Except for her.
There’s something about her.
She doesn’t seem to fit in here.
I can see it in her face, her behavior tentative and the avoidance in her eyes. All that contrary to what she’s wearing. A sexy red dress that hugs her hourglass curves and reveals her long legs, all while setting off foreign feelings of warm tingles in my chest.
Sullivan crooks his finger at me, and I lean in. “Dee is leaving. Escort her to the pickup area,” he instructs, referring to the petite, sexy-red-dress-wearing brunette and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
I can’t help but stare when those incredible topaz eyes of hers meet mine for a split second. She’s pretty. No, scratch that, she’s fucking gorgeous.
Dee.
Her name is simple for someone so stunning.
It’s got to be short for something. Dotty. Deborah. Denise. Diana.
“I’ll be taking her friend upstairs to the Silver Badge’s private party, so I won’t need your services for the rest of the evening,” he continues.
“Yes, Mr. Sullivan,” I respond, mentally rolling my eyes, not wanting to call him mister. The fucker is probably my age. But because he’s our client, I must kiss his ass. I nod and don’t say another word as he places his hand on the other woman’s back and they scamper off into the crowd.
As much as I want to escort Dee to the pickup area, my orders are to stay by the client’s side. Ah, fuck it! I’m just going to escort her to the damn Uber anyway and she’ll be gone without a backward glance. Dee slides off the barstool, glances at me with a smile.
“Okay, I’m ready, Mr. Bodyguard,” she says as she tucks her chestnut wavy hair behind her ear.
“Brody,” I quickly tell her.
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Brody.”
“Brody the bodyguard. Fitting.”
Her smile and sultry voice send a jolt straight to my dick.
“Dee is short for?” I ask, trying to make conversation and get her full name.
She shakes her head. “It’s just Dee.”
I know she’s lying. There’s something there and why I can’t shake the thought of never seeing her again bothers me suddenly.
“Well, Ms. Dee, I will be your escort to the pickup area this evening.” I extend my arm, gesturing her to walk ahead of me. “Right this way, ma’am.”
I lightly touch her back and she startles. I have seen flinches like that in the past when I was a SEAL. When we’d pass through different villages, we could tell the women there were tortured, abused, and even worse, their bodies taken advantage of without their consent.
“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean . . .” I stumble over my words and disconnect my hand from her back.
“It’s okay,” she says as her fingers fiddle with the cross on her necklace. “I wasn’t expecting you to . . . never mind. You don’t have to escort me out. I can walk myself.”
“I would be less of a gentleman if I didn’t.” I stretch my arm out again. “This way, please, Dee.”
She moves in front of me, and the scent of her perfume hits my nose. An aphrodisiac that grabs hold of my balls. It’s soft and sweet, hypnotizing, but not overpowering. And why do I feel like I’m in some cheesy chick-flick or a corny romance novel?
Shut it down, Reinhardt. She’s not the least bit interested in you.
I’m about two steps behind her, giving her the distance she silently requests. She wraps her arms around her rib cage as if protecting herself. Now this wanting to see her again has turned into wanting to protect her.
The crowd gets muddy, people roar and jump to the next song’s beats that play in the oversize speakers above me.
Christ, I hate this fucking music.
A drunk woman hops in front of me, her tits bounce and her blouse is so low I almost see the pink of her nipples. Any other night, I would count down the minutes it’ll take her to get her pouty lips around my dick in the men’s restroom.
But not tonight.
“Hi, handsome. W-wanna dance?” the woman stutters and her breath reeks of alcohol. I catch her as she stumbles, landing on my chest. I hold her up to steady her. “Oopsie . . . thanks for saving me. You’re my hero. Hey, you look familiar. Oh, yeah, aren’t you—”
I roll my eyes, then look over the woman’s head to locate Dee. I push the drunk bunny aside as I try to find Dee in the crowd. My eyes dart from face to face. My heart pumps erratically and panic hits me.
Bright lights flash in my eyes. My mind takes me back to a place I don’t want to be.
Dust particles, smoke, and debris all around.
A voice screams.
My fists clench.
My skin feels like it’s on fire.
The smell of fear in the air.
My heart races.
“Motherfucker.” I blink rapidly.
Focus, Reinhardt.
I’m back in the club and no longer in that fucking building.
I run a hand through my hair as my urgency grows, realizing I lost Dee.
I took this cake-eating joke of an assignment for granted, and I let my guard down. Again.
My steps are steadfast as I weave through the crowd. I charge through the exit, the door echoes from hitting the brick wall, startling the line of guests still waiting to get in the club. I’m out of the building and the cool air wafts over the perspiration on my forehead. I head down the side of the building to the pickup area.
Fucking Christ.
She’s gone.
Chapter Three
Delilah
“Two Franklin cheeseburgers, two Mali-blue milkshakes, and a side of fries,” I repeat the order to the man and the woman sitting in my section. “Would you like to add one of Tawney’s famous desserts? They’re famous for a reason.”
Every one of Tawney’s goodies is to die for and it’s a wonder I haven’t gained ten pounds.
