She was prepared for the pushback. “Understand this, Mr. Jamison. Each principal is encouraged to answer the questions truthfully. People who want to harm Senator Mendoza will use every dirty trick in the book, every weakness. A food allergy, a relative who has a debt, etc. We need to prepare for every threat.”
“I have nothing to hide,” Senator Mendoza said. “Though my medical—”
“We’re not discussing that here,” Beatrice cut him off. “That’s for when I determine which security company will be most suited to you. I’m merely assessing your high level needs for now.”
Both men nodded.
Their server arrived to fill their glasses with water and take their drink orders. While each of them perused the menu, Beatrice led in with her questions. “I understand the Immigration and Border Security bill is high on your priorities right now.”
“That is correct.” The senator nodded. “My constituents are divided regarding some key aspects of the bill.”
“Understandable. Florida is a melting pot of different ethnic groups, and yet, a majority of the demographic is white.” Beatrice shut the menu. She knew most of the entrée items listed by heart. “You’ll have to find a happy medium.”
“As I’ve stated in our advance brief, the President wants me to meet with several heads of state from the South American continent. Our last stop is Colombia. Their government is beginning to gain control over the drug trafficking problem, but that will largely depend on talks with the left-wing guerrillas and the right-wing paramilitary groups.”
The waiter arrived with their drinks. After giving her lunch order, Beatrice took a sip of her Riesling. “There was a recent flare up of violence between the government and the guerillas. You may need bigger guns.”
“No. I want BSI,” Senator Mendoza said.
“That’s for me to determine.”
“I know which firm you are considering, but we couldn’t afford them.”
“I’m not sending BSI into known hostile territory. Their specialty is executive and dignitary protection. You almost need a team that functions as a private army,” Beatrice reiterated.
“Listen, Beatrice. May I call you Beatrice?” Zach’s mouth tilted in a grin. Oh, the man was turning on the charm. “Bring the matter up with BSI and see if they’ll take it. Travis Blake is a living legend—the Navy SEAL who saved a senator from an assassin. Folks on the Hill talk about him whenever extra security is needed.”
Beatrice inwardly agreed that Travis’s guys were very capable of handling extreme life or death situations. She was just more protective of them. She considered them her boys.
“All right,” Beatrice agreed. “I’ll bring it up with Nathan Reece. Travis is on his honeymoon right now and should return this Friday.”
“I’ve met Reece.” The senator nodded in approval. “I really think BSI has the team we need. They provided outstanding security for the senate contingent the U.S. sent to Ukraine. I heard you negotiated that deal.”
“I did.”
“So what made you go into the security business?” Zach asked. “You are not what I expected.”
“Should I be offended?”
“I meant that as a compliment,” the Chief of Staff replied smoothly. “Your reputation precedes you.”
Beatrice winced. Zach, realizing his faux pas, turned a shade darker under his tan. The senator chuckled. “You shouldn’t worry about the tabloid write-ups, Beatrice. You’ve worked hard for where you are now.”
Fortunately, their food arrived and the elaborate way the dishes were served gave her enough time to gather her wits about her.
“It’ll blow over,” Beatrice quipped and shrugged her shoulders. She looked at Zach who was staring at her with remorseful eyes. She raised a brow. His eyes turned mischievous, and then he flashed her a toothpaste-commercial-worthy smile.
Suddenly, Zach’s attractiveness diminished, and the devilish grin of another man came to mind.
Beatrice Porter! Get a grip!
“Now, I believe, I’m the one asking the questions?” Beatrice brought the conversation back to point.
*****
“Bitch whore!”
Beatrice watched in horror as a wave of red ruined her new cashmere wool peacoat.
What the hell?
She had just returned from her successful lunch meeting with the senator and was about to ascend the steps leading to the lobby of her condominium when she heard her name. Three women, all of them wearing Titanium Rose t-shirts, attacked her with red paint. How did they find out where she lived?
