Jared King
Chief Executive Officer
Domestic Operations
Guardian International
Rio held onto that card. The conversation had imbedded an idea in his mind. One he'd turned over and examined in a million different ways. Building the business that he wanted to form was possible. Hell, if Pops’ trust and inheritance were sizeable, it was fucking probable. The idea for his company was simple. He was going to set up a transitional support system for SEALs that were getting out of the service, either at retirement or before, as long as they exited under honorable conditions—an employment clearing house of sorts. He wanted to use his money to vet the organizations, maintain a working relationship with the HR departments, and have priority placement for his brothers as they left the service.
He'd seen the statistics. Service members who'd tried to go from the military to civilian life, especially those that had seen combat, faced difficulties others didn't. Adjustment was hard, and if you couldn't find a job? Harder still. The numbers he read said the suicide rate for veterans was twenty-two percent higher than non-veterans. He had no idea if the company he was forming would make an impact, but how could he not try? His brothers in arms deserved a fighting chance at making a go of it on the outside.
Of course, the business was a pipe dream right now, but dammit, he was going to try make it happen. Only, he didn't have the training or business acumen, or hell, even the education to make that work. He'd need his family's support. God, he hoped like hell he could sell his idea. His brother's disdain for everything he'd ever done in life didn't bode well for support from that corner. Mason's coldness aside, he didn't doubt his father would help and point him in the right direction.
Dutch nudged him with his elbow. “You okay?”
Rio rolled his head toward his friend. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Dutch's eyebrow rose, and the man slowly shook his head. “I don’t know how to behave. You haven’t told a butt joke in over two hours.”
Enough worrying. Rio was wasting some pretty fucking important minutes. These memories didn't need to have the tinge of his own self-doubt surrounding them. Besides, he was really going to fucking miss this guy. Saying goodbye was going to hurt like a motherfucker. He snorted softly and shot his friend a snide one, just to ease the poor guy's mind. “I’d call you a butthead, but since your face looks just like your butt, it seems redundant.”
Chapter 2
Rio rolled his shoulders as he waited for someone to open the door. The Uber he'd hired to pick him up at the Savannah airport pulled down the long circular drive behind him. He leaned over and rang the doorbell again. Except for the porch lights, the house was dark, and there wasn't a car in the drive. He turned and examined the spacious wrap around porch. There. A bright yellow flower pot. Bingo.
He grabbed the key that was under the pot and let himself inside his family home. Maybe he should've given the family a heads-up. Well, they knew he was coming home, but they didn't know exactly when. He wasn't the best communicator in the world.
"Mom? Dad?" Rio listened to his voice echo in the vastness of the foyer. Hell, his last two apartments could have fit in area where he stood.
He dropped his duffle and kicked the door shut behind him. Flicking on the light, he laughed. Nothing had changed in the last twelve years. Everything was the same, even down to the fresh flowers on top of the antique table displayed in all its elegance in the middle of the foyer.
Rio lifted the phone that was still in his hand from giving the Uber driver his tip. He scrolled through the favorites section of his contacts, punched his dad's name and put the phone to his ear.
"Hello, my boy. To what do I owe this delightful surprise?" His father's voice had laughter running through it. It always did.
"Hey, Dad. Where are you and Mom?" Rio reached back and locked the front door.
"We are in the Hamptons this weekend. Stevenson's son is getting married. We were just heading to his place for the rehearsal dinner."
He heard his mom's voice in the background.
"Mom says hi and wants to know when you'll be coming home."
"Well, I'm standing in the foyer right now. Tell her nice flowers." It was a running joke between he and his mother. He'd tease her about her almost obsessive compulsive need to have fresh cut flowers on that table year-round.
"You're home?" His dad's voice triggered a chain saw reaction from his mom. He could hear her winding up and going off in the background.
Rio laughed and looked up at the ceiling two stories above him. Damn, he forgot how big the house was. "Yeah, I am."
"Tell him we can't leave until after the ceremony!" His mom’s voice had raised an octave or two, and he could picture her scooting closer trying to get at Dad's phone.
