Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series) (2 page)

I smile sweetly as I rise, and realize I am spending too much time staring at Marcus.

"Who has the gin and tonic, boys?"

"I do
... and please, your name is?"

I haven't had a chance to scan the whole table, but the voice sounds familiar. I pick up the drink and make eye contact with the faceless voice.

The man from the dance floor. My stomach plummets.

My guts sink
farther into the abyss that is my nerves as I realize exactly who that man is. In better light, it becomes obvious.

Jeremy Hunt. CEO of Sunscape Biotechnologies. Gibbs'
s boss, best friend, and local playboy. How could I be so stupid?

"Here is your drink, sir
." I place it in front of him, not tearing my stare from his eyes. He does the same. It's unnerving—frustrating even.

His glacier blue eyes pull me in. I have to look away, and it's almost as if I've lost some unknown game.

Marcus and a few of his friends laugh at my blatant disregard for Jeremy's question.

"So, am I to assume you don't have a name?"
Jeremy smiles wryly at me, and I can't help but smile mischievously back. This table of men seems to be amused, and I think I can play this to my advantage.

Wrinkling my nose at
him, I come back with, "Assume away, sir." I finally have an opportunity to scan the table as I ask, "Would any more of you gentlemen like another drink?"

The
y continue to chuckle, and I swear I overhear one of the men lean in to tell Jeremy, "When's the last time that's happened to
you,
Hunt?"

The remark makes me smile.

The table has six men sitting around it, all comparably young. A man on my far left looks unfamiliar though. I don't remember him from my file. He doesn't look foreign, but he is older than the others, though not by much. He is possibly in his mid-to-late thirties: brown hair, dark eyes, and a thick five o'clock shadow. That's all I can tell in the dim lighting.

Someone on the right delicately grabs my forearm, and it takes every fiber in my being not to flinch at the strange touch. Instead, I concentrate on my smile and batting my eyelashes as I turn to see who touched me.

I'm happy to see that it's Marcus, my main objective.

"Sweets
, we'd all be happy to know your name if you don't mind?" He drags his hand down my forearm and over my hand.

For some reason
, it gives me eerie chills, and I realize that my intuition is telling me this guy has secrets. I bite my lip.

"So, no more drinks, sir?"

He laughs. "No, but we are all aching to know who you are."

The statement is comical to me. I can't help but let out a laugh. They will never know who I am or what I am capable of.

"How about you tell me all of your names, and then I'll tell you mine?"

"Is this like the game: if you show me yours, I'll show you mine? Because I like that game
," Marcus asks.

The
question startles me.
So bold
. My mouth hangs half open.

"And the mystery lady can be shocked!"
Jeremy exclaims. The whole table erupts with laughter.

I giggle, but I don't really find it funny.
It's all part of the game.

I can tell this table of men
is turning into boys in the palm of my hand. They all seem keen to keep me around. Maybe this is going better than I thought.

"Gentlemen, hold your tongues!" I twist my lips into a cheeky smile at
Marcus's racy statement.

"Well
, Miss, if I am not mistaken, the first amendment states we have freedom of speech, but you are well versed in that, I'm sure," Jeremy speaks up. He continues to wear that pantie-dropping smile on his face.

Who has who
m in the palm of their hand, Agent Turner?

This time
, I let out an honest laugh since he is hinting at our first interaction. I'm also embarrassed, because it wasn't the nicest of meetings, but that was his fault.

That reminds me of what kind of person he is: womanizer most likely.

So why does my face feel hot?

Marcus butts in
. "We've not only shocked her, but we are making her blush! Yet we still have no name." He pouts and looks up at me.

I can't help but dart my eyes back to Jeremy, who can't and won't stop staring. This guy needs to back off. He's throwing me off balance. I am a federal agent, for
God's sake.

"The name's Alex
, and you all are?" I wink at Marcus before I scan the table, and he rewards me with his boyish grin.

"Well, you sat my table, so you know my name is Marcus Gibbs."
Marcus is on the far right, and the men around the table introduce themselves counter-clockwise.

The youngest
looking of them introduces himself as David Finch. My file told me he is Marcus's lab partner, and does most of his research. He's the mousiest of the bunch. I assume he got lucky that his smarts got him in with this lot.

Next is Jake
Montgomery, a friend from college who graduated with both Marcus and Jeremy. He is a marketing executive. He's a likable fellow with an all-American grin and strawberry blond hair.

Then there is Chris Laury. My file listed him as a potential accomplice. He's on the financial team for Sunscape. We suspect
he is smudging numbers for Marcus.

Sitting next to him and fiddling with the rim of his empty glass is Rob Glade. This guy is one we are keeping an eye on as well. He works as an accountant, and is a financial
adviser in stocks and bonds. Apparently, he helps Jeremy with financial investments and such. We aren't sure if he's also been helping Marcus by siphoning money into foreign accounts.

Next, that frustrating man sticks out his hand to shake mine
.

"Jeremy Hunt, and the pleasure is all mine."

His tone is slick with need and sarcasm, almost as if it has a hidden meaning. It causes me to squint at him, but oddly enough, I am grinning.

Get a grip
. You are on company time, remember?

I don't want to shake his hand, but in front of all these people
, I have no choice.

