Best Man For The Job (The Men of Fear Incorporated Book 1)

by Melinda Valentine

  “You’re a dick. You know that?”

  “That I do.”

  When Max walked into work Monday morning, he cursed under his breath. Zoë Youngblood stood outside his office door with her entourage.

  She flashed him the thousand-watt smile that she’d perfected for the cameras always following her around. This couldn’t be good. “Maxwell Fear. Just the man I’d wanted to see.”

  “Ms. Youngblood, how can I help you?”

  “Please call me Zoë. You make me feel like an old maid. Do I look like a frumpy old maid to you, Max?”

  She sauntered up to him and dragged a bright red, manicured nail down his bicep. The other hand slid seductively down her hip. Whatever she was fishing for, he wasn’t biting.

  “What do you want, Ms. Youngblood?”

  “You’re no fun, Max.” Pouting, she crossed her arms under her breasts, trying to push them up so he would take notice.

  “I’m a busy man.”

  “I was thinking of taking a trip and Daddy said I needed a bodyguard. So I thought to myself, ‘Zoë dah-ling. Who would be best suited to guard your body?’ Only one man came to mind. So here I am.”

  “Thank you for the confidence, but I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “You can’t?” She seemed appalled by his refusal.

  “I have other clients. I only take local jobs.”

  His statement was bullshit. The only jobs Max had at this moment could easily be completed from anywhere in the world that had Wi-Fi. But no way was he going to tell her that. He didn’t want to be involved in any way with Zoë Youngblood, especially not with all the signals she was throwing out.

  “Money’s no object.”

  “I can’t be bought,” he said. She laughed at him, and he gritted his teeth.

  “Anyone can be bought. All you have to do is find their price.”

  Zoë spun on her ridiculous heels and sashayed to the elevator. Her slim hips swayed with blatant exaggeration. Most men would probably fall to her feet begging, but not Max. He liked his women curvier. A certain curvy blonde came to mind. He smiled to himself as he made his way over to his office.

  After pushing the door open, he walked over and plopped into his oversized leather office chair. Hopefully work could distract him enough to keep images of Sloane from his mind. Yeah, good luck with that, he mocked himself.

  Chapter Five

  Sloane

  Sloane couldn’t believe she’d almost worked right through lunchtime. The morning was filled with appointments, conference calls, and errands. If she hadn’t set a reminder on the calendar to pick up Mr. Marek’s dry cleaning during her lunch, she wouldn’t have remembered to even take a lunch today. Shutting the computer down, she smoothed out her pencil skirt before tapping gently on the boss’s door.

  “Come in.”

  “Sir, I’m heading out for lunch. I’ll have your suits with me when I return.”

  “Thank you, Sloane. You are a lifesaver.”

  “Thank you, sir. Is there anything else I can get you while I’m out?”

  “No, I think you do enough for me as it is.” He smiled warmly.

  “I’ll be back within the hour. Don’t forget you’re meeting with Mr. Peters at two o’clock.”

  Taking the elevator down to the ground floor, she exited the building out of the side door. It was only three blocks to the dry cleaners, but in her heels, there was no way she was walking. Not when she would be carrying lunch, plus hangers full of heavy suits. Once in her car and on the road, she turned toward Maple Drive. As usual, the dry cleaner had the clothes ready when she walked in.

  Gathering the suits in her arms, she darted into the deli next door to order a turkey sandwich to take back with her. The smell of fresh bread assaulted her nose, making her stomach rumble. Impatiently, she waited for her number to be called. It was already one-thirty when she walked out of the small deli. Since she wanted to have herself settled before Mr. Peters arrived, she knew she’d have to hurry.

  The elevator dinged before opening on the floor housing Mr. Marek’s office. Sloane had twenty minutes to hang up his weekly suits in his office closet and scarf the food down. She scurried to her desk, dropped the sandwich off, and immediately pushed open Mr. Marek’s door.

  The first thing that came into view was Detlef Marek, kneeling on the floor in front of his desk holding his chest. Oh my God! Was he having a heart attack? Before she could unfreeze herself to run to him, red began to seep from under his hand. That’s no heart attack. Slowly, without thinking, she swung the door open further. She tensed, realizing that she was a few feet away from two men in expensive looking suits.

  One was tall, with a frame like a bodybuilder. He had dark hair and tattoos covering a neck she thought would be as thick as her head. A gun hung loosely in his right hand.

  The other guy was standing closer to her. He was of average height for a man, his head covered in an old-fashioned fedora. He turned to look at her. There was intelligence and malice in his dark eyes. Shit.

  “I told you to lock the fucking door, Booker,” the man in the fedora muttered.

  “Sorry, Boss.”

  The boss scowled at her. “Ms. Robertson, it seems we have a problem.”

  Sloane didn’t wait a moment longer; she turned and ran. No way was she waiting for the elevator either. She barreled through the door that lead to the stairs. A floor down, she heard a door open above. Was it the same floor she’d just exited? Shit. Shit. Shit. Her damn heels gave her position away easily. Hopping on one foot, then the other, she removed her shoes without stopping her quick decent. She should enter one of the other floors and take the elevator, but what if the other man was waiting inside the car? No, this way was safer.