"Your mom said–"
There was a rustling sound before his mom's voice was loud and very clear, "Honey, we can't leave. The ceremony is tomorrow night. Will you be okay?"
Rio laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "You do remember that I'm thirty years old, and a Navy SEAL with combat missions under his belt, right?"
"Yes, yes of course, you are a big bad man." He could picture his mother's hand waving in the air as she immediately dismissed his words. "There's food in the kitchen, and the linens for your bed are in the walk-in closet, on the right, the tall shelving unit with the doors. Do you want me to call Mavis in? She wouldn't mind."
"Mom, please. I'm sure you gave Mavis the weekend off. I don't need her to come back. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself." Mavis had worked for his mom and dad for as long as he could remember. She was about ten years older than his mom and a mainstay in the family. Rio grabbed his duffle and headed for the set of stairs on the right that led to his wing of the house.
"We have a flight back to Savannah on Monday morning. Do you need money? The keys to your car are in Dad's den. You can use mine if you need something more substantial. Did you disarm the alarm?"
Rio's head snapped to the alarm panel across the foyer. He dropped his duffle and sprinted across the marble floor. "Shit, no, I didn't even think to do that. What do I do?"
"Language. Punch the Stay button and then key in your birthday, day, month, year. That's the code."
Rio did as she instructed, and the red light still flickered. "I don't think it worked."
"Okay, let me call the alarm monitoring company. I've missed the window of opportunity a time or two, so I know what to do. I'll call you right back."
The line went silent. Rio looked at the face of his phone and chuckled. His mother was a force of nature. He retraced his steps and picked up his duffle before heading upstairs. The carpet had changed. It was no longer a cream color. Now white and brown flecked, the plush depth made him feel like he was walking on memory foam. Hell, knowing his mother, there could very well be memory foam underfoot. He opened the door to what was once his room and turned on the light. He'd been back infrequently after he'd joined the Navy, but every time he'd returned the dark blues, deep browns and pops of white in his room brought him squarely back to his childhood. Fuck, it was good to be home.
His phone vibrated in his hand. He slid his finger over the face and lifted it to his ear.
"You’re all set. Just remember to rearm it if you leave. Hit the button that says “arm” and then key in your birthdate again. When you come back in, you have thirty seconds to turn it off." His mother had rattled all that off before he said hello.
"Got it. I'll be fine. I'm going to chill this weekend. Then I'll look for an apartment." He dropped onto the king-sized bed and lifted his feet onto the mattress. A sigh of pure contentment blossomed from somewhere deep inside him. He was home. For good. How fucking weird was that?
"Get your shoes off the covers."
At the reprimand his feet moved until his boots hung over the edge the bed. "How'd you know?"
"Lucky guess. Don't be in too much of a rush to get a place. We've missed you." His mom rattled off something
aimed at his dad and he missed half of it, but it was definitely directions.
"Yeah, I've gotten used to having my own space, and the Navy is shipping my belongings, so I need to find something pretty damn quick."
"Language."
He rolled his eyes. Fuck, what was he twelve? Still that twelve-year-old in his head stood up and apologized, "Sorry."
"You’re forgiven. Sweetheart, we are pulling up to the rehearsal dinner. We'll call tomorrow morning. We love you."
"Please don't call too early, and I love you both." Rio tossed the phone onto the duvet and flicked an eye at his watch. Six thirty... on a Friday. Shower, dinner and then drinks. He'd call a few old friends. Impromptu reunion. That was a thing, right?
Chapter 3
Meghan Williams had the beginnings of a headache. She pulled her hair from the ponytail she'd kept it confined in all day and let it fall to her shoulders. Her fingertips ran through the roots and lifted her hair, trying to fluff it. What she really wanted was to go home and stand under the shower for the next twelve hours while using mental bleach to forget a week from hell. But she wasn't doing that. Oh, nooo... she was guilted, once again, into having her semi-annual blind date, the one organized by her way-too-involved-with-her-life sister.
