The Assignment

by M. S. Parker

  “I can buy my own shoes.” His voice was flat, but I could sense an undercurrent of annoyance. He reached into the waistline of the pants and yanked off the tag. The shop girl watched in horror as he reached up to the collar of his shirt and did the same thing.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, exasperated. I glanced at the still gaping sales girl and flicked my fingers at her. She nodded and scurried off. I'd shopped here enough with Ricky that they knew I was good for whatever I wanted.

  “You're going out, so I'm on duty. Might as well wear my new uniform,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “How do you know I'm going out?” I flipped through a rack of jackets.

  “Aren't you always?” He grabbed his old clothes, rolled them up, and tucked them under his arm. Even with the bundle under his arm, he looked like he was standing at attention.

  I frowned and handed him a black sports coat. I wasn't sure if I was frowning at him or at the fact that we'd been together for nearly two hours now and he still didn't recognize me.

  I chose my usual defense mechanism. Bitch. “If only I could buy you better manners.”

  “I overheard you on your phone, Ms. Machus. Everyone did.” He looked at the jacket for a moment and then handed it back. “I'm not wearing this.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I'm not an undertaker, and I was never a fan of Johnny Cash.” His tone was mild, but firm.

  “Who?”

  He shook his head and put the coat back on the rack. This time, I stepped back as he flipped through the selection. I wanted to watch him. I wanted to remind him we had met before. The temptation of jogging his memory with a kiss ran through my head, and I was glad I was far enough away from him to resist.

  He picked a dark gunmetal gray sports coat. “How about this one?”

  “And the black one,” I said, heading to the counter before he could see that I was paying more attention to him than I should.

  I needed to remember all of what happened that night. He'd been the one who walked out and left me alone. I'd been at his mercy, depending on him to take care of me, and I'd tried to make part of that being about making me forget. Four years later, I was still paying the price. His scent alone was enough to make me weak.

  “I'm surprised you're picking out coats,” he said as he joined me at the counter. “I wouldn't have thought your fashion sense ran that way.”

  “What?” I asked absently. “You don't want to cover up your new tattoos?”

  He stiffened next to me.

  “New?” he asked softly.

  Shit.

  I sucked in a breath and held it. I could tell the tattoos on his arms were new because they weren’t there four years ago. I could still see him in my mind's eye. Beautiful golden skin over chiseled muscles. And only two tattoos.

  I handed the girl my credit card and weighed my choices. I could confront Haze here in public and hope his desire for professionalism was enough to keep him from taking it any further. Or I could play off the comment, pretending it had only been some off-hand remark, continue the ruse that I didn't remember him.

  Except I was afraid that as soon as I admitted knowing him, he'd be able to see the hurt in my eyes that came with remembering that night. Or worse, what if he still didn't recognize me because I really meant nothing to him?

  “Oh holy hunk.”

  Paris's voice came from behind me, keeping me from having to make the choice. I turned toward her and saw that she was wearing one of her favorite outfits. A halter top that barely contained the breasts she'd convinced her parents to give her for her twenty-first birthday and a skirt that ended just below her ass.

  “I didn't know they sold boy toys here. Hell, I need to sign up for the catalog.”

  “Paris,” I spoke from between clenched teeth. “You found me.”

  “I tracked your phone.” She grinned at me. “I love that app.” She slid between Haze and me, a predatory light in her ice green eyes. “And who is this?”

  “I'm Ms. Machus' personal security.” Haze took a step back, automatically going into military stance.

  “I thought you said Gramps was hiring some ex-military guy. I was expecting some scowling coot with his silver hair still in a buzz cut.” Paris was practically salivating. “But this is a tasty slice of prime rib.”

  I finished paying, waved a hand for Haze to carry the bags, and looped my arm through Paris's, dragging her away from the counter...and Haze.

  “It doesn't matter what he looks like,” I said, making sure I was speaking loud enough for Haze to hear. “He's still a major drag. You should have seen what he was wearing this morning.”

