Forever With You

by J. Lynn

  At no point during the interview process did I meet the actual Andrew Lima or any of the members of his family, who apparently all worked for him at the academy. I’d only interviewed with Marcus Browser, whom I’d be assisting.

  I took the elevator from the second floor hall, which fed into the parking garage, up to the sixth floor. My stomach was full of knots, and anticipation bubbled through me as I stepped out, coming face-­to-­face with frosted-­glass doors that read: THE OFFICES OF LIMA ACADEMY.

  Mr. Browser’s office was in the back, past the field of cubicles and closed door offices. Fixing a small smile on my face, I headed down the center aisle, eased by the hum of conversation radiating around me.

  Before I reached Browser’s office, his door opened and he stepped out. Middle-­aged and fit, Mr. Browser looked at home here, with his pressed pants and company marked polo. He wasn’t alone. Another man was beside him, dressed in nylon sweats and a T-­shirt also with the company logo.

  “Ah, perfect timing.” The dark skin around Mr. Browser’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “This is Stephanie Keith, our new assistant. Ms. Keith, this is Daniel Lima. He oversees the training facilities here.”

  Switching my bag to my left hand, I extended my right. His grasp was firm and warm. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lima.”

  “Just call me Dan. There’s too many of us Limas running around to go with formality.” He dropped my hand, smiling. “And Marcus is exaggerating.”

  Mr. Browser scoffed but his smile didn’t fade as Dan continued, “I only oversee the kick-­boxing and boxing training.”

  “And Dan is way too modest,” Mr. Browser explained as he folded his arms. “He helps out in all the areas. Without him, Andre and Julio would be rocking in a damn corner somewhere.”

  I had no idea who they were talking about, so I nodded and smiled. If I had to guess, Andre and Julio were also a part of the massive Lima family.

  “I have to get going,” Dan said. “It was nice meeting you, Stephanie. Good luck.” He ran a hand over his bald head. “Working for this guy, you’re going to need it.”

  Mr. Browser rolled his eyes as Dan made his exit. “He’s actually the easiest of the Lima horde to deal with. Keep that in mind.”

  “How many are there?” I asked.

  “That work here? Five, including Andrew. There are numerous cousins and nephews and God knows who else—­because I swear, they are related to half of Philadelphia—­but most of them you will never see. The brothers, though, are the only ones who have more say than I do,” he explained. “Now that you’re an official member of the academy, I’m going to cut the bullshit.”

  Um . . .

  I blinked slowly. “Okay. I’m good with bullshit cutting.”

  His dark eyes glimmered with amusement. “What the Lima brothers say is what goes around here. Besides me, they are the only ones you answer to and who have authority to give you tasks.”

  Out of the corner of my eyes I could see that some of the heads in the cubicles were turned in our direction.

  “The marketing guys are going to be climbing up your ass, I’m sure,” Mr. Browser went on, “asking you to do stupid shit, like making copies and doing office supply runs. That’s not your job. They have a person for that.” He glanced to our left. “Yeah, Will, I’m talking about you and your lazy ass.”

  A deep chuckle rumbled out from somewhere behind the cubicle walls, and I guessed that was Will.

  “Now, Deanna Cardinali, who you met when you filled out your paperwork, runs HR. You will be assisting her, and she’ll be coming around soon to chat with you. This.” He gestured at the wide U-­shaped cubicle behind me. “This is your new home. You’ll be within easy reach when I need you.”

  Turning to the desk, I got a little giddy inside. I was a total goober, but the desk, the computer and phone, the printer and the file holders, were mine. Okay. Well, they belonged to the company, but they were mine.

  From here I would field calls and take notes, throw together manuals and set up calls and business trips, organize files, and according to Mr. Browser, ignore the sales and marketing team. From here I would begin my career at the bottom and climb my way up to the position Mr. Browser held. Maybe not actually here, at Lima Academy, but somewhere. This was all experience that would someday pay off.

  I smiled widely as I placed my purse on my desk. “Got it.”

  “Good.” Mr. Browser stepped back and reached into his pocket, pulling out a slip of yellow paper. “Now, I need you to pick up my dry cleaning.”

  It took approximately two days and three hours for the guys in sales to give credence to Mr. Browser’s warning. There were two of them, and I honestly had a hard time telling them apart at first.

  Identical hair styled in that messy on-­purpose way, employing a week’s worth of hair gel in one day. Both wore white polo shirts that were at least two sizes too small, as if they were shopping at Baby Gap. Both worked out . . . excessively. Their muscles were hard core. Shoulders thick, necks wide, biceps like bowling balls, and their hands were meaty fists.

  And both spent more time staring at my breasts than actually speaking to me.

  I had no idea what they thought they saw when they stared at my chest. Unless they had X-­ray vision, none of my dress shirts revealed a damn thing. And if they weren’t staring at my chest, it was my legs or my ass. They didn’t even try to be stealthy. Whenever I caught them, their grins took on a leering quality.

  They also tried to get me to pick up their dry cleaning, their coffee, print their reports, call to set up sales meetings, and just about everything under the sun. Normally I’d have no problem picking up coffee for them or anyone if I was already out doing it, but they always waited until I got back to the office.