  A metallic ping! sounded off the railing where her hand had just been, sending sparks flying off. The big brute was shooting at her! Safer, her ass. Without her shoes she could jump down the last few steps on each floor. After what seemed like hours, she plowed into the door full force, finally entering the crowded lobby.

  The moment the door opened, everything crawled by in slow motion; each step felt as if she was running underwater. He had to be gaining on her at this speed. Looking behind her for the brute called Booker, she ran right into a hard flesh wall. Panic had her throwing herself backward away from the arms grabbing her shoulders. This was it. The killer had her. She was going to die, all because she was dedicated to her job. Squeezing her eyes closed, she braced herself for the inevitable gunshot that still hadn’t come.

  “Sloane?”

  She knew that voice. That voice had haunted her dreams the past two nights. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Max stood next to the man who held her arms, keeping her from fleeing. The man in front of her looked to be in his early forties.

  The man took a step back, and Max took her into his arms and tucked her head under his chin. “What happened?” Max asked. “Are you okay?”

  “M-M-Mr. Marek…”

  “What about him. Did he do something to you?” Anger laced each word.

  “Shot. Upstairs.”

  “Lock this place down!” the other man yelled at the security desk. “NOW.”

  ***

  Max

  Max led Sloane over to one of the couches in the airy lobby. She was white as a ghost and shaking uncontrollably. He sat down next to her and pulled her toward him, tucking her under his arm. It was not the time to think of how perfectly she fit there. How perfect she felt.

  Winston made his way over to them after speaking with the building’s security. He knelt down in front of her, taking one of her hands in his.

  “Ms. Robertson, my name is Winston Peters.”

  “Y-you…you were Mr. Marek’s two o’clock.”

  “I was. Now tell me everything you saw.”

  Sloane gulped. “I was rushing back to get prepared for your meeting. I…I entered Mr. Marek’s office to hang his dry cleaning in his closet. I never heard a gunshot, but I s-s-saw…saw the blood appear on his shi
rt. Two men in suits were there. The one in charge called the other one, ‘Booker.’ I ran down the stairs. Booker followed, and he…he s-shot at me. Then I ran into you.”

  “Did they say anything else to you? Think, it’s important.”

  “Just before I ran, the short one said, ‘Ms. Robertson, it seems we have a problem.’”

  “He used your name?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of it.”

  Max met Winston’s eyes over Sloane’s head. This wasn’t good. No way could she go back to her apartment with the killers knowing her name. She might not know both of their names, but she knew their faces. Max continued to rub circles across her back to calm her. Eventually, uniformed officers came to get her statement.

  “Sloane, Winston and I are going over there to speak with the detective. Give this officer the best descriptions you can, but don’t leave without me. Understand?”

  “Sure,” she mumbled.

  “Sloane, do you understand?” he demanded.

  “I understand.”

  He hated walking away from her. She seemed so lost and vulnerable as she stared at the marble floor. He stalked to where Winston stood waiting; he wanted to get this over with and get back to Sloane. Today was not going the way he’d planned. He’d thought he would use today’s meeting to see her. Maybe even get the courage to ask her to dinner. He could even spin it as a wedding thing since she was the maid of honor. Tell her that since he was the best man, they should work together to surprise the happy couple with something. That idea was shot to hell now.

  “She’s in danger,” Winston said.

  “I know. Shit.”

  “How do you know her? Ex?”

  “No, she’s the cousin of Foster’s fiancée. We met the other night at dinner.”

  “I didn’t see a ring. Any other family at home that we need to get to?”

  “No, a boyfriend, but they don’t live together. He’s a cop. How are you holding up? I know you guys went way back.”

  “Detlef should have called me sooner, damn it. He never listened to me.”

  Max patted Winston’s shoulder as Sloane stood up. She scanned the lobby until her eyes settled on him. He met her halfway, taking her face into his hands. As he skimmed his thumbs across her cheekbones, she inhaled a ragged breath.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “As okay as I can be. I should call Brody. I can’t be alone tonight.”

  Brody. How stupid could Max be? Of course she would want to be with her boyfriend. He was a cop, so he was perfectly capable of protecting her. Why Max had entertained the notion that she would want him to take care of her, he had no fucking idea. Against his better judgment, Max put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Let’s go outside. You can call him out there.”

  “Thank you, Max. You helped keep me sane in there. I don’t know what I would have done had you not been here.”

  Max stood next to her as she called Brody. Three times it went to voicemail. She sighed. The sound spoke of disappointment. He wanted to kiss her again and make her see she was wasting her time on a man who couldn’t appreciate her. He was just about to do that very thing, when she lifted the phone and dialed yet again.

  “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you.”

  Max listened to the one-sided conversation. It definitely wasn’t Brody.

  “…Sounds like fun. I hate to ask, but what time was Brody on tonight?…Oh. Okay…I see…No. No, that’s all right…I’ll come by tomorrow…Love you guys too.”

  After a minute of pleasantries, Max realized Foster was on the other end of the phone.

