Harper spent most her time. The odds were that even if the man worked at FlynnSoft last February, he was gone now if Harper hadn’t found him. That meant Emma was on her own with this baby, whether she liked it or not. She would tell her family soon. Eventually. When she couldn’t hide her belly any longer.

Another glance at the clock proved that she couldn’t delay any longer, as much as she might want to. She brushed her fingers over her hair and grabbed her purse from the table by the front door. With a fleeting look down her blouse, she opted to button her shirt one notch higher.

Just in case.