The man and woman nod. “Sure. Which do you recommend?” the woman asks.
“The banana bread is my favorite,” I say without hesitation and write it down on my pad anticipating they will agree. “Gotta have it warmed up with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.”
“That sounds delicious,” the woman says with a smile. “We’ll try a slice of that.”
“Good choice. And I suggest you take a slice home for breakfast.”
I make my way behind the long counter, then tear the piece of paper from my pad, pin it on the metal carousel, and spin it so Landon can start the order. I blow an escaped wisp of hair off my face and lean my hip against the counter.
The restaurant has a classic ’50s feel with its red vinyl booths, checkered floors, and the music playing from that era, reminding me of my grandparents. Tawney and her late husband, Frank, bought it when they were newlyweds. Nowadays, Tawney and her son, Landon, run the restaurant and Landon is also the head cook.
“You okay, kiddo?” Tawney asks, wiping down the countertop.
“I don’t think I got the job.” I shrug as I admire her perfect snow-white hair pinned on top of her head in a bun and the glow of her porcelain face, with a few laugh lines around the corners of her pink glossed lips.
“It’s only been a week, right?” Emily bumps my hip as she clips the next order for Landon. “I’m sure you got it. I bet they’re putting your salary package together as we speak.”
“As much as I want to say I know you got the job, I’m glad you’re still here,” Tawney says, placing dirty dishes in a gray plastic tote.
“I was hoping when I came to California, I’d be working at a marketing firm. Not at a diner. No offense, Tawn,” I quickly say.
“None taken.” She waves her hand in dismissal. “Give it time, sugar. They’ll call.”
“If you get the job . . . correction, when you get the job, I’ll take your shifts. I’m planning my trip up the coast and I could use the money,” Emily says, grabbing the next order from the aluminum counter and skirting away.
I play with the hem
of my apron. It’s been a week and not a peep from anyone at CJJ Public Relations. I’m beginning to think I don’t have what it takes to be in this business.
“My mom thinks I have been working at the firm for the last couple of weeks.”
“And why did you tell her that?” Tawney’s hand immediately lands on her hip, her silver-blue eyes stare back at me.
“I just want them to be proud of me, that’s all.”
“Look, I think of you as one of my own. And if I were her, I would be proud of you, regardless. You have been busting your ass out here, going on interview after interview. Have faith, Dee.” She pats me on the shoulder and disappears into the back office, leaving me with my self-doubt.
My phone buzzes in my apron pocket. I pull it out and there’s a text from Sydney letting me know not to wait up for her and that she’s spending the night with Levi.
Apparently, the private party on the rooftop was for the Silver Badge’s cast. Syd and Levi talked out their issues and decided to give it another try. I’m happy for my best friend and I really hope things will work out for her this time.
Sydney’s been on cloud nine since and wants me to meet one of Levi’s friends. But Brody has consumed my thoughts since I saw him. Broad shoulders in a dark suit, green-hazel eyes, and the strong scent of clean soap and cologne assaults all my senses and brings me back to that night.
Something about his kind eyes and soothing voice when he simply said my name drew me into him. His presence commanded my attention when he smiled and introduced himself.
When our eyes locked, I felt vulnerable as the butterflies stirred in my belly.
Brody. His name is so boyish and sexy all at the same time.
I shake the thoughts off and chastise myself. He only said a few words. Besides, the voluptuous woman that fell in his arms distracted him. And I swear he stared at her tits a second too long. I’m only kidding myself thinking he could have the slightest interest in me.
Before I can even consider dating again, I need to figure myself out. And even though the external wounds have healed, it’s the internal ones that were much more damaging.
The moment I stepped onto Sydney’s doorstep, I let it all out. Telling her what happened because it would only be a matter of time until Jenna would tell her.
When I was back home, Jenna questioned my bruises, and I would say it was me just being clumsy, until she took me to the hospital for my broken arm. I thought the bruises healed. But when I was changing into the hospital gown, Jenna demanded answers when she saw the blue marks on my back. I kept insisting they were from falling off Bailey when I went riding.
But Jenna knew me better than anyone.
I don’t fall off my horse.
Ever.
Jenna insisted I tell someone. She questioned why I stayed with him. Deep down, maybe I had a pocket full of hope he would change back to the man I met when things were good.
Drake never liked Todd from the get-go and told me countless times he was no good for me. His instincts were spot on and yet, I didn’t listen.
“He’s bad news,” Drake said as he pointed through my living room window at Todd who was waiting on his Harley, smoking a cigarette. “I looked him up, Lu.”
“How dare you,” I said through gritted teeth and folded my arms, grateful I was wearing my hoodie when he came over to my place unannounced. But unfortunately, it didn’t hide the cast. “Can you, for once, stay out of my business, Drake? Just because you’re the sheriff—”
He took ahold of my good shoulder and I flinched from the fresh bruise Todd left me. He took out his jealous rage when he saw Jenna and me at Misty’s Tavern, the local bar, sitting with David, our friend from high school.
“What happened?”
“Nothing—”
“Bullshit, Lu!” He snaps.
“What is your problem, Drake?”
