by Ali Parker
"Don't fucking hang up," he growled. "I want to speak to your boss, right now. So get him on the line."
"He's in a mee--"
"I don't care if he's on the fucking can. Get him."
I stood up, taking the cordless phone from my ear and stomping towards the conference room. There was no dealing with Jansen. He didn't respect women, or subordinates. Probably both. Besides, putting him in his place was above my pay grade. Let Dad deal with his bullshit.
The conference room was empty, but the door to the safe was open. I headed towards the safe, covering the microphone on the handset as I approached my father. Walking into the safe, I discovered two ex-military men delighting over the racks of firearms like a group of ladies who lunch at a designer handbag sale.
Just another ordinary day at work. Welcome to my life.
Chapter 3
Jack
I was already satisfied with my decision to work for Douglas Smith. The man radiated a cool calm that I envied now more than ever. He'd outlined the work I'd be doing for the company, and the sort of clientele they dealt with. It sounded like a fairly routine security detail for those who could afford the best in the security business.
"We're excited that you're here," he'd said with a genuine grin on his weathered face. Then his expression turned serious. "It's not easy to make the transition back into the civilian world," he said, his voice low.
Smith had made that transition for himself, back when Matt was just starting high school and Emma was still in 6th grade. His wife had died while he'd been abroad, and he'd immediately requested a leave of absence. Smith couldn't leave his family alone by returning to active duty, nor did he want them cared for by someone else.
The family was grieving, and his children needed him. So Smith had done the right thing and put in for retirement. He'd gone from taking out bad guys to cooking breakfast for his children every morning. Talk about a tough transition.
His voice roughened. "We're here for you if you need us."
I thanked him. "I appreciate it. And I'm grateful for the job."
"You'll do well, I'm certain. And, unlike active duty, you get to sleep in your own bed every night."
It wouldn't be like the desert, but the new job would be enough to keep me on my toes. After the position rundown, Smith got a gleam in his eye. Saying he had something to show me, my new boss led me to a bookshelf that looked like the others in the room. This one, however, held a keypad hidden behind a volume of Sun Tzu's Art of War. He hit a few digits and the bookshelf swung open.
It wasn't a bookshelf. It was an armored and alarmed door that led to a gigantic walk-in gun safe. My eyes widened as I took in all the pieces, from assault rifles to handguns. Cases of ammo. Scopes. Clips. Kevlar vests. There was even a shelf of knives and brass knuckles. The holy grail of assault weaponry, at your fingertips.
I was giddier than a kid in a candy shop, and I could see that Smith shared my enthusiasm. He pointed out a few pieces he preferred, and we engaged in a lively debate about the merits of 9 millimeters versus .45s.
Without warning, Emma popped into the safe, holding a phone in her hand. Her face was strained, and I could tell he wasn't pleased with whomever was on the other line. Her hand covered the microphone, but she still spoke in a whisper. "He wants to talk to the boss and won't take no for an answer."
Smith seemed to pick up on it as well. He mouthed the word, "Dexter," and when Emma nodded, he scowled. With an uncharacteristic roll of his eyes, Smith apologized, muttering that he has to take the call. Emma passes him the phone, and he takes it, walking out of the safe.
And just like that, I'm left alone with the boss's daughter.
I still couldn't believe how Emma had matured. She'd grown into her gangly body in a way I never could have anticipated. She was perfectly formed, with tan, lithe limbs and skin that looked softer than velvet. She glanced around the room and then back to me, her eyes on the pistol I was holding loosely in my left hand.
With a playful look in her big hazel eyes, she grinned. "Having fun yet?"
I nodded, a bit embarrassed. If such a thing as a 'gun geek' existed, I was definitely one. Returning the handgun to its place, I buried my hands in my pockets.
"So," she said, as much to fill the silence as anything, I assumed, "getting settled in all right?"