The older of the women, who sported bottle-blonde hair, continued to call her all manner of derogatory female names.
Building security rushed out and was about to restrain the women when Beatrice signaled them to back away.
She also noticed a tall figure rapidly approaching from her right peripheral vision.
Doug.
She kept her eyes on her attackers.
“Can you repeat what you just called me?” Beatrice said to Eric’s rabid fans.
“Ms. Porter . . .” one of the guards started to say, but she raised a finger to shush them.
“Bitch whore!” Blondie repeated, her lips curling in a snarl.
“Is that right?” Beatrice said, wiping paint from her face. “I’m the bitch? I’m the whore? Didn’t you read the papers?”
Blondie’s eyes widened. “Well, yeah, Eric wants you back.”
“Not that part,” she said irritably. “You do know he cheated on me, right?”
“That was just a groupie . . .” Blondie’s voice faded. “He’s Eric Stone. Everyone wants to fuck him.”
“So that makes it okay?”
No answer from the three women.
“You think it’s okay for your man to step out on you when you’ve agreed to be exclusive?”
All three shook their head.
“I’ve made my point. You three are lucky I’m not about to press charges, because I’m so done with this fiasco, it’s not funny,” Beatrice snapped. “Now get out of here before someone takes pictures and I find myself splashed all over the tabloids again. This is DC. I understand there’s no place more symbolic where freedom of expression is demonstrated every day, but dousing a person with red paint is not part of your first amendment rights. Do I make myself clear?”
The women just stared at her. The guards started sniggering but stopped when Beatrice glared at them.
“Go on before I change my mind.”
All three women slowly backed away before turning and running off.
“Beatrice,” Doug said. His eyes were sympathetic, but his lips were twitching.
“Don’t laugh,” she warned. “Damn Eric.” She whipped out her phone and called him. She got his voice mail. Just as well. She didn’t want to talk to him, just leave him a message. A warning.
“Eric. Beatrice. Call off your fans. You and I? Not happening again. Get that through your damn head. The next time I get attacked or harassed, you will not like what I’ll do to you.”
She ended the call. Doug sighed.
“What?”
“You threatened your ex over the phone.”
Beatrice paused. Shit.
“That’s not the way to keep yourself out of the tabloids.”
“Damn it,” Beatrice hissed.
“Come on, Carrie, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Beatrice grunted.
“You’re lucky they didn’t use pig’s blood.”
She grunted again.
They were making their way up the steps when Beatrice felt a shiver go up her spine. She stopped and looked around.
“What’s wrong, honeybee?” Doug occasionally used that annoying endearment on her, but right now, Beatrice’s attention was riveted to her surroundings.
“I feel like . . . I feel like someone’s watching me.”
“You’re just spooked by the attack,” Doug reassured her. He was probably right. He put his arm around her and she l
eaned into its comfort as they walked into the lobby together.
*****
The Mayflower Charity Ball was a black-tie affair, but Beatrice decided to forgo the formality of a limousine. Too much fanfare to pull up at the entrance of the trendy Larkspur Manor in McLean. At the moment, she preferred to remain inconspicuous, asking Doug to pick her up in his low-profile Toyota sedan. Some part of her hated how she seemed to be hiding, but the ugly scene in front of her condo earlier only proved the prudence of her decision.
Pulling up by the valet, a doorman opened the passenger door and assisted her from the car. Beatrice was wearing a simple satin sheath gown. Its platinum color set off her creamy skin tone. She set her hair in big curls and gathered them in a sophisticated off-center ponytail. Doug offered his arm, and together, they walked the short distance to the main entrance. They veered to the side walkway, which led to a discrete door that guests who preferred anonymity used during such events.
“Your hands are clammy,” Doug murmured. “Are you still shaken from this afternoon?”
“I wish I could blame the incident earlier,” Beatrice replied, “but that’s not it.”
“Don’t tell me fearless Beatrice Porter is afraid to face down this crowd?”
