The Temptation Trap, Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire Club BBW Romance) (3 page)

I
sat at my desk
, my coffee cold in front of me, my stomach twisted in knots.

It was GO time.

The last few months of stress and fear had led me to this moment. If I managed not to mess up the next hour, I'd get my life back. I think I've mentioned, I'm just a normal girl. I was not meant for excitement. At least not this kind.

It had all started so simply.

I took a job at Harper Shipping just out of college as a lowly assistant in the Human Resources department. My plan was to stay here for a few years, then go to grad school part time and get my MBA. Three months ago, I'd finished my MBA, planning to start looking for a new job eventually. I didn't love working at Harper Shipping, but I didn't hate it either.

I did like Human Resources, and my job here was good experience even if my boss, Thomas, was a misogynistic asshole who thought being female meant I was inherently less intelligent than anyone with a penis. It might have bothered me more, but he didn't try to hold me back so much as he was just rude and annoying on occasion.

A few weeks after I finished graduate school, Thomas’s mother got sick, and he took an extended leave. To my shock, he recommended me as his interim replacement. I was flattered, though I think he only did it because he couldn’t imagine a woman angling to take his job and figured I’d be the safe choice. I didn’t care; I was excited about the opportunity. If I'd known what I was getting into I would have run screaming.

To say Thomas was disorganized would be an understatement. I spent the first week or two on the job just trying to make sense of his system for handling the vast amounts of paperwork generated by our department. Everything relating to employees had to go into writing. Including verbal reprimands. And Thomas had everything stacked in random piles on his desk and inside his filing cabinet.

I dragged in an intern and set to work putting things right. He probably would have been furious when he got back, but a month after he left, Thomas called William Harper, the owner of Harper Shipping, to give his resignation. Since the Human Resources department hadn't fallen apart during Thomas’s absence, Mr. Harper said that I could keep the job, at least as long as it remained apparent that I could do it.

I dove in, determined to get the department running exactly the way I wanted it. I loved everything about being in charge except reporting to Mr. Harper, who creeped me out a little bit. He was an inch shorter than me with narrow bones and a protruding potbelly that made him look pregnant. His shoulders slouched forward, and his watery blue eyes always seemed to be trying to look down my shirt. He’d never done anything overtly inappropriate; I just didn't like the way he looked at me.

Fortunately, we had one short meeting a week, and some weeks not even that if he was out of the office. He’d suggested once that we have our meeting over dinner, but he'd been neutral when I’d declined as if he hadn’t cared either way. He creeped me out, but as long as there weren't any problems in Human Resources, he mostly left me alone.

I should've been in heaven, heading my own department only a month after getting my MBA, especially with the increase in salary that went along with the promotion. I should have been thrilled. And I was. Until I got a phone call from the FBI.

I would've been more alarmed, but Harry Jensen, the FBI agent, reminded me of my dad. He had the same tall, bulky build that was half muscle and half fat. Similar thick brown hair that needed a cut, and his blue eyes were kind and patient. I needed that because I was seriously freaked. I'd never even had a speeding ticket and the only time I'd seen the FBI was on the news when they were wearing those navy blue jackets with the yellow letters on the back and escorting a prisoner or milling around a crime scene. I couldn't imagine what they might want with me. When Agent Jensen said it had to do with my job, I was floored.

Harper Shipping was not exactly a hotbed of criminal activity. The company had a huge fleet of trucks and contracted out to various distributors to drive merchandise all over the country. I worked for the employees, not the clients, but I’d seen enough people coming in and out of the office to know that our clients were mostly corporate, from easily identifiable companies.

Agent Jensen assured me that I was right, for the most part. The bulk of our business was legitimate. Unfortunately William Harper had gotten greedy. According to Agent Jensen, Mr. Harper wasn't happy with the current healthy level of profit he got from shipping legitimate goods around the country. The list of 'other' things Harper Shipping transported was long and terrifying.

Weapons. Drugs. And people. Illegal immigrants to be sold as slave labor. And women, girls mostly. More immigrants, and runaways. Girls who came to Vegas for the bright lights and got lost. They would also be sold, but for a different kind of work. I couldn't imagine it. I didn't like Mr. Harper, but I just couldn't see him masterminding a criminal enterprise like the one Agent Jensen was describing. He didn't seem smart enough, for one.

Harper Shipping was a company William Harper had inherited from his grandfather. He hadn’t built it from scratch or taken what he’d been given and made it better. He barely managed to keep the company on an even keel. When Agent Jensen explained that Mr. Harper was working with the Russian mob, everything made more sense.