It looked like we were going to make chit chat. When we were younger, I hadn't talked much to Emma. What did I have in common with a sophomore girl anyway? Now we were adults and different rules applied. We were coworkers now. I'd have to talk to her every day.
I didn't understand why my words dried up whenever she entered the room. What was it about grown-up Emma that made me feel like a stupid high school boy in front of his crush?
"Yeah," I said finally, feeling lame but knowing I couldn't let the silence stretch out between us for much longer without her thinking I had something wrong upstairs. Not that I didn't have something wrong upstairs, but I didn't need her to know that.
"Where are you staying?" She looked relieved that I'd remembered how to speak.
"I moved into a condo on the outskirts of the historic district." I could see by the attentive look on her face that she was expecting more. "It's nice."
"Nice?" She laughed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against a shelf. "Tell me more."
Of course she was going to insist on continuing this farce of a conversation. "It isn't far from the waterfront. Two bedrooms, two baths. Quartz countertops and a tiled shower."
What the fuck else could I tell her? That the apartment was mostly empty? That my bed didn't have a frame? That my living room consisted of two canvas chairs and a lamp resting on the floor? That my kitchen had exactly one plate, one bowl, one glass, and one set of silverware?
"Hardwood floors," I finished lamely.
"It definitely sounds nice." I could tell from the light dancing in her eyes that she was teasing me. It reminded me of the way she and Matt had sparred so many years ago. She'd always had a quick tongue.
Don't think of her tongue. Don't imagine it sliding over your body. Don't think about her whispering what she wanted him to do to her before licking her lips with that tongue.
I swallowed, then pressed on. "There's a fitness room with a stair climber."
When she covered her mouth with her hand to try to hide her giggles, I realized how ridiculous I sounded, and it was like something shifted inside me. Some tightness released, and I broke into a grin.
"Did I mention the community room? I can request it for social events, as long as they don't go past ten pm."
"Stop," she said, and bent at the waist, holding her sides. "You're killing me."
I laughed then, a good laugh. A genuine one. It felt better than expected.
"You weren't always this funny," she said when she finally stopped giggling and caught her breath.
He shrugged a shoulder. "War does hone one's sense of humor."
She chuckled. "So does working with your father and older brother."
"I bet," he said. Her father was undoubtedly the authoritarian type, and Matt was a handful, no matter how you sliced it. "And apparently clients like this Dexter guy."
Emma let out a heavy sigh. "You have no idea," she said, then her eyes pierced his. "But you will."
"That sounds like a threat," I said.
Emma smiled. "It's a promise. Private security isn't Uncle Sam's family jamboree. Instead of guys with stars on their shoulders telling you what to do, you have jerks with patent leather shoes and gold watches giving you orders. At least the generals worked their way up the chain of command."
I considered her words. In Delta Force, there had always been the belief that we were working for the greater good. Protecting those who couldn't protect themselves. Keeping the world safe.
I'd assumed Shadow Security would feel the same. But, as Emma pointed out, the greater good had been replaced by rich guys with money to burn on trained warriors to watch their bespoke-suit
ed behinds. Just another element of my new life that needed adjusting.
Emma noticed that I'd gone quiet again and stepped in to keep the conversation moving. "How have you been spending your time since leaving the service? Any new hobbies?"
Should I confess the truth: I spent most of my time working out, or reading books on my small balcony? They qualified as hobbies, but they didn't paint a cheery picture of my life post-military.
"Just the same hobbies I've always had," I said lightly. "Working out. Running. Reading."
"Solitary pursuits, I see."
I was taken aback by her perceptiveness. I didn't deny it. I spent most of my time alone.
Emma eyed me for a moment, then nodded, as if deciding something. "Right. Well tonight, you're coming over to the Smith house for dinner."
"Dinner?" Had she seen through me that quickly? I started to brush off the invitation, but she wasn't having it.
"You're coming over, or I'm telling my Dad that you turned the offer down."
"Playing hardball, huh?"
