Code of Conduct (Cipher Security Book 1)

by Smartypants Romance

  “I understand congratulations are in order, Miss Hane,” the guard said. “Welcome to Cipher Security.”

  “Thank you,” she said graciously. The fact that she didn’t say his name was my cue.

  I stuck my hand out to introduce myself, thereby completing the unspoken task of the couple – when one person doesn’t remember a name, it’s the other one’s job to get it. “I don’t know that we’ve met yet. I’m Gabriel Eze.”

  A compact man of Asian descent somewhere in his mid-thirties, the guard smiled in a way that told me he was very well-versed in the game. “Good to meet you, Gabriel. I’m Han, and yes, I shoot first.”

  I started in surprise, and Shane burst out laughing. “I told you that was his defining moment,” she said to me. Then she turned back to Han. “Han Solo was the romantic lead of the original trilogy, right?”

  The faint smile on Han’s face was likely the equivalent of a full-blown grin on anyone else. “His journey was the greatest, so yes, I’d have to agree. Go on up,” he said as he keyed the elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor. “The Greenes are expecting you.”

  When the elevator door closed, Shane turned, flung her arms around my neck, and gave me the kind of kiss that’s likely illegal in ten states. “Wow,” I gasped, when she stepped back as the elevator doors opened. Shane smirked as she stepped out into the hall.

  “Just in case you were nervous about tonight,” she said mischievously.

  I grabbed her hand and brought it to my lips, murmuring, “I wasn’t, until I realized I’ll be walking into the Hacker’s flat with a raging hard-on. Thanks for that.” I adjusted myself uncomfortably.

  Shane turned her twinkling gaze to me. “It was my pleasure.”

  “It will be,” I growled, wishing I could turn us right around and go back home. I hadn’t quite convinced Shane to move in and make my apartment our place yet, but she’d spent every night of the past month there, and most of her clothes and all of her prosthetics had migrated upstairs. I had insisted on a fashion show of every leg, with a demonstration of all the gadgets, functions, and hidden caches in each, and was absurdly pleased to discover her penchant for leglessness at home. Even better was her habit of stripping down to panties and a t-shirt upon entry into the flat, and her predilection for working in bed.

  Tonight, for the first time since I’d known her, Shane was wearing a skirt. It happened to be of the pencil variety that caressed every delectable curve and ended just above her knees. She had paired it with a simple linen t-shirt and red silk strappy shoes with three-inch heels. It had been with considerable effort that I dragged my gaze up to meet hers when she had emerged from the bedroom.

  My lust must have been written on my face, because the nervous expression on hers had relaxed into a genuine smile. “I have to practice walking in these.”

  “You look amazing, but I think you should lose the clothes and keep the shoes – for practice, you know.” I gave her my most suggestive leer, and she laughed.

  Our invitation to Alex and Sandra Greene’s place was a benchmark in our relationship for a couple of reasons. One, my gorgeous girlfriend was wearing a skirt in public, and she was absolutely rocking it. Two, the company for which we both worked had not only acknowledged our relationship but seemed to be embracing it. They’d given us several other cases on which to work together, and our continued successes were proof positive that we were an excellent fit.

  I mentally smirked at the wordplay that descended into smut in my head. The male brain was terribly predictable that way.

  I put my hand on the Greenes’ front door and paused to look Shane in the eyes. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into a night at home with a movie, a big dog, and a naked tickle fight?”

  “Every instinct I have is screaming at me to run,” she said. “There are women in there who apparently want to be friends with me, and I’m not even wearing my usual armor of boots and black clothes to face them. I put on a skirt, for Pete’s sake!”

  “Who is Pete, and when can I thank him for the skirt?” I said with a grin.

  Rather than pinch me, which I was sure I deserved on principle, my lovely lady gave me the softest, sweetest kiss.

  “Later,” she whispered to my mouth, “when you take it off me.”