And it got that much more terrifying. My first thought, after hearing about the case from Agent Jensen, was to quit my job and get the hell out of town. I had nothing to do with any of the things he’d described. I didn't coordinate with clients, I didn't handle logistics for shipping, none of it. I occasionally did a little work with marketing, but that was the only time I ever stepped outside of Human Resources. My job was limited to benefits, company policies, and employee problems.

But the FBI needed someone on the inside, and after investigating the company for the past year, they'd determined that my new promotion made me their best bet. Coming from below the management level, Agent Jensen was reasonably sure that I was clean, yet my new position as head of Human Resources meant I had access the information that might prove their case against both William Harper and the Russian mob.

I'm going to be honest. I didn't want to help. I wasn't afraid of Mr. Harper, not exactly. But the Russian mob? I wasn't stupid. I've seen plenty of movies and the idea of getting on the wrong side of the Russian mob seemed like a great way to get myself killed. I might not be doing anything really important with my life. Taking cooking classes and hanging out with my friends wasn't exactly curing cancer. But that didn't mean I didn't value what I had.

I wasn't crazy about putting myself in danger. I was gearing up to tell Agent Jensen he could take his job and shove it when he showed me the pictures. Girls, young women, their eyes wide and terrified. Then more pictures of other girls, dead girls. Agent Jensen said they hadn't been able to prove it, but they believed these girls had been moved into the country and to their final destinations by Harper Shipping. The discovery of the group of six dead young women, ages 11 to 15, had been the FBI's first tie between the Russian mob and Harper Shipping. Agent Jensen stared at me with those warm brown eyes so like my father's and begged me to help. To save the next shipment of girls and the one after that.

I couldn't say no. Not after looking at those pictures, those girls too young, gray with death, their eyes flat and empty. So I'd begun spying on my employer for the FBI. I was terrible at it. Really terrible. It wasn't that I got caught, or even came close to getting caught. Mr. Harper seemed oblivious and in general the files were such a mess no one noticed what I was looking at. On top of that, everyone had gotten used to me reorganizing my department, so it wasn't unusual to find me pouring through papers in the storage rooms or poking around the company looking for something Thomas had misplaced. But I really had no idea what the FBI needed, and Agent Jensen couldn't always be specific. So far I'd only managed to give them a few things that were helpful.

Then Agent Jensen moved on, and Alan Tierney took over. I didn't like Agent Tierney. Agent Jensen had made me feel safe. Maybe that was just an illusion because he looked like my dad, but I'd trusted Agent Jensen to look out for me. Agent Tierney was all about the case. I was just a means to an end for him. Disposable. It made me nervous. At this point, I just wanted to find something they could use to end all this so I could go back to my normal, relatively stress-free life. I’d been racking my brain, trying to figure out what I could get that would provide solid enough evidence to end my involvement in the FBI's case.

It was complicated, because, like Agent Jensen, Agent Tierney didn't fill me in on the details of what he needed, and I wasn't trained in criminal investigation. If you wanted to know the limits of your health insurance policy or when you could take vacation, I was your girl. How to determine what was useless data and what might stand up in court? I had no clue.

The day before, I'd finally caught a break. The most recent corporate cell phone bill had landed on my desk by accident and following a hunch, I'd opened it. I went straight to Mr. Harper's call records and discovered that he'd been using his corporate cell phone to conduct criminal activity. At least, I recognized a few of the numbers he’d called as those Agent Jensen had given me. He'd asked me to let him know if they ever came through the switchboard, saying they belonged to key players in the Russian mob. I’d memorized the numbers even though I’d been sure I’d never see them. I rarely manned the switchboard - a lot of people had to be out of the office before the head of Human Resources answered the phones.

But I’d been wrong, because here they were, those numbers I’d memorized all those months ago. I had to think that copies of these records would be helpful. They could subpoena them from the cell phone carrier. I thought they could. But that might tip off Mr. Harper about the investigation. I had a legal right to copy these files as an employee of the company. I was pretty sure that was true. While the bills went to the accounting department, I was listed as an admin on the account since Human Resources issued cell phones to employees.

I tried to log into the account online and download the last few months of call records, but the password Thomas left me didn't work. When I ordered cell phones for the account I usually did it over the phone, not online, and I'd never tried to log in. But I knew where paper copies of the bills were kept. If I could get down there, copy the records, and get them to Agent Tierney, it might be enough to end this once and for all.

I was so ready to be done with being an informant for the FBI. The week before, Agent Tierney had asked me to find a file that Harper had used to keep track of shipments for various enterprises with the Russians. Not only had Mr. Harper kept records of all of it, going back a year, but he also stored those records in his office. Agent Tierney had promised he would take care of shutting off any security that might catch me, but he said I was the one who had to steal the file.