  Thursday morning, when I returned from getting Mr. Browser his double shot of espresso and, randomly, fresh peonies for his office, one of the Steroid Twins was hovering near my desk. I was pretty sure it was the one named Rick.

  I pretended to not see him as I closed Mr. Browser’s door behind me and walked to my desk. I set my cappuccino down, sending a hopeful glance toward the phone. There were no blinking lights signaling a message. Dammit.

  Placing my purse under the desk, I powered up the computer and clicked on the Word document. The new employee packet was being revamped, and Deanna had me working on the welcome letter and the company policy sheets. Both needed to be updated with the information she had given me the day before. I scanned my notes, my gaze tripping on a few words that were so hastily scribbled I had no idea what I’d meant to write.

  Heavy footsteps drew closer.

  I focused harder on my notes as I picked up my cappuccino. The tiny hairs along the nape of my neck rose. I could practically feel his gaze boring into the back of my skull. How long would I have to ignore him before he went away? My eyes widened as the seconds ticked by. Would it be too obvious if I picked up the phone and pretended to be on a call?

  Rick eased up on the other side of the cubicle, directly across from me. “Hey, Stephanie.”

  Obviously, ignoring him wasn’t going to work. I sipped my steaming, caramel goodness and forced out, “Hi.” I didn’t want to be a bitch, but he and his Steroid Twin tripped my creep meter big-­time.

  He plopped heavy arms on the wall. “What you doin’?”

  I kept my expression blank as I pointed at the screen with my pinkie. “Working.”

  “I can see that,” he replied, undaunted. “What are you workin’ on?”

  Swallowing a sigh, I put my styrofoam cup down. “I’m working on the employee welcome packet.”

  “Sounds borin’ as hell.” His fingers tapped off the wall. “You doin’ anything after work?”

  Oh no. My gaze flicked up, and yep, he wasn’t looking at my face at all. His eyes were zeroed on my chest like they held the answers to life. “I have some things I need
to do this evening.”

  His gaze didn’t move. “A ­couple of us are goin’ out to Saints down the street. If you change your mind, you should come.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I waited another second, and when his gaze remained fastened to my chest, I cleared my throat.

  Rick’s eyes flew up and he had the decency to look a little embarrassed to be caught ogling. Pink flooded his tan cheeks. “So, yeah, what you workin’ on again?”

  I had to wonder how well Rick did his job. Luckily, he and his wonder twin weren’t in the office a lot. Normally they were in the gym, securing new memberships or off lifting weights or something. “I’m working on the employee handbook,” I reminded him with a hopeful glance at the phone.

  “Ah yeah, borin’ as shit right there,” he repeated.

  If I could have had any superpower at that moment, I would have chosen to make my phone ring on command.

  “I don’t know why they hired you to work up here,” he went on, and I slowly raised a brow. “I mean, shit, you’re hot as hell.”

  I started debating how weird it would be if I just, I don’t know, slammed my face into my keyboard.

  “If they had you down on the floor, we’d sell a shit ton of memberships, especially to the guys.” He laughed, a high-­pitched squealing sound, and I now contemplated the face into computer screen method. “Seems like a waste, havin’ you hidden up here. It’s obvious why you were hired.”

  I blinked and glanced up at him. “Come again?”

  He winked, and my hands curled into fists. “Anyone with two eyes knows it’s because of how you look, so it seems like a waste to have you sittin’ up here, doing borin’ shit. We could use someone like you on our team.”

  Shock struck me speechless as I stared at the guy. Did he seriously just say the only reason why I was hired was because of my appearance? Like he legitimately said that to my face?

  “Hell, it made sense why the last chick was up here. She wasn’t much to look at, if you ask me. Shit, though, hopefully you don’t end up like her. Anyway,” he said, smacking his hand down on the cubicle wall as he backed away. “If you change your mind, we’ll be at Saints. I’ll buy you a drink.”

  I’d rather get stuck at an airport during a snowstorm.

  Rick ambled away, obviously feeling very confident about our conversation, while I turned my gaze to the screen. The words blurred as I stared at the computer. Numbness was like ice in my veins. I knew, without a doubt, I wasn’t hired because Mr. Browser thought I was pretty. I was hired because I had a 3.8 GPA when I graduated. I was hired because I aced the fucking interview. I was hired because I was qualified.

  Placing my hand on the mouse, I clicked on the screen and shook my head, dispelling the thoughts the conversation with Rick had left behind. Well, almost all of them. Who was the girl who had this position and what the hell happened to her?

  Chapter 4

  The black and white pointed heels with the dainty bow on the back were absolutely darling, but they were brutal. My poor toes were pinched and I was sure almost all the skin along my heel was missing.

  Contrary to popular belief, beauty should not equal pain, and no matter how cute the shoes were, they were not worth the stinging bite of pain every time I took a step.

  I tossed those suckers toward the back of my closet and slipped on a pair of flats that my feet welcomed. Wiggling my toes, I lifted my hands and ran them through my hair.