  And with that provocative statement, which guaranteed a tent in my trousers for the rest of the evening, the most fascinating woman in the world bit my lip, gave me a saucy grin, and walked through the door like she belonged there.

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  The year I published my first book, a time travel fantasy novel called Marking Time, I stumbled across a romantic comedy with an odd cover featuring a young woman holding a heart in front of her face. It was free that weekend, so I downloaded and inhaled it in a day. I laughed so often while I read that delightfully smart romance with the wonderfully ridiculous title, Neanderthal Seeks Human, that I tweeted my review to thank the author for writing it. She answered my tweet, and the official version is that I stalked her until we became friends. But that’s creepy and not really true. I’m not entirely sure why Penny chose me, but I chose her because she’s a bucket-filler of the highest order. Every time I see her, every exchange of messages, and every phone call with my friend leaves me feeling replenished, as though the kinetic energy of words between us recharges my brain, my heart, my sense of humor, and my creativity.

  It’s not a surprise, then, that her books do the same thing.

  Penny’s generosity is unparalleled, as evidenced by this Smartypants Romance adventure we’re on. She has allowed me and several other authors the opportunity to write books in the worlds she created, and to let our characters interact with the people in her stories we’ve come to love. It is absurdly pleasurable to think like Dan the security man, and to be outrageous like Sandra, who makes men cry. My favorite voice to write in Code of Conduct was Alex, because his intellect and his love for his wife are as epic as his bafflement about common human interactions.

  Penny’s words, characters, and generosity inspired me to step outside my comfort zone of historical mystery, fantasy, paranormal, and time travel stories, and into a realm filled with so many incredible, funny, smart, fabulous readers. It is an honor to write in Penny’s Knitting in the City world, it is a privilege to give voice to her characters, and it is the gift of a lifetime to be trusted to tell stories for the readers of her books.

  Thank you, Penny Reid. You are extraordinary.

  This book could not have happened without the stories and wisdom of my dear friend, Casey Pieretti, the care and precision of my exceptional editor, Angela Houle, and the wisdom and insight of the lovely Rose Dreadnaught. Nicole McCurdy, Rebecca Kimmel, and the ladies of Smartypants Romance, your encouragement and enthusiasm got me past the hard parts, and to my family – you are the laughter, the love, and the joy in my soul.

  About the Author

  April White is the author of The Immortal Descendants series, which blends history, time travel, fantasy, and romance into a five-book adventure. Book one, Marking Time, is the 2016 Library Journal ebook award winner with more than a thousand five-star reviews on Amazon, and is currently free for e-readers on all platforms.

  In Marking Time, Seventeen-year-old tagger Saira Elian can handle anything … a mother who mysteriously disappears, a stranger who stalks her around London, and even the noble English grandmother who kicked Saira and her mother out of the family. But when an old graffiti tag in a Tube station transports Saira to the nineteenth century and she comes face-to-face with Jack the Ripper, she realizes she needs help after all.

  For more information about April’s books, recommendations for her favorite reads, and to sign up for her monthly newsletter and her Facebook reader group, Kick-ass Heroines, go to https://aprilwhitebooks.com

  Website: https://www.aprilwhitebooks.com/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AprilWhiteBooks/

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6
570694.April_White

  Twitter: @ahwhite

  Instagram: @aprilwhitebooks

  Find Smartypants Romance online:

  Website: www.smartypantsromance.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/smartypantsromance/

  Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/smartypantsromance

  Twitter: @smartypantsrom

  Instagram: @smartypantsromance

  Read on for:

  1. A sneak peek of Weight Expectations, Book #1 in the Cipher Office Series by M.E. Carter

  Sneak Peek: Weight Expectations by M.E. Carter

  RIAN

  There it is. The death machine.

  Otherwise known as a treadmill by people who think walking but never getting anywhere is fun. But for someone like me, who hasn’t stepped on a piece of exercise equipment since… well, ever, it’s known as Killer.

  The Grim Reaper.

  The Angel of Death.