I thought it was odd that he hadn't wanted me to copy the file, leaving it where it was so that Mr. Harper would never know I'd been there. He’d wanted me to physically remove the file from Mr. Harper's office and bring it to him, along with a scanned copy of the file. I’d done it, waiting until both Mr. Harper and his assistant were out of the office. Agent Tierney had given me a good idea where to look, and the whole thing hadn't taken me more than a few minutes, but I'd been sick to my stomach the entire time. I really wasn't cut out for this kind of work.

My fingers were crossed that this afternoon would be my last clandestine file search. I kept myself busy at my desk until lunchtime when I knew most of my coworkers would be headed out of the building or otherwise occupied. I usually stayed at my desk for lunch, because employees who wanted a quiet word would often stop by then, taking advantage of the same lull in activity that I was looking for today.

I’d brought a sandwich for lunch, but I left it in my desk drawer, too nauseated from nerves to think about eating anything. At twelve forty-two, I pushed my chair back and stood, taking a deep breath to settle my nerves, and tried to force a calm, placid expression onto my face.

It was GO time. If I could find what I needed, I’d be off the hook.

T
he office was
quiet as I made my way to the elevators. My footsteps seemed to echo through the entire floor. In my imagination every head turned to watch me as I passed by, making note of the time of my activity for later. I knew that was ridiculous. No one was paying any attention to me and even those who noticed my passage didn't care. It didn't stop me from being almost lightheaded with anxiety.

I'd hidden a tiny USB drive in my pocket. We had pretty sophisticated copiers at Harper Shipping, and the one in the file room would let me scan directly to the drive. Efficient, and far easier to be sneaky when the evidence I took with me could literally fit in the palm of my hand. I rode the elevator alone, and, conscious of the security cameras, tried not to fidget. I had every right and reason to go down to the file room. I was in there several times a week on legitimate business. No one would think this trip was any different, or so I told myself.

The doors opened, and I smoothed my jacket over my hips, using the motion to dry my sweaty palms. Nervous about getting caught, I’d dressed a little differently today than I normally did. Most of my work clothes consisted of a variety of suits in feminine cuts that flattered my curvy figure. Nothing inappropriate, all very professional, but I've never understood why professional couldn't also be pretty.

While I knew I was unlikely to have to run for my life in the file room, I hadn't been comfortable wearing a skirt and heels today. Instead, I'd chosen one of my few pantsuits and a pair of flats. The change in wardrobe made me feel even more off balance.

The basement of the building was deserted, the lights flickering. The energy-saving motion detection system left every room dark except those occupied by a person. I tried not to jump as the lights followed me down the hall, flicking on as they sensed me coming. They were good for the environment, and the power bill, but I'd always found them creepy, today more than ever. I opened the door to the file room, manually flicked on the lights, and shut the door behind me. I could feel the emptiness in the room, and that, combined with the closed door, made me feel a little bit better.

The file room was huge, taking up most of the basement level. The ceiling was only nine feet, and while the room was big, the tall rows of shelves made it feel like a rabbit warren or a cave. Not sure where the cell phone bills were kept, I searched through the room reading the labels on the ends of each aisle hoping to find something that looked right. I checked an aisle marked 'Billing' and found it contained invoices for clients. That might have useful information, but it would eat up my entire day to check, and I had to stay focused.

I was headed down an aisle marked 'Accounts Payable, Misc.' when my phone beeped in my pocket. I think I jumped about a foot in the air, my heart thudding in my chest from shock and fear. My hand shaking, I pulled the phone from my pocket and checked the text on the screen.

Dinner tonight?

It was Adam. We didn't usually go out two nights in a row. I wanted to see him. I always wanted to see Adam. Probably more than was good for me. No, definitely more than was good for me. But I didn't think I'd be free this evening. I hoped I wouldn't. I hoped I'd be meeting Agent Tierney to hand over the evidence I was about to find, ending my involvement in the case.

Can't
, I typed back.
I have a work thing that'll run late.

Late dinner?

I stared at my phone, torn. I did want to see Adam. And how long could it take the hand off the USB drive to Agent Tierney? Anyway, I needed something good to look forward to.

That works. I'll TXT you when I'm done.

Looking forward to it.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. I was on the third section of 'Accounts Payable, Misc.' when I found it in a nondescript box marked with the name of our corporate cell phone carrier, on the fourth shelf up in a row filled with similar boxes. I pulled down the first box and lifted the lid.

