Setting her hands on her hips, Therese sent a meaningful glance at Emma’s side. “If you’re talking about you and your scars, no. Wrong. You’ve made a damned good life out of a shitty childhood,” she said with steel in her tone.
“Oh.” Emma was taken aback. She knew Therese’s veins were filled with caffeine and fire, but she’d never heard the woman come to anyone’s defense so authoritatively, let alone her own.
“As for him.” Therese coasted her hand in the air, indicating the outline of Emma’s form. “If he can’t see the beauty he has right in front of him—if he’s not willing to fight for it, like he did in some other land for people he didn’t know—then he’s not worthy of you.”
Spontaneously, Emma threw her arms around Therese. Their coffee spilled. She didn’t care. “Thank you. For being my friend.”
After a strong embrace, Therese shoved her back. “That’s what I’m here for,” she said, her stern expression demanding to know why Emma had ever thought otherwise. “Now, we need to clean this up before our boss walks in.”
Murphy’s Law chose to be in full effect, because at exactly that moment, Jim Stover strolled into the kitchen. “My, what happened here?” he asked in his booming voice, for an audience of two.
“I took off my coat and knocked into her—”
“I went to give her a hug, and—”
Jim glossed over their conflicting accounts, because he didn’t care. Emma could see in his eyes he was focused on his presentation due in an hour. “Ladies, all’s well. All’s well. No worrying over spilled coffee. That’s why we stock more. Emma, bring coffee to my office when this is taken care of, and we’ll go over the presentation.”
“Of course.”
On their hands and knees with paper towels—since the custodian’s closet was always locked—she and Therese mopped up the dark stains before they created permanent damage. “All’s well, all’s well,” Therese said, mimicking their boss.
Emma erupted in laughter, slopping soggy paper towels into the trash can. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,” she said, giggling.
When the decades-old linoleum floor was salvaged from additional coffee stain adding to the collection, they stood. Therese gripped Emma’s shoulder. “I know you’re all grown up, don’t need my advice.” She sighed. “I’m giving it anyway, because you’re like a sister to me.”
Emma cupped the woman’s hand. “I feel the same.”
“Then please, hear what I’m saying. Follow your heart, but don’t let that get in the way of your dreams.” The corners of her eyes crinkled. “As long as I’ve known you—what, nine or ten years?—you’ve hung a calendar of Ireland in your cubicle. If you want to chase those green pastures, then do it. If you want to chase a marine who’s broken but who makes you happy, then do it. But please, Emma please, don’t stay stuck here and look back on life wondering where it went, and why you didn’t take chances.”
“I think you need to put down your coffee cup,” Emma said, emotion brimming in her eyes, “because I’m about hug you again. Hard.”
Mugs went down. Hugs were shared, the kind that held truth and hope and acceptance. “Whatever you choose, I support that. But make that choice with your whole heart and do something wonderful with your life, because you can. Think about it, okay?”
“I take your words to heart, Therese. I’m so thankful for you.”
“Ah, take your coffee and get to work, like you’re not distracted by some hot marine.”
Emma laughed. “I’ll try.”
They exchanged heartfelt smiles and retreated to their respective cubicles. It wasn’t until after she’d gone over the presentation with her boss—which left her with an amazing sense of accomplishment, accompanied by her boss’s praise—that Emma investigated an unexpected email in her inbox.
From Therese, the title read: If you want to take a chance, this is it.
Clicking the email, she saw two things highlighted. Therese had tailored this just for Emma, even though the HR email regarding job opportunities had gone company wide.
Their bank had recently acquired Axelon, a powerful and lucrative accounting firm based in Ireland. She had to read the title of the highlighted link twice before she found the courage to double-click it. Up popped a description of the exact title she’d interviewed for, and failed to land, in a management position in Virginia Beach.
Was this her second chance to climb out of the middle ranks?
The more she read, the more her imagination soared. Emma no longer had family keeping her here. She’d buried Mom in a nearby cemetery, but she could order flowers delivered, and stay with Therese and her rambunctious brood in their guest bedroom when she needed State-side reminiscing.
What would be involved in moving to Ireland? Her fingers flew over the keyboard, Googling to learn more. Hmm, not so easy. But she could work there for a time. Even if she spent one or two years overseas, how amazing would that be?
Her excitement at this incredible opportunity accelerated her heartrate and expanded her mind. It wouldn’t be easy, moving to a new country, learning new customs, but this was Ireland.
Vaguely, during her youth, she remembered her mother talking about their Irish heritage. This great-grandfather or that great-aunt, having risked it all to come over on a boat to America.
Were they stories Mom had listened to growing up, or were they compilations Mom had gathered around her to help herself feel more important, fabricating a history worth remembering, real or pretend, she wanted to pass on to her daughter? Had stories of Ireland been drawn out of the mists of imagination like so many of the other lies?
Emma didn’t want to chase mists, or lingering phantoms of her mother’s desperation to find meaning. Her life accomplishments, while not worthy of Shane’s medals, were worth more than chasing a heritage that had never existed, or memories that never belonged to her.
Encouraged by a whim, during her lunch hour she went onto one of the websites promising genealogy for a charge, in exchange for a mouth swab. She looked at the Castles of Ireland calendar stuck to her cubicle wall. Cutting through her doubts, she uploaded her resume and clicked Send. Maybe she’d send in her DNA. Regarding a new job, in a month or so might embark on entirely fresh career path and recreated future.