  “I'd be willing to see him in anything,” Paris said, licking her lips. “Or out of everything.”

  “Since when do you sleep with the help?” I snapped, instantly hating how jealous the question sounded. I turned abruptly. “Oh, is that the new fall line?”

  I pulled Paris across the street, hoping to distract her. Haze followed us at a distance, but not out of earshot.

  “Seriously, Leighton,” Paris said, not to be dissuaded. “Look at him. How did you convince your grandfather it was safe to send you around town with that hunk of temptation? Doesn't he know you have a weakness for chiseled army guys?”

  “I do not,” I said. I had a bad feeling I knew where this was going, and I needed to get her off the subject. “But I do have a weakness for leather skirts. What do you think about that one?”

  Instead of looking in the window, she leaned to ogle Haze again. “You do, too, have a weakness for guys like that. I mean he looks exactly like that guy. Your hero, remember?”

  Shit.

  “I prefer men who look like Ricky. You know, suave, not some set of muscles,” I said. “Brawn but no brains.” I added the last part, hoping she'd take the bait to point out that my boyfriend didn't actually have much in the way of the brains department.

  “Come on,” Paris insisted. “You remember. We were talking about it the other day. We were at that party and you whacked your head.”

  Dammit, Paris. Shut the fuck up.

  I glanced behind me. Haze stood with his back to the shop windows, watching the traffic. I couldn't tell if he was listening or not, but Paris was talking loud enough for people across the street to hear. Jumping into a swimming pool to save someone had to be memorable enough. But did I want him to remember? What if he remembered that part, but had forgotten what had happened afterwards? What if that night had only been unforgettable to me?

  “In fact.” Paris frowned. “I was pretty high that night, but I think your new security sort of looks like that guy. Doesn't he?”

  “I'm going to go try on that skirt. Come with me. He'll wait out here,” I said.

  I squeezed her wrist and gave her a hard look, silently begging her to understand. She needed to stop talking where he could hear her.

  Especially since I'd finally told her everything that happened that night.

  Instead of doing what I needed her to do, she smirked.

  “I think I get why you waited so long to tell me. At first, I thought it was all that tequila you drank that turned you to romantic mush. Going on and on about how amazing the sex was. No, wait, how amazing the connection was with him.”

  Fuck.

  I let go of her arm and risked a sideways glance at Haze. His jaw was clenched. Shit. He was definitely listening. A glint was in Paris' eyes, and I knew there was no stopping her.

  Why the hell had I let myself get so drunk the other night? I barely even remember spilling any of this to her.

  “You'd just wanted a distraction, but it ended up being the best sex of your life?” She was clearly enjoying herself. “You said you dreamed about it, and I was so jealous. Who else has dreams that make them climax?”

  “You're exaggerating.” I tried to play it off as nothing, but I knew it was pointless.

  “I'm only reminding you of what you said. More like gushed to me.” Paris was doing her innocent voi
ce. “I guess if I'd known it was him, I would've understood. I mean, he is gorgeous.” She smiled at me, but there was nothing friendly in it. “Shall we see if he remembers it the same way?”

  She started toward Haze, and I tightened my grasp on her wrist. She giggled and twisted, but I didn't let go.

  “What is wrong with you?” I hissed. My heart was thudding in my chest.

  “Me? I'm just trying to reignite a long-lost romance,” she said. “That is him, right? The guy who blew your mind and turned you into one of those awful moony girls. Now he's here. Why don't you want to talk to him about it?”

  I could barely force myself to look toward him and my eyes were burning with tears. A ruddy color was rising up his neck, but he refused to acknowledge anything that was going on behind him.

  “Oh!” Paris said, suddenly. “I get it. He left you.”

  I dropped her wrist, unable to believe what she was doing. No, actually, I did believe it. Paris had always enjoyed drama in any form. I'd just never been the target before. My stomach roiled as I thought about all the times I'd helped her pick apart other people.

