Little Secrets: Secretly Pregnant. Andrea Laurence

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