  I know it’s already taunting me. Just like my doctor did when she said I needed to go on a diet or death was imminent.

  No, really. She said that. I swear.

  Alright fine. I’m lying. She didn’t actually use the words “imminent death”. It was more like, “Rian, you’re thirty-seven years old, and you’re morbidly obese. I’m not asking you to become a skinny minnie. I’m asking you to be proactive with your health.”

  Health, schmealth. It’s a family trait. We’re all big-boned, no matter how much rabbit food we eat.

  Fine, those are more lies. My little sister likes to run marathons—outdoors. With a destination. And a finish line.— And while she’s not skinny per se, she doesn’t fall into the overweight category anymore. Now she’s considered curvy.

  Voluptuous.

  Luscious.

  Every time her fiancé says it during family dinner on Sundays, I want to puke. My mother, on the other hand, smiles and clutches her heart like it’s the most romantic thing she’s ever heard. My dad just ignores it all.

  I would never tell my doctor this information, though. She doesn’t need more evidence to use against me. My cholesterol level has done enough.

  Which is why I’m here staring at the daisy pusher-upper.

  Taking a deep breath, I build up the courage to try. Gingerly, I step onto the machine, clinging to the handrails for dear life. As if they would collapse under the weight of me if I fell while it was in motion. And yes, that’s a very real fear. I have several of them right now.

  The treadmill collapses under my weight before I even turn it on.

  I trip and fall over the side, face-planting in front of a gym full of people.

  I can’t slow it down while gasping for air, thereby flying right off the end and landing on my amply padded ass, again, in front of a gym full of people.

  All are very realistic fears considering these flimsy handrails couldn’t withstand the weight of one of my thighs. Why are they even here? Moral support?

  Standing up straight, I want to give myself a pat on the back for not falling off so far. Granted, I haven’t really done anything yet, but still. Baby steps. Now to figure out what all the buttons mean…

  My brain gets very close to overload as I try to figure out which “on” button actually means go. For some unknown reason, there are more than one. Maybe it’s this one…

  Pressing a pink button, the monitor in front of me comes to life, but it’s not the television. I couldn’t get so lucky. Nope. Now I have touchscreen options, too. Seriously? This is why people don’t go to the gym. You need to be a freaking tech genius just to get the damn equipment to work.

  “Do you need help?” A voice next to me comes out of nowhere and I startle, clutching my hand to my heart. He smiles while I take a second to assess whether or not that was my first official heart attack or if I’ve just had too much exercise for the day.

  I’m sure my doctor would say neither was the case, but she’s not here, so I’m going for the dramatic.

  “Sorry,” I finally spit out. “It’s my first time here, and I guess I’m a little jumpy.”

  And that’s when I look at him. Like, really look at him. And oh. My. Why have I never come to the gym before? If this fine specimen is any indication, I have been missing out. No one says I have to come here and participate. I saw plenty of people sitting at the smoothie bar when I walked in. You can’t convince me they’re all here for their health.

  Well, I mean, it is a smoothie bar so they’re at least partially here for that reason.

  But still! With his dirty blond hair cropped close to his head and the perfect amount of scruff, I could stare at him all day. And that’s before I notice his biceps. Holy smokes, has he got guns. His shirt clings to him in such a way that I know there are some rock-hard abs under there. And those thighs. Don’t get me started on those thighs that are peeking out from under his athletic shorts as he props his leg up on the machine or I may just combust right here on this death machine.

  Then I notice the staff t-shirt.

  Ah. Now his inquiry makes more sense.

  “No problem. I’m Abel.”

  “Hi, Abel. I’m Rian.”

  His eyes widen in surprise. “Ryan, huh? That’s an unusual name for a woman.”

  I wave my hand around reciting the same explanation I have for the last three plus decades. “No, not Ryan with a ‘y’. Rian with an “i”. My dad’s name is Brian and my mom’s name is Riann, and they decided to combine the two to come up with Rian.”

  And I’m rambling. Because why wouldn’t I when a hot guy is talking to me? To his credit, Abel doesn’t run away screaming. His smile actually widens. Color me surprised.

  “That’s a really cool story. When my wife and I were having our daughter, we couldn’t decide on her name. I’m Abel. She’s May. So our first is Mabel.”

  Of course, he’s happily married with kids.

  “That’s cute.”

  “Thanks. We like it. So.” He claps his hands together, startling me again. “Enough procrastination. You’re here for a reason. Are you determined to use the treadmill, or are you interested in something a little more intense?”

  I narrow my eyes at him, knowing this sales game well. I’m a master at it myself. “Do you get kick-backs from how many people you train, Abel?”

  Now it’s his turn to look startled. “What?”

  “How much to take the class you’re pimping?”

  His eyebrows shoot up, and I know he’s surprised by my candor. “I—I don’t know. I don’t have the prices on me.”

  “So, the only reason you came over here was to sell me something?”

  His face pales and I start to feel bad. He doesn’t know me from Adam. He doesn’t know I don’t really have a bitch mode. I just like messing with people sometimes. Maybe I’ve taken it too far.

  Patting his arm, I decide the charade isn’t worth it today. Not with this guy. If he’s this visibly concerned, chances are he’s genuinely nice. “I’m just kidding with you, Abel. I work in sales, too.”

  “Wait.” He takes a step back and crosses his arms. “Was that a procrastination tactic?”

  I cringe. “Did it work?” I ask sheepishly.

  He nods, a look of appreciation on his face. “Almost. If you would have kept it up for just a few seconds longer, I probably would’ve cut my losses and walked away. Now you really need to sign up for a class. You owe me.”

  My jaw drops. I didn’t give him enough credit. He’s as much of a smart ass as I am. I bet he contributes more to the commission pool than anyone else in this place, just by flashing that fake embarrassed look.

  “I can’t believe you just turned that around on me,” I say to myself, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “Work here long enough, and you learn how to keep up with the shady ones.” He leans over and presses a yellow button on my machine. Sure enough, it comes to life.

  “How did you do that?” I say louder than I intend. Looking around, it doesn’t appear that anyone noticed, but I still make a concerted effort
to lower my volume. No need to draw unnecessary attention to myself in case this venture goes terribly wrong. “Seriously. Teach me all the things.”

  Abel laughs a deep rumble from deep in his chest. Damn. Add that sound to the list of reasons his wife is a lucky woman.

  And yes, I’m objectifying here, which I know is wrong. But when you are thirty-seven, have never been married, have no prospects, and haven’t had any for years, it’s tough to hold the boundary on appropriate thoughts.

  Not that I’m worried about being an old maid or anything.

  I think.

  Maybe.

  I don’t know. It seems to change depending on my mood. Some days I’m happy as a clam being single and ready to mingle. Others, I could emotionally eat my way through a Dairy Queen.

  Huh. Maybe I fall on the anxious side of love more than I realized. That’s what landed me here, right?

  Unexpectedly, the ground beneath me begins to move.

  Abel must notice the fear on my face because he immediately uses that smooth, deep voice to calm me. “Relax. We’re starting slow. Just look straight ahead and walk.”

  Okay. I can do that. Just walk. I’ll be fine as long as we don’t go any faster.

  “Why are we going faster?” I screech, as Abel presses more buttons. “And why is it going up?”

  Abel laughs again, only this time it’s not a deep timbre. This time it’s an annoying ruckus, ruining my carefully laid plans to start slow.

  “Relax, Rian. I bumped it up to Level One. In truth, that’s closer to the same level as walking directly on the ground.”

  Oh.

  “Oh.” Well, now I feel stupid and dramatic.

  “We’re going to put you on an interval. We’ll go in five-minute cycles. Three minutes at your slowest pace, one minute at your medium pace, and one minute at your fast pace. Repeat the cycle for thirty minutes.”