  “That's it, isn't it?” She looked pleased with herself. “He walked out on the best sex of your life and never looked back. Must sting.”

  What stung was how wrong I'd been. Not about Haze or my memories of that night, but wrong about Paris. She wasn't my friend, and I didn't know if she ever had been. I'd thought because she'd stuck with me through all of the shit that happened after my parents died, she'd been a true friend. Now, I wondered if she hadn't been in it for herself the entire time, enjoying the attention and the admiring remarks about what a good friend she was to me.

  It shouldn't have surprised me, though. Everyone was like that. There wasn't a person in my world except Ian who didn't want something from me.

  Grandfather wanted me to be the perfect granddaughter.

  Ricky wanted me to be available when he wanted me while ignoring his indiscretions.

  And Haze...

  Haze wanted something. I just didn't know what it was yet.

  But it didn't matter.

  I was alone, and my biggest mistake was ever thinking that hadn't been the case.

  Chapter 15

  Leighton

  My embarrassment was a thick wall that made it easy to avoid conversation with Haze for the rest of the day. Not that there was anything either one of us had to say to each other. I knew he'd heard every word Paris had said, but his expression hadn't changed. If he remembered any of it, it obviously hadn't meant enough to him to join the conversation, to assure me that my feelings about our encounter hadn't been one-sided. Or to at least tell me that how I'd felt had been okay, that he didn't think less of me because of it.

  Not that I cared what he thought.

  As I continued shopping with Paris, I pretended that I was okay, that her cruel actions hadn't bothered me. It was almost easier than pretending that Haze's cold professionalism didn't make me both furious and upset at the same time. By the time we finished, I was determined to think of Haze as an unwanted accessory from now on, like the chunky watch my grandfather had once demanded I wear. He served a purpose and that was it.

  The day after the incident with Paris, I forced myself to go out again and Haze did his shadowing thing. Again. A whole day of shopping, meeting friends at a trendy new restaurant, and even a lively happy hour at a beachfront bar, all to prove I wasn't letting the awkwardness affect me. Except it did, because I didn't enjoy myself at all, even though I pretended to do just that. It was all an act, an exhausting one. And since it didn't even seem to faze Haze, by the time I got back to Grandfather's house, I realized it had all been completely pointless.

  The next day, rather than go through all of that again, I stayed in my room, announcing to everyone that I was going to be redecorating. I stuck with that claim through the entire day, even using it as an excuse to Paris as to why I couldn't go to a party with her. I wasn't sure if she believed me or not, but I made sure I had proof to back it all up.

  All day, Haze checked on me every few hours to make sure I was actually in my room. By mid-afternoon, I had paint samples delivered, swatches for new curtains, five new bedspreads to choose from, and two men putting together new furniture. I ignored the nosy bodyguard and he disappeared. By the end of the night, the entire room was transformed, and I was already sick of looking at it, so I headed for the media room, thinking some vapid guilty pleasure was exactly what I needed to distract myself. I didn't know when I fell asleep, only that when I woke up in the early hours of the morning, I didn't feel like going back to my room at all.

  When my brother found me on the sofa in our media room several hours later, staring at the wall-sized television, I was still telling myself that I wasn't going to let Haze's indifference get to me. The faux-fur blanket hid the fact that I was in my pajamas, but I had a feeling Ian knew anyway.

  “You're still here.” He sounded mildly surprised. “I thought there was some yacht party thing you were going to with Paris tonight. Shouldn't you be accessorizing?”

  “Paris has a tendency to go overboard on those. Literally.” I looked up at him. “She jumps off the back into the water, and you know I don't like to get my hair wet.”

  I wasn't about to tell him that Paris wasn't one of my favorite people at the moment. He'd want to know why and I hated lying directly to him. Not being truthful and telling him that I'd already known Haze was hard enough.