Regardless of what her mother had shared, everyone had their stories, good and bad, happy and sad. Mrs. Laster held on to a story that helped her face her son’s rescuer—a failed rescue.
That morning, outside on Nancy’s sidewalk, Emma hadn’t seen anger or resentment in Mrs. Laster’s response to Shane. She’d been startled, as if seeing a ghost. No doubt that ghost of her son haunted her.
Emma didn’t want to be haunted by things she couldn’t control. She wanted to make a good life based on fulfilling choices—like Therese had suggested. Could she do that here, in Virginia Beach, waiting for a potential promotion? Had Mrs. Laster really moved on, when seeing Shane had knocked her off balance? Seeing Shane had every right to throw her, regardless of hard she’d worked to overcome her past filled with losses.
In hindsight, Emma wished she could go back to that moment, that private exchange, and run up and hug the woman. Awkward, for sure, but maybe she’d needed a hug right then. Like Emma needed a hug right now.
At the end of the workday, before she shut down her computer for the night, she checked to make sure she’d responded to all emails. That’s when she saw the second highlight on the email from Therese.
The other job opportunity, with the same credentials requested from the first, was based in Denver, Colorado. Her heart stopped. When it began beating again, she gasped for breath.
Her immediate response she stated aloud, “Absolutely not.” No. Why would she pursue a job in a distant city halfway across the country, where a man lived whom she barely knew?
The swirls started in her belly. “No,” Emma said aloud, knowing no one remained in the office. “No, Mae, life coach dear, we have our appointment next week. Your s
uggestions and promises are nice, but come on, Universe. Stop it. I’m not listening, because that’s crazy.”
Beginning to gather her things to leave the office for the night, she ignored her heart palpitations. As her hand hovered over the mouse, she felt a force beyond her click the link to the Denver job. “Just because I clicked it, doesn’t mean I applied,” she said emphatically to that unseen force.
Reaching over, she manually shut down her computer. Unacceptable for a bank employee, since banks insisted all personnel leave their devices on for “important upgrades.”
Why she felt dazed, she couldn’t understand. She shook off the feeling like she shook raindrops off her umbrella before she entered her apartment building.
An intervention named Therese meant she couldn’t ignore the uncanny coincidences. She opened her personal email on her laptop while binge-watching Stranger Things.
Therese had sent the same email to her personal account. It popped up instantly, and without her touching the mouse, the cursor hovered over the second highlight, the Denver position. She glanced between her laptop and the television screen, wondering if a weird inter-dimensional warp had snared her when she wasn’t looking.
“I’ll think about it,” she said aloud to the forces that be, “but it’s my choice.” While she appreciated all the serendipity the Universe had poured into her life, bringing her and Shane together, she wasn’t ready to give over to that power entirely.
She glanced at her calendar on her phone. She’d scheduled an appointment with Life Coach Mae tomorrow after work. She considered canceling.
An inner urge compelled her to keep the appointment. She saw Shane had called and left a message. As much as she wanted to call him back, so he could make her laugh and she could feel closer to him than she probably should, tonight she needed emotional distance. She plugged in her phone to charge, and watched the intriguing episodes playing out on her TV, deciding there couldn’t possibly be a correlation to the uncanny, Stranger Things happening in her own life.
Monday, three weeks later…
Daily Skype, texting and even amazing phone sex were poor substitutes to holding his brave recruit in his arms.
Every moment of every day, Shane thought about Emma.
At random times, he wondered who she was talking to instead of him, who was hearing her sunshine laugh or bathing in the watermelon sweetness of her smile or feeling the fireworks she made inside him. With her, every day was a Fourth of July picnic.
He was jealous of strangers, of anyone lucky enough to stand in her presence and bask in the goodness she projected into the world. Did she save other people the way she’d brought him back to life?
Countless times he had pictured calling off work on a whim to show up on her doorstep, sweep her off her feet and carry her to her bedroom. He would lay her down and make slow, sweet love to her, pouring his feelings into every touch, every thrust. The image had taken root so deep he woke some nights in a sweat, reaching for her. Only to find his arms empty, his chest aching with profound loss, insane need and untamable desire.
He tried to get Emma off his mind. He went out with friends. He watched movies. He dove head-first into a temporary position, filling in as a recruiter for Cam Anders, at the Denver office headquarters.
Nothing worked.
The idea of her becoming a permanent part of his life grew into a living, breathing entity—something inevitable. She’d become an invisible tendril that wound its way past any excuse he made to stay detached, the way a vine grew on a wall, eventually piercing the brick determined to keep it out.
From day one, she’d been wrapped around his heart. The tendril beckoned, Make me yours, or lose me forever.
Well, yeah, he wanted to make her his. Not the problem, he thought, huffing a hard exhale as he entered Soren Security Bodyguards headquarters for his night shift.
Night duty didn’t bother him. With Emma consuming his waking thoughts, even beyond his dreams, he would’ve been useless as a bodyguard sworn to protect and defend clients who deserved his undivided attention. The relief was immeasurable when Cam had recommended he assist in the office—since Anders was out on a bodyguard assignment—to help the division’s second in command, Slone Rowan, in the recruiting department. Shane gladly spent his working hours fielding incoming requests for employment from guys much like himself.
What bothered him was losing so many nights not talking to the woman who had rocked his fucking world. The Greeks would’ve written poetry about her. The Romans would’ve built coliseums in her honor. The Italians would’ve dedicated sculptures to her.
Did she have any idea how much she inspired him?
During their weekend, he’d done the idiotic thing every former marine told you never to do