“Of course not.” Lie. But that wasn’t it either. The idea that she was being watched had been festering for weeks now. The mess with Eric Stone had thrown some white noise into her intuition, and she could not, for the life of her, determine what was causing her all this disquiet.
The door opened to reveal a brightly lit, opulent ballroom.
Showtime.
Beatrice excused herself from the huddle of diplomats and lawmakers to get another drink. She had sent Doug off to eavesdrop on another conversation of a rival security consultant.
A dark-haired woman with a pageboy bob, dressed in a tacky emerald-sequined gown, waylaid Beatrice on her way to the bar.
Kelly Winters. Her nemesis and the main society reporter for the DC Tattler.
“Beatrice.”
“Ms. Winters. I didn’t know they allowed barracudas in these functions.” Beatrice’s voice was glazed with saccharine sweetness.
Unfazed, the reporter shrugged. “You’re not the only one with political connections, Beatrice.”
“It’s Ms. Porter to you,” Beatrice responded. “Well, if you’re going to be mixing in these social circles, I suggest you fire your fashion consultant.”
The gloves came off. The reporter’s face turned ugly and she sneered, “You’d do best not to antagonize me. Your reputation is not exactly stellar at the moment.”
Beatrice gave a short burst of mirthless laughter. She shook her head. “Don’t threaten me, Ms. Winters. You print one lie, and you and your tabloid just bought yourselves a lawsuit.”
“Everything all right here?” a low baritone voice interjected.
Zach Jamison.
Kelly’s brow arched. “You’ve moved on pretty fast.”
“Come on, Beatrice,” Zach gently grasped her arm as he glared at the reporter. “Looks like you need a drink.”
When they reached the bar, Zach asked what she wanted and ordered their drinks. Giving her his full attention, he asked, “Was she a reporter?”
“Yes.”
“She the one who’s been printing all this garbage about you?”
Beatrice nodded.
“How did she manage to get into this exclusive event?”
“No idea,” Beatrice replied tersely and winced when she saw Zach’s face fall. “I’m sorry. I’m just not very good company at the moment. It’s been a weird day.”
He frowned and Beatrice realized how her statement came across. “Oh, no. No. Our lunch meeting was the most productive part of my day, actually.”
Zach grinned at her. “Okay. You got me worried there for a moment. We’re pretty set to work with you and whomever you choose for us.”
“Bee!” Doug reached them. He looked worried. “I saw Winters ambush you. I couldn’t get away from the French ambassador.”
“No worries, man. I got her covered,” Zach replied.
Both men exchanged strange looks she couldn’t decipher. Beatrice suddenly felt suffocated. She needed a blast of November chill.
“Guys, do me a favor? Make sure Winters doesn’t leave the ballroom,” Beatrice said. “I’m stepping out for a bit.”
“It’s forty degrees out there,” Doug said. “I’ll come with you.”
“Doug,” Beatrice said sternly. “I’ll be fine. Keep an eye on things.”
“Well, at least put this on.” Her assistant removed his tuxedo jacket and draped it across her shoulders.
“Thanks,” Beatrice said, and then nodded to Zach. “Thanks for rescuing me from Winters.”
“Not a problem, lady.”
Afterward, Beatrice couldn’t walk fast enough to the French doors that opened to the balcony. Because of the chilly weather, there wasn’t a soul outside. She closed the embellished glass door behind her and took a couple of steps toward the marble balustrade. Invigorating air refreshed her lungs. She had the odd desire to run.
“Beatrice.”
Whatever breath she took in was punched right out of her. She turned in the direction of the familiar voice and stilled.
Gabriel.
CHAPTER TWO
Gabe couldn’t breathe. She was still the vision he remembered.
His Beatrice.
No. Not his. He lost that right three years ago when he left her. Now, he had to earn her forgiveness, and hope she’d take him back.
She didn’t know it yet, but he wasn’t giving her a choice.