  “Yeah, and I suppose if you were there you could never let your friend drown,” Ian said with a grin as he flopped down on the couch next to me.

  For a moment, I wondered what Paris would do if the situations were reversed, but just thinking about what happened made my stomach hurt. “Plus I'm not feeling so good.” Not exactly a lie.

  “I figured. There's no other reason you'd be staying here rather than with Ricky.”

  I couldn't tell him that there was a bigger reason I'd condemned myself to Grandfather's prison. If I was here, then Haze was off duty, and I didn't have to see him.

  Hence, the reason I'd spent hours on the couch, staring at the television.

  Dinner last night hadn't helped either. I'd hoped that since I'd spent the day actually being productive, Grandfather would've been proud of me.

  I should've known better.

  “I'm glad you're settling back in here,” Grandfather said with a glance at me. "I must admit, the invoices gave me a shock.”

  “You can't put a price on comfort, right?” I asked, my smile tight. I still had some paint on my wrist, but I'd at least changed out of my paint-spattered clothes.

  “Having you both here at the table for dinner is the priceless thing,” Grandfather said.

  Ian nodded as he shoveled food into his mouth, and I glanced at my phone. Family dinners had always been like this with the three of us. Grandfather had always insisted we eat together, even though Ian and I knew that he'd rarely been around for dinners when our mother had been alive and living at home. Over the years, Grandfather had admitted that he regretted the years he'd spent away from home working, but an admission wouldn't give those years back to our mom.

  And it sure as hell wouldn't bring her or Dad back.

  “Perhaps you'd like to choose a room to create an office,” Grandfather said. “It might make taking classes and doing homework easier if you had a work space.”

  The idea should have been appealing. I loved decorating my room and had thought all afternoon about posting photographs of my work. I’d even had one or two daydreams about working as an interior designer and wondered how to put together a portfolio. If I had something to show maybe I could get an internship.

  I didn't, however, want to have an office here. In Grandfather's mind, an office would mean I was going to do the smart thing and go to college, get straight A's and start my own business. After all, that was the sort of thing our family did. It didn't matter to him that school had never been my thing. I'd always learned better doing rather th
an being told what to do. But since that wasn't how he learned, it meant my way was wrong.

  “There's space at Ricky's beach house,” I said. Maybe I could get something out of it after all.

  Ricky had been my boyfriend for more than four years now, but my grandfather's dislike of him was as strong as ever. Ricky's parents gave him everything and expected nothing in return. One of those things they'd given him was a gorgeous Malibu beach house. Before Ian had gotten hurt, I'd practically lived with Ricky there. Since I'd been spending more time at Grandfather's house since Ian's return, Ricky was rarely at his place for more than a few hours.

  It would've been perfect. The entire mansion was still a blank slate, and I had the keys. The problem was, I didn't want to see him and his parade of...whatever they were. I used to call them his indiscretions, but last night he'd managed to convince me to embrace the open relationship we already clearly had, so I didn't know what to call the other women he fucked. All I knew was, I still hadn't tried to find out what would happen if I started behaving like Ricky and found some other guy to have sex with.

  The thought of Ricky with one of his conquests was enough to make me lose my appetite. I put down my fork. I needed to get out of here but I'd have to word this carefully. I wasn't about to let my grandfather think I was considering his advice. He'd be too quick to gloat and launch into a litany of other ways I should fix my life. I knew step one would be to break up with Ricky for good, and after everything that happened with Paris, I wasn't ready to have another big shift in my personal relationships.

  “I might head over there tonight,” I said. “See what sort of space I could use.”

  “Fine.” Grandfather's quick agreement surprised me, but then he said, "Just notify Haze. Ricky's beach house isn't on your list of safe residences, and he'll need to accompany you.”

  No way in hell was that going to happen.

  I scowled at the memory, more at how my grandfather had spoken about Haze than about my thwarted plans.