She hated going on blind dates, especially when Mindy did the matchmaking. She hated the ‘pity’ vibe. Vibe? Hell, her sister insinuated she didn’t believe Meg could get a date by herself. Which wasn’t true. Had she wanted to date, there were a host of online dating sites she could use. But at this stage in her life, Meg was working on herself, and for the first time, the reasons she was concentrating on herself were the right ones. Which meant for a litany of reasons, the dates her sister set up were always a one-and-done. Agreeing to go on the dates was Meg’s appeasement salvo to keep the source of all the wrong reasons at bay for as long as she could. A vicious circle, but one she was willing to continue, at least for a while longer.
After giving herself a once over in the rearview mirror of her fifteen-year-old Toyota, she turned the car off. There was nothing she could do about her tired makeup other than applying lip gloss. It simply was what it was.
She glanced to her left. Well, wasn't that something. A ritzy sports car was parked in between her Corolla and an SUV the size of an armored car. She opened the door a crack and shimmied out of her car very, very carefully. The machine next to hers was one of those mega-pricy models. It was black and shiny and oh so expensive. If her car door accidently dinged that thing, it would bankrupt her to get it repainted. Hell, it would probably bankrupt a third world country. She walked behind the car and looked at the emblem. McLaren. British? Italian? American? Who knew? Her mom would know, so would her sister. They talked and shopped for designer labels and were impressed with expensive cars and luxury items. Meg had never really understood the obsession, especially since she’d never been included in the conversations, for obvious reasons. The haute couture designs her sister and mother obsessed over complemented their size two bodies just fine, but those same designs stopped at a size ten. They’d won the genetic jackpot with tiny bodies that stayed thin no matter what they ate. While she…
Yeah, not going there again. She glanced at the trunk of the car and adjusted her dress in the reflection of the glistening black paint and gave a defeated sigh. She'd been dieting and working out most of her life, but she’d turned a corner in her understanding of why she obsessed with food, and the last two years she'd lost and kept off, ninety pounds. She'd love to lose another ten pounds, but... She refused to go there. Those tendencies were the old recordings that played in her head. A different set of genes than those of her mother and sister had determined her frame and body type and dictated a healthy weight many tens of pounds over her sister or mother. Well, now she was healthy. If the guy she was meeting for dinner thought she wasn’t, then... to heck with him. She nodded at her reflection and slung her purse over her shoulder.
The Bistro was an iconic local spot. The exposed brick walls, deep greens and blues dotted with crisp white tablecloths made it a wonderful place for a date. Meghan had eaten here many times when she was heavier, when she self-medicated with food. Now she rarely ate out, but that was by choice, not caused by avoidance. She’d done the fad diets and tried to eliminate entire food groups. It worked for some. Her? Not so much. She’d worked hard to understand her body and what she needed to succeed. With a healthy dose of information and the support of a friend at work who’d walked a similar path, Meg had succeeded in finding her way past all the reasons and excuses she’d used to sabotage her previous attempts to lose weight. She now had healthy outlets and could go out to eat if she chose to do so. Eating alone? Not fun, so she experimented with healthy recipes at home.
She palmed her phone and sent a text.
>How will I recognize this guy?
The bubbles on her phone immediately showed up. Dammit. So much for not being able to recognize her date. Carl? Yeah, that was his name.
>Dark blue shirt, brown hair - short, black pants and probably sitting alone
She snorted when she read her sister’s response. Well it would be a real fun date if he wasn’t sitting alone. Not that it wasn’t going to be an uncomfortable evening anyway with her sister’s track record for picking winners. It was as if she went out of her way to find socially awkward men for her to date. The guy who still lived with his mom, but made sure she knew he had his own bathroom, had been her most recent nomination for the winner of the Darwin awards. He had no job and no intention of getting one. The guy used his mother’s debit card to pay for his portion of the meal they shared. He was the prototype of the men her sister “hooked her up with”. Yeah, she didn’t have high hopes for tonight. Meghan waited in line for her turn to reach the hostess stand at the front door. She stepped forward at the same time as another couple.