She smiled. "Come on, Jack. You could use a home-cooked meal. It'll be fun."
I was pretty sure it'd be the opposite of that, but I couldn't afford to offend the boss on my first day.
"Fine," I said, and felt a curious sensation in my chest when she clapped her hands with a grin.
"Great. See you at seven."
I watched her walk away and felt a heat rush over my skin. God, she's sexy.
And that's exactly why I didn't want to accept the invitation. It was going to be hard enough watching Emma walk around the office all day. Now he'd have to spend the whole night drooling over her too.
A long night of torture.
At least I get a hot meal out of it.
Chapter4
Emma
Back at my desk, I tried not to grin like a giant goofball. I didn't know when I'd grown a pair, but apparently I had, and they'd given me the courage to invite Jack over for dinner. I'd only ever asked a guy out once, and he'd been nowhere near as hot as Jack.
You didn't ask him out. You invited him for dinner at your family's house. Where you, a 25 year old woman, still live.
I ignored my inner voice, focusing instead on the night to come. When I'd seen the look in his eyes when I'd asked about how he was settling in, I realized how lonely it could be. Jack was from Savannah and he likely still had family and friends here, but a decade abroad could change a lot of things.
Not to mention that Jack hadn't been a big fan of his family before he'd shipped out. In high school he'd spent an increasing amount of time at their house, sleeping in Matt's room a few nights a week. Although he hadn't talked about it, she figured that things at home weren’t the best. It had likely figured into his decision to go into the military. Uncle Sam would help him get far away. And so he'd gone, and taken her brother with him.
I was glad that he'd finally opened up in the gun safe. I'd had to drag it out of him, but the tension had finally broken between them. If we were going to work together, we needed to establish a line of communication. I was used to dealing with military men, knew that sometimes they kept their own counsel. But I couldn't do the job if I was left out of the loop. Which meant we had to keep the guys talking.
I respect the strong and silent type, but a man who can communicate well is rarer than a unicorn.
Jack seemed like he might be a tough nut to crack than most, but I was more than up to the task. A tasty dinner and some amusing conversation would stand in for the typical "team building," officemates might do.
But team building wasn't exactly what I had on my mind. I was already wishing that it was just the two of us for dinner. That we'd be surrounded by candles, and that we'd finish the night with a bottle of wine and some light making out. Maybe he'd get to second base.
Jesus, Emma, I chastised myself. Focus on the job, and not on your hot coworker, or you'll never get anything done.
Just then, Dad strolled up to my desk, handing the phone back over to me. His face took on a stern expression. "Listen, Emma dear. You're the office manager around here. If I'm in a meeting, you need to make it clear that I'm unavailable."
"Dad, I tried, but Jansen wouldn't--"
"There are always going to be clients like Jansen," he reminded me gently. "You gotta stick by your guns. What you say, goes."
I nodded. "I'll try harder, Dad." Then I changed the topic. "I invited Jack over for dinner tonight."
"Good girl," he said, squeezing his shoulder. "I'm going to give him his first assignment. He'll probably need a good meal to wash the taste out of his mouth." Then he headed off to the conference room to resume Jack's onboarding.
That afternoon, I left work early. If I was going to cook a dinner to impress our new employee, then I would need some supplies. Not that I had to impress him, mind you. It just seemed like the right thing to do for the guy. Wasn't it?
If I was being honest with myself, I'd admit that I'd been trying to impress Jack since I was twelve years old. He'd been my first real crush, the last name I'd attached to my own. Mrs. Emma Walsh.
He'd never paid me any attention in high school. He'd been polite but aloof, not at all interested in a dorky younger girl with braces and a stuffed unicorn collection. Not that I could blame him.
But I was an adult now, so surely the need to impress him should have faded, right? Instead, the need to not be ignored welled up inside her. He might have written her off in high school, but she'd be damned if he'd overlook her now.
Maybe it's time I grow the backbone Dad had been talking about.