In that moment where time stood in a vacuum, he studied her. Beatrice always had the face of an angel, an almost perfect oval that tapered to a delicate, yet stubborn, chin. It really depended on her mood. Cutting wit and dry humor were some of the traits Gabe loved about her. His eyes zeroed in on the jacket keeping her warm and his jaw tightened. When his gaze returned to her eyes, he realized the shock had left her only to be replaced by pure unadulterated fury.
Gabe turned rigid with anticipation. What did he expect? That she would welcome him with open arms?
“What are you doing here?” Her tone was sharp. The hatred dripping from her voice bore a hole in his gut like acid.
“I hoped to see you.”
“And then what?” Beatrice snapped. “Be friends? I’m sorry, Gabe, but friends do not leave the way you did.”
“We were not friends when I left, do not delude yourself. You were my woman.” Giving Beatrice an inch would only make her take a mile. He couldn’t waver and fuck around with what he wanted. Not with her. He’d have to make it clear. His voice turned hoarse. “I threw you away—”
“Yes, you did.”
“I want you back, poppy—”
He expected it, the stinging slap. It cracked in the silence of the night.
The coat over her shoulders fell to the ground, drawing Gabe’s eyes to her nipples, which were pushing against the fabric of her gown, tempting him to just rip that dress from her, suck on her tit, and fuck her senseless. The burn on his cheek was insignificant to the lust that seized him. He’d had a semi since he’d seen her. Now his cock was threatening a full-blown erection.
“You’re the fucking delusional one,” she hissed. “I will never, ever take you back.” She cursed. “Stop looking at my boobs!”
He couldn’t help grinning, but resisted the urge to make a sexual innuendo.
Eyes on the prize, Sullivan.
“I know it’s going to take some time, babe.”
“Oh? For what?”
“For you to trust me again.”
“Trust you to make a fool of me again? You really think I’d waste my time on you? Are you really that hard up, Gabe? If all you want is a fuck, I’m sure there’ll be—”
He didn’t let her finish. Something broke inside him when she had dared think he would fool her again. He wanted her to feel how much he needed her. His
hand snaked out and yanked her against him. His mouth came crashing down on hers. Her lips were sealed tightly. Gabe growled low in his throat as he backed her into a dark corner. His fingers dug into her ass, preparing to boost her against the wall.
That was when he felt it.
An unholy pain between his legs.
He lost the ability to breathe, to think. He imploded like a pile of bricks.
“Fuck.” Was that his voice? Fuck.
“Boy, that felt amazing,” Beatrice gushed. Triumph and exhilaration were rolling off her in waves.
Gabe was on his knees, his hands over his crotch, looking up dazedly at her. “You do realize, poppy,” he pushed between gritted teeth, “you could have ruined our chances of ever having children.”
Fuck, he felt like puking. Cold sweat started beading his forehead.
“Hmph, still delusional. I don’t freaking care if you ever get another erection. Period.”
“That’ll be a shame for you, babe.”
“You deserve to be castrated, you asshole!” Beatrice spun on her heels and stalked away from him.
Gabe tried to get up, but the pain was still so intense, he crawled. “Damn it, Beatrice! Wait!”
“What’s going on here?”
This just keeps getting better, Gabe thought darkly. Beatrice’s assistant showed up and he was down on the floor like a pathetic bastard. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but he’d rather not look too diminished in front of a potential rival, even if the admiral assured him Douglas Keller wouldn’t be competition.
The blond prick glared at Gabe and acted like he was going to beat him up.
Really, buddy? I just got kneed in the balls.
“What did he do, Bee?”
“I took care of it, Doug. Don’t worry,” Beatrice cast another wrathful stare his way. “The air out here has gone rotten. Take me home before I get sick.”
Gabe watched the woman who meant everything to him walk away with another man. A searing pain burned in his chest. He deserved it, but he wasn’t giving up. Not by a long shot.
*****
Always Been Mine Page 2