"Welcome to the Bistro." The bright, happy smile on the waitress who greeted them was sincere when she asked, "Three?"
Meghan shook her head at the same time as the couple. They did that weird ‘we aren't together’ thing before she murmured, "I'm meeting my date..." She glanced past the perky blonde. Oh, hello! Forgive me, Mindy. "He's over there."
The waitress and hostess batted their eyes in surprise, but it was only for a minute. "Perfect. I'll take you to your table then?"
Meghan took a deep breath and followed the waitress across the dining room to the small table in the corner. She noted that her date, Carl, had already ordered his drink. Was she that late? She wasn't going to pull her phone out to look. Instead, she walked up to the table and stood beside him until he looked up.
"Hi, sorry I'm late, but I got stuck in traffic. Mindy told me what you'd be wearing. I'm Meg, Meghan." She extended her hand.
It took a couple seconds, but her date stood and extended his hand grasping hers. "I'm sorry, I'm–"
Damn, he was tall. As in towering tall, because at five foot ten, she was not short. "Carl. Yeah, I know." She interrupted because suddenly she was nervous. Mindy had outdone herself with this guy. She might have to give her sister props after all. She laughed and dropped into the chair across from him.
The waitress who escorted her across the restaurant asked, "Can I get you a drink?" She handed Meghan a menu after she was seated. Her date slowly lowered into his chair, his confused, wide-eyed look only made her more nervous. Hell, was she that off-putting? Her dress was nice, and her hair looked okay.
She pounced on the waitress’s question. "Oh, please. I would just about die for a nice glass of Chardonnay. Nothing too oaky."
"The house Chardonnay is fruity, not at all oaky." The waitress tapped her pad with her pen and smiled again.
"Perfect. Thank you." Meghan turned toward her date who was still looking rather shell-shocked. She hadn't checked the price of the wine, maybe it was too expensive? "Don't worry, we can go Dutch if you want." She shrugged, "I'm good either way."
The man's eyes popped for a minute before he shook his head. "No, payi
ng isn't a problem, but I think you made a mistake."
What? With the drink? Whatever, she shrugged. "Nah, I like Chardonnay." Meghan grabbed the menu. She hated this awkward part. The tit for tat, finding out if you can tolerate each other. But damn, he was so handsome. Maybe he had a weird hobby or something that repulsed women? There had to be something wrong with him if he agreed to a blind date. Whatever it was that made him a candidate for Mindy’s pity date, she’d find out sooner rather than later. She always did. Meg smiled and swatted the conversational badminton birdie across the net as she picked up her menu, "So, Mindy tells me you work for Northern Nova Enterprises. What part of the company?"
The man cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Ah, I'm sorry, but I have no idea who Mindy is?"
Meghan slipped her menu down so only her eyes showed over the top and really looked at the man across from her. He wore a blue linen shirt. His shoulders bulged under the fabric. She swallowed hard and forced her gaze away from him to sweep the men sitting alone in the rest of the dining room. "Oh, hell."
Her hand lifted to her mouth as her eyes fell on a man sitting across the dining room. He was entranced by his phone and wearing a blue sweatshirt and faded black jeans. Dark brown hair, cut short. She slowly swung her eyes back to the superhero, movie star version of the man she was supposed to be meeting and shook her head. With her red hair and fair skin there was no way her dinner companion didn't see her entire face flaming in mortal embarrassment.
"Here's your wine. Have you decided on your entrée? I've put a hold on your dinner, sir, so I can bring your meals out at the same time." The waitress swung her smile from Meghan to the man across from her. His golden-brown eyes were laughing at her. Nothing mean, but he was getting some fun out of her mess-up. God, he was so sexy. His beard was trimmed short against his tanned face and his golden whiskey-hued eyes crinkled at the corners as his mouth turned up in amusement. He was a beautiful man and yes, definitely way out of her league. The man she was supposed to be meeting yelled across the dining room to flag down the waitress. She dropped her head to her hands and shook her head.
Hot SEAL, Savannah Nights Page 2