“It’s my business to know what people like him are doing roaming around in my town. He hurt you, didn’t he?” Drake wiped a tear from my cheek that I tried so hard to hold back. “I know what he’s all about. Did you know he was arrested for assault and battery on a woman he beat several years ago?”
“God, Drake! Please. I beg you. Drop it.”
Drake wrapped his arms around me. The comfort of my big brother was exactly what I needed.
“I love you, Lu . . . I just want to protect you.” Drake let out an exasperated breath, then kissed the top of my head.
“You don’t need to protect me. I’ll be okay.”
“Then give me one good reason why you are with him.”
Our eyes locked as more tears welled in them. And that was just it, I couldn’t give him a reason.
The clatter of dishes shocks me from my thoughts, as Landon calls out, “Dee, your order’s up,” in a playful accent. He slides the plates of food across the countertop. I take a deep breath and chastise myself for wasting time thinking about the past.
The dinner rush finally passes and I’m sitting at the end of the counter, taking my break. I pop a fry in my mouth when my phone rings and I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Is this Delilah Marshall?” a woman’s voice greets me.
“Yes.”
“This is Joanne Martinez, from CJJ Public Relations human resources. We met a few weeks ago.”
I nearly choke on my fry recalling that she was who I first interviewed with. “Hi, Miss Martinez.” I shut my eyes, cross my fingers, and pray she’s called with good news.
“I apologize for calling this late. Things have been quite busy here.” There’s a momentary pause and the sound of paper shuffling in the background. “I called to inform you we have made a final decision.”
By the sound of her low voice and brief silence, I release a despondent sigh anticipating the bad news. “I appreciate the call to let me know I didn’t get the job—”
“On the contrary, Miss Marshall. I’m calling to offer you the marketing manager position.”
“Really? I got the job?”
“Yes,” she says with a slight giggle, obviously entertained by my response.
Holy crap! I got the job!
“Peter informed me about your missing designs. But you impressed him with the marketing strategies for Aptos Grocers and the other small businesses you worked on back in Kansas. In addition, there was a particular reference who informed us if we didn’t hire you, we’d be losing out on an asset to our company.”
Tawney, Emily, and Landon are looking at me with proud expressions as I listen to Joanne go over the salary package and benefits. My head spins and all I can think about is calling Mama and telling her about the sunset I chased, but first I need to fess up and come clean.
“Wow! I don’t know what to say.” I swallow to wet my dry throat and can’t believe this is really happening.
“Does that mean you accept?”
“Yes, I accept. Thank you.”
“I know this is unprecedented, and normally we give the candidate two weeks to tie up some loose ends with their current job . . . but can you possibly start this Monday? The prior marketing manager’s departure has left us in a bind, and we need to meet a few deadlines we were unaware of.”
“Yes, of course,” I say, my leg shaking with enthusiasm, eagerness, and excitement.
“Wonderful. We will see you here first thing Monday morning, Miss Marshall.”
“I look forward to it.”
Chapter Four
Brody
“Well, if it isn’t Leave it to Beaver,” Mark Dixon calls out over the short wall of my cubicle using one of the many names he’s called me since I started working for Cole Security Forces. “How’s the old man treating you?” He pulls out a chair, sits down, and props his wet boots on my desk.
I finish typing my report for the Sullivan assignment and email it to Jackson. After spending two weeks with that asshat, I’m glad his regular security detail is back from vacation.
“Well, if
it isn’t, Tweeny-Twilight,” I joke, pushing his legs off my desk. “Kind of far from home, aren’t you? Did Charlie finally kick you out after realizing she can do better?”
“There is nothing better than this piece of meat right here.” He waves his hand over his body.
“I wasn’t aware she liked shrimp.”
“Fuck you, Reinhardt,” Mark snickers.
“Get in line, glitter boy.”
I’ll never admit it but working for Mark at the Virginia office for a few months was a blast. There was daily banter and pranks played. We never knew who the next victim would be.
Even Natalie had been part of the shenanigans. She’s a force to be reckoned with. Her sweet innocent persona was anything but. I think she got her husband, Liam, involved to help a few times.
Not that working for Jackson is boring. I’m the new guy and most of the team here are on assignment. So, it will take some time getting to know the fellas here.
“You smell sweet.” I sniff the air.
“Is it turning you on, Brody?”
“Honeysuckle suits you.” I laugh. “Did you borrow that from Charlie?”
“Nope, stole it from your panty drawer,” he jokes.
“Ah, you found my collection from the hotties.”
We hear a door open then shut down the hall which cuts off our testosterone match. At least I got the last word in this time. Pleasantries with Mark are always an event. You never know what the hell will come out of our mouths.
“Did you just get in?” I ask, switching the conversation topic.
“Yup. Rain and LAX airport are a fucking nightmare.” Mark grabs the hockey puck from my desk and tosses it in the air and catches it. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?” I ask, expecting a cocky comeback as I snag the puck from him and put it back in its rightful place.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“What do you mean? You were the one who encouraged me to work in the California office.”
“That’s not what I meant. You don’t need to work, since you have a shit ton of money from—”
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