His distracting lips turn upward into a smile that makes my knees go weak. His blond hair sits in disarray on his head as if he might have fucked some girl in the bathroom. His sculpted features resemble that of a Viking god. It's sickening.

All I know from his file is that he is inheriting the company. He doesn't quite own it yet, as it is still in his father's name. His father was diagnosed with cancer three years ago, and in turn, his son has been filling in as CEO, and doing a damned good job, from the report I read. He has managed to orchestrate a ten percent increase in profit within the company. The man is good at getting investors, or so I hear.

You couldn't tell all that from his boyish grin, that's for sure. He's a pretty face for a rapidly growing company, but his personal trysts
often make the news: big celebrity parties, girls (lots), and the occasional bar fight. He's a run-of-the-mill rich bad boy. His story bores the hell out of me.

He's not on our suspect list, and I don't know why. We believe he has no idea about what his best friend has planned. Looking at that face, I don't think he does either.

I lean forward over the table to shake his well-manicured hand. He's all business as he grabs my hand—too eager and firm. My body freezes at his touch. This unfamiliar current runs down my spine, and for some reason, I yank my hand out of his too quickly. He's smiling at me, and I realize I must be blushing again.

Get a hold of yourself
, Turner.

I decide to ignore the event, and peer at the man next to him.

Finally, the mystery man.

"Luc
." He smiles at me. I smile back, hoping that the flirting will get him to reveal more. With only one word spoken, I can't tell if there is a hint of an accent, especially with the music playing, but I get nothing.

My cheeks
continue to flush. Jeremy's heavy stare is making my head cloudy.

"If that'll be all
, gentlemen, I think I'll be going. Any more drinks? Anything else I can help you with?"

Marcus
jumps on it.

"I think we are good with the drinks, but I'm sure we can think of something you can help us with." The table hoots in agreement, and
my teeth clamp down on my bottom lip.

He raises his hand and rests it on the back of my bare thigh, lazily tugging me forward
, and it makes me cringe. I can't exactly twist his arm here in front of everyone.

I take a swift step backward while pursing my lips into a forced smile
and letting his hand fall from my body. To soften the movement, I wink at him, but I worry that it isn't enough.

Before I turn around
, I peer at Jeremy, who looks like he's ... I don't know, concerned? Jealous? His lips are set into a hard line as he looks at his friend, and then he's back to looking at me. He has caught me staring at him, and I realize that's my cue to leave.

Oddly frazzled, I practically run back to the bar. I look around for a distraction and decide to serve some waiting customers. I don't care who sees it: I grab for a bottle of vodka and pour some shots, leaving an extra one. I grab it and drink it in one swift gulp.

Lydia sees me, and just laughs.

I take in a deep breath
to relax.

I serve a few more drinks, and already the flawed interaction has left my mind. I think I might be ready for round two. Maybe this time I'll take a seat with them.

Before I can create a plan of action, I look up and I see Jeremy stalking toward me from the back of the nightclub. His eyes locked on me. I can almost see his eyes' blazing icy blue.

Oh no you don't
, Mr. Hunt.
He has to move around a crowd of people, and when our eye contact breaks, I run.

I skip around the other end of the bar, and run into the mesh of people on the far right of the dance floor. I can see him looking around, confused. The sight has me laughing as I
skirt around to the back. Now I am behind him, spying from a far.

I walk to the back wall, pretending to be trading dirty glasses for clean ones. Peering up over the crowd, I
notice he is talking to Lydia. Is he really asking about me?
She shrugs. What is he asking her?

From this distance
, it looks like he has just stepped out of a board meeting. Navy blue or black slacks (it's dark), white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, and a sleek blazer to accompany the whole ensemble. I picture him wearing a tie before he came here, and took it off for a night out.

I am ripped away from my thought
, when I realize he's standing in front of me.

What the fuck! You
daydreaming floosy!
I curse.

"Are you running away from me, Alex?" is the first thing
he says.

Damn, I like the sound of my name coming out of his mouth. It's cool and crisp.

"What if I am, sir?"

He grins and runs his hand through his messy blond hair
, clearly amused with me.

"When are you off?"

Wow, he doesn't mess around.

My eyes go wide for a second, and I shake my head no
. "Way past your bedtime, I'm sure." I walk away.

"Hey! Alex!" He shouts like it's an order, which annoys and intrigues me at the same time
, but my name on his lips stops me in three steps. I flip around even though I know I should run.

"Yes
, sir? Did you need something?" I am trying to be as neutral and polite as possible. I am trying to act as if he doesn't affect me, and as if he is just another customer.

He sighs
, sounding somewhat exasperated. "Please don't call me sir, just Jeremy."

I bite my lip.
"Is there anything you need, Jeremy?"

For some reason
, saying his name makes me uncomfortable. It's too personal. I don't want to know him better. More like I shouldn't. He looks nervous.

"Yeah, can I take you out sometime, maybe at a time when you're not so riled up?
Although, that may be what I like about you. I can't tell." His mouth curls upward as he says it, and it makes my body clench.

Why does he have to be so beautiful? And why do I have to be such a dumb girl right now?

I laugh, but I immediately cover my mouth. He looks wounded, and I feel guilty.

"Jeremy, do you make it a habit of asking out waitresses at nightclubs?" Maybe I am a dime a dozen.
I don’t like that thought.

He seems baffled by my boldness, and maybe even a little embarrassed.