  Sloane ended the call, slumping against the side of the building. He stood beside her silently for a few moments. Finally, he slid his finger under her chin, tipping her head up to look at him. Max felt like he had been sucker punched—the resigned defeat in her eyes crushed something deep inside him.

  “What happened? Does Foster know where Brody is?”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. She tried to blink them back, but one spilled slowly down her cheek. He swiped it away with the pad of his thumb.

  “He doesn’t know. His shift ended over an hour ago.”

  “You’re coming home with me.”

  “What? I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  He watched the expressions fly across her face as she tried to come up with an answer. “Because…well, because.”

  “I’m not asking you to jump in bed with me. Although, I would be a damn moron to refuse if you wanted to.”

  He winked at her, hoping his humor would lighten up the situation some. Her eyes widened in shock. The look was innocent and damn near undid him.

  “I have a spare room. You can stay there as long as you want. You shouldn’t be alone and honestly, it may not be safe at your apartment.”

  “I didn’t think of that,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Max.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Chapter Six

  Sloane

  Sloane followed Max back to his house, constantly watching the mirrors trying to see if she was being followed like in the crime dramas she loved to watch. It only took a few minutes for her to admit that she didn’t know what the hell she was doing. At least she didn’t have to go back to her apartment alone tonight.

  The city slowly fell away, leaving open fields and small farms before her. The smell of manure was strong, but surprisingly not as repulsive as one would think. Caught up in the simple beauty surrounding her, she almost missed Max turning down a hidden gravel driveway.

  The two-story, brick-colored farmhouse coming into view was quaint. The white wraparound porch was inviting to friends and strangers alike. Black shutters framed each window.

  Momentary jealousy niggled its way in. It looked like the dream house she had pictured in her head since she was a child. She couldn’t wait to see inside. She continued on the gravel driveway as it curved behind the house and parked in the small lot beside Max.

  He stood at the bottom of the steps, hands stuffed in his front pockets, waiting. He appeared almost shy the way he looked everywhere except at her. He led her inside after unlocking the heavy wood door, his hand warm on the small of her back. Simplistic and homey, the kitchen was uncluttered, but definitely lived in.

  Lemon chiffon curtains brightened up the room. White hand towels with little yellow flowers had Sloane wondering who decorated. What if Max didn’t live alone? Would a suspicious girlfriend make more out of this than there was? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Will your girlfriend be upset that I’m here? I don’t want to cause any problems.”

  “Is that your way of asking if I’m available?”

  The grin he flashed over his shoulder was panty melting. Holy smokes, Max was sexy. No. Sloane needed to stay focused. Not salivating over the perfection that was his ass. Still she followed him around his house like a puppy.

  “Um…No. I just didn’t want her to be upset that I’m here.”

  Max stopped suddenly. Whirling around, he crowded her personal space. His cologne was subtle—spicy and tempting like the man wearing it. His eyes were blazing. She could feel the heat between her thighs. She swallowed hard.

  “If I was living with another woman, do you really think I would have kissed you after dinner the other night?”

  She stepped back. “I don’t know. I don’t really know you, now do I?”

  She certainly wasn’t living with Brody, but he sure as hell had done more than just kiss other girls since they had been together. Something resembling hurt flashed over Max’s face, but it flitted away quickly before fortitude and anger took its place. Max could go from sexy to scary in a heartbeat. She refused to admit both turned her on.

  “When I’m involved with a woman, Sloane, I’m with her and only her. I know you don’t have much experience with men who respect monogamy, but I do.”

  S
tanding up straighter, she glared at him. “Hey! My relationship is none of your damn business. Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “I’m the man you can count on tonight.”

  His words hurt as they were meant to. Sloane held back the tears that were threatening to spill. No way would she give him the satisfaction of seeing he got to her.

  “Follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”

  His tone was clipped, cold even. She didn’t respond; there was nothing to say.

  She followed him up the stairs to the second floor. The wall going up was covered in photographs. Some were decades old, others just a few years. They looked like they spanned generations. One of Max in his police blues struck such a strong emotion in her, she almost tripped up the steps. That would’ve been smooth. Shaking her head, she continued the climb.

  The room Max stopped in front of was immaculate. The bed was covered in floral bedspread that matched the sheer curtains. The dresser and bed frame looked like expensive cherry wood, not that cheap pressed wood that was so popular these days. Like the other rooms she had seen, this one also sported hardwood floors with plush carpet runners protecting the varnish in high-traffic areas. It was stunning.

  “You can stay in here.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  He kept talking like she hadn’t said anything at all. “The bathroom is the next room on the right. On the left is my room should you need anything. I’ll get you something to sleep in. We can get some of your things tomorrow.”

  He left her still standing in the doorway as he stalked off to his room. He came back a few moments later with a pair of sweatpants, a large t-shirt, and an unopened toothbrush. They were barely in her hands before he was walking away, back down the steps.

  She called out to him. “Thank you, Max.”

  “Couldn’t let you go home alone. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Sloane watched until Max disappeared from sight before closing herself in the unfamiliar room. Sadness and loneliness closed in around her. Curling up on the soft mattress, she felt the dam open inside of her. Tears flowed freely. Soft sobs wracked her body. It could have been minutes or hours before sleep finally rescued her from her melancholy.