  My first two weeks at Lima Academy had been exhausting, but in a good, fun, and productive way if I didn’t count the run-­ins with the Steroid Twins. They were jerks—­relatively harmless jerks—­but they were easy to ignore for the most part. Especially since I’d learned to be quicker with the pretend phone calls when I saw them enter the offices.

  Every day there was some form of grunt work that involved me navigating the congested streets of Philadelphia either by foot or car to track down something Mr. Browser just had to have. But I was also learning, and the excitement of the new job was nowhere near wearing off, even if most of the guys on the sales team were total assholes who spent more time staring at my ass or breasts than working.

  Swallowing a yawn, I closed my closet door and gave my bed a long, lusty look. I started toward it but stopped myself. Last night I had sat down around eight in the evening, for a few minutes, and ended up passing out, sleeping straight through the night.

  I was not falling for that trick again.

  Besides, I wasn’t exactly sleepy per se, just weirdly tired. I really hoped I wasn’t coming down with a cold or something. The last thing I needed was to potentially miss work for being sick, and because of that, I knew I should be staying in that night and resting, but I was bored out of my mind. And it was Friday night.

  And I missed my girls.

  For now, I Skyped with Yasmine and Denise, two girls who’d been with me my entire college experience, whenever we were free, which wasn’t as often as I liked. Yasmine had moved to Atlanta and Denise was in Baltimore, which was too far from here. Once I was situated, I wanted to make a little trip to see Denise.

  Grabbing my purse, I headed out to my car. Truthfully, I was feeling way too lonely and I needed to get out. Back home, there was always someone to hang out with or someplace to go, and I really hadn’t connected with anyone here.

  Well, except Nick, but that wasn’t really a long-­term connection. At least not yet. Who knew, though? We could become friends, but I wasn’t going to meet anyone sitting in my apartment, marathoning all the seasons of Supernatural.

  Mona’s parking lot was pretty packed, and as I headed in, I wondered if Nick was working . . . and yeah, I also wondered if he had plans later. That last thought brought a smile to my face.

  Music and pool balls clanking off one another greeted me as I stepped through the door. Grateful I didn’t wear anything heavier than a cardigan, since it was rather toasty inside, I moseyed on around two guys and approached the bar.

  I saw the girl with the glasses first—­Roxy. She’d changed the color of her glasses and the streak in her hair. Tonight, both were blue and they matched her shirt. A laugh burst out of me when she turned, and I was able to read what was on her shirt.

  A BARTENDER KNOWS HOW BAD HEAD IS.

  The other guy, the one with the short bronze hair and military written all over him, was also behind the bar. If I remembered correctly, that was Jax, the owner. Near the well, Roxy was working; I squeezed myself in between two stools.

  Only a few seconds passed before her bespectacled gaze drifted past me and darted back. Surprise widened her eyes. “You came back.”

  What an odd statement.

  Roxy whirled toward the owner and shouted, “She came back!”

  Um.

  Jax arched a brow as he glanced in our direction and then shook his head. Unperturbed by the lack of interest on his part, Roxy looked like she was seconds away from doing a cartwheel. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, leaning against the bar in front of me. “What can I get you?”

  Pushing aside the strange greeting, I flicked my gaze to the bottles beyond her and then gave up on trying to think of a drink. “I’ll go with whatever you have on tap.”

  “Coming right up.” Roxy whirled around, and like a little tornado, she moved behind the bar, returning with a full glass. “Want to start a tab?”

  I shook my head and handed over cash. Opening a tab always ended with me drinking way too much. “Keep the change.”

  Roxy smiled, and I realized the bruise that had been on her face before was completely gone. She returned from the cash register after getting a guy sitting two stools down a fresh bottle. “I was starting to think I’d never see you again. It’s been, what? Two weeks?”

  “I started a new job,” I explained. “I think it kind of wore me out a little.”

  “Totally understandable.” She pr
opped her elbows on the counter. “You’re enjoying it here?”

  I nodded. “It’s taking a little bit to get used to the city. Where I come from, we don’t have anything like that.”

  “Yeah, Calla—­Jax’s girlfriend—­has said that, too. But she’s actually from here, though she goes to Shepherd.” She paused long enough to take a quick breath. “But you don’t know her very well, right?”

  “I just know of her. She seems like a really nice girl, though.” I took a sip of my beer. “You’ve lived here your whole life?”

  “Born and raised. I love it. It’s really the perfect locale. Super close to the city but still has a town feel to it—­one sec.” Roxy buzzed down the length of the bar, handling someone who walked up with an empty drink.

  Taking another sip, I turned around and scanned the bar. There was such a unique mix of ­people here, young and old, all different ethnicities and backgrounds.

  “There’s a lot of hipper bars in the city,” Roxy said, returning. She grinned when I turned back around. “Sorry. You had that look on your face. Not a bad one,” she quickly added. “Mostly just checking everything out kind of look. I’m surprised we actually get a younger crowd here. There’re so many more options in Philadelphia.”

  “But Mona’s is nice,” I told her, meaning it. “Yeah, it’s not . . . the most in style.” I glanced at the neon Coors sign over one of the pool tables. “But I like it.”