It was packed with manila file folders. I groaned and flipped through them. There was no way I’d have time to scan all of these. I didn't even think my USB drive was big enough to hold that many documents. I tried to think logically. If Agent Tierney was going to use the phone records to substantiate the files I'd given him last week, he only needed records from this year. I grabbed the box marked for the current year and headed for the copier at the far end of the room.

Scanning the cell phone bills was an enormous pain in the ass. Each bill had about fifty pages. At least, that's what it seemed like. Rather than scanning the record of every call made on a company cell phone, I scanned the first page of each bill and the section that included Mr. Harper's calls. It still took forever. I was already nervous, but my anxiety spiked even higher as I felt the clock running down. I'd been in the basement too long. Away from my desk for too long. I was three-quarters of the way through and, I still had to get the last few months of bills to the USB drive.

"Are you almost done?" The sound of a voice behind me sent a bolt of sheer terror through my chest. I jumped, dropped the sheaf of papers in my hands, and whirled, my eyes wide with panic, one hand pressed over my thundering heart.

"Wow, Emma, are you okay? I didn't mean to scare you, sorry." It was Allison, one of the interns. She was new, sweet, and got sent on annoying errands for everyone who had the authority to tell her what to do. I rubbed my hand over my chest and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Gathering up the papers I’d dropped, I said,

“Sorry, Allison. I'm fine. I just got used to it being so quiet in here, and I didn't hear you come in. You scared the heck out of me."

Allison started to crouch down and help me with the papers but I threw out a hand and said, too sharply, "I've got it."

She took a step back and gave me a probing look. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I picked up the last of the papers and stood, shuffling them back together in a semblance of order. I felt my face flushing red. "Really, I'm fine. The basement always freaks me out, the way the lights come on by themselves, and how big it is. It makes me feel like a little kid afraid of the bogeyman."

"Sorry about that," Allison said again. "I get creeped out down here too. Do you need any help?"

"No, I'm almost done. Can you give me a few more minutes?" I asked, my heart rate finally back to normal. I quickly reorganized the bill I was holding and turned back to the copier. There was no way for me to hide the distinctive logo on the corporate cell phone bills. I would just have to hope that Allison didn't ask why I was copying them. My stomach twisted in a knot, and I felt bile rise in the back of my throat. I forced it back and pasted a friendly smile on my face as I got to work.

"Sure, no problem," she said. Allison leaned against the end of the copier, too close for comfort, and began to chatter about two employees who had been secretly dating and were now in the middle of a not so secret ugly breakup. I relaxed slightly. I liked Allison, but I didn't think she was bright enough to be this involved in relating gossip and also make detailed mental notes of what I was doing.

After what felt like an eternity, I scanned the last bill, put it in order, and filed it back in the box. Hefting the box, I turned and said, “It's all yours, thanks for waiting!"

I was halfway to the end of the room and almost out of sight when I heard Allison's voice behind me. "Hey, Emma, wait a sec!"

My heart jumped into my throat once more, my breath catching in my chest. I was so close to being done with this. What did she want? I spun around to see her holding out my USB drive. Tucking the awkward file box under my arm, I took it from her, gratefully, feeling like a complete idiot. How awful would it have been to go through all of that, then lose the stupid USB drive? Stress had my brain scrambled.

"Thanks, Allison. I can't believe I almost left that down here," I said, trying to sound casual. She shrugged and smiled.

“Anytime, see you later."

I returned the file box without any further incidents and went straight back to my desk. As soon as I sat down, I pulled a second USB drive from my purse, this one blank, and plugged both of them into my computer. It only took a few minutes to copy the drive but having a back-up made me feel much better. On impulse I copied over the scanned file Agent Tierney had asked me to get the week before so that the last few weeks of files were all in one place. Before anyone could come into my office, I pulled a prepaid priority mail envelope from my bottom desk drawer, addressed it to my best friend, and dropped the second USB drive inside.

This whole situation was making me paranoid: finding out my boss was a criminal, Agent Tierney replacing Agent Jensen, sneaking around copying files. I was uneasy handing everything over to Agent Tierney. What if he lost something?

All my work would be wasted and I might have to do it again. I needed to have a backup and Summer was perfect. I didn't tell her what I was sending to her, just asked her to keep it somewhere safe and not let anyone know I sent her anything. I didn't even ask her over the phone though we talked to each other several times a week.

A few months before, I’d sent her a priority mail envelope like this one with an almost identical USB drive inside, along with a note asking her to hang onto it and not mention it to anyone, even to me unless we were face-to-face. She'd done as I asked. Well, I assumed she had since I hadn't seen her in person for the last few months. But Summer Winters was my best friend and if I could trust anyone, it was her.