Jack Walsh will notice me. Or else.
At home, she pulls out all the stops with a three-course Italian dinner. Dad and Matt stayed late at the office on a conference call with a potential client, and they arrived home shortly before Jack pulled up.
He was dressed in jeans that fit him like a second skin and a V-neck sweater. Compared to the suit this morning, Emma preferred this more casual look. She greeted him warmly when he stepped into the kitchen.
"Something smells good," he said with an eager grin.
"Sit down," she said, motioning towards the table. "It's ready to serve."
The guys dug in, and Jack was quick to compliment her on her cooking. She thanked him graciously, but her good mood slowly evaporates as shop talk began to consume the dinner conversation. Her dad and brother had a tendency to talk shop all the time, and now they were bringing Jack into their bad habit.
"Well, son," Dad said to Jack, "I hope you're ready for a trial by fire."
Oh no. Please don't be about to say what I think you're about to say.
"I'm ready for anything, Sir."
Dad cocked a bushy eyebrow. "I'm assigning you to Dexter Jansen."
"The guy on the phone today?"
I nodded. "Our new client."
Matt joined in. "He's a businessman who's entering production on a new product. He suspects a rival of resorting to corporate espionage to try and beat him to the market."
Dad took over. "It should be fairly standard. No real threat of danger. Just keeping an eye on anyone too interested in Dexter's movements."
I felt like Dad was downplaying the challenge of working with the jerk. "Can't you assign someone else to this detail? It's his first--"
"I can handle it," Jack interrupted, nodding in my father's direction.
"Good," Dad said, slapping him on the back. "I knew we could count on you. What say we grab a few beers and head out onto the porch to enjoy the end of the evening?"
The guys stood as one. Matt grabbed some beers from the fridge and they headed towards the back door. I could hear them talking about what strategy they'd established for the Jansen job.
I leaned back, feeling disappointed. I'd created a veritable feast, and what had I gotten for my efforts? Jack barely said two words to me. And now Dad had assigned him to Jansen, a class-A asshole.
Why doesn't anyone listen to me? Jack just got back from overseas, and he's clearl
y having some issues adjusting. So let's stick him on a protection detail with a guy who doesn't respect anyone without seven figures in the bank or more.
I began gathering the dishes, annoyed that they were out "enjoying the end of the evening" while she was here, cleaning up the meal that she'd had the decency to cook. Sometimes caring for her dad and brother seemed like more trouble than they were worth.
I'd just started the dishwasher when Jack entered the kitchen, his hands full of empty bottles. I took them from him, placing them in the recycling bin under the sink. "I'm sorry," he said, "I've been rude. I should have offered to help clean up."
His words melted some of the ice in my chest. "I've finished up now."
"Right," he said, lingering. "I owe you one, then." Jack opened the fridge and pulled out three more beers.
"I'm going to hold you to that," I said, leaning back against the counter.
He smiled, a slow smile that had me salivating. "I hope you do."
Then he walked out of the kitchen.
Man, I hated to see him go, but I loved watching him leave.
Chapter 5
Jack
It was a sunny day, and I was glad to be out of the office finally. I'd only been cooped up at Shadow Security for two days, but it was beginning to feel like a lifetime.
I told myself that my reaction was a result of getting used to being on the move while in the military, but I worried that there might be a more sinister reason at the root of my nervous energy.
Sinister and sexy, someone who's dominated my thoughts, more than I'd liked to admit. For the last two days I’d watched Emma, smelled Emma, and fantasized about Emma. About her skin. About the way her nose scrunched up when she laughed. About the way her tongue peeked out between her plump lips when she was concentrating.
I’d thought about her limbs wrapped around mine, her lips on my hot skin, her breath in my ear. Thought about it enough that I’d had to hide behind a desk or in the bathroom until my erection faded. Shadow Security’s office seemed too small with her in it. Just like my chest felt too small, too tight, when she walked past and I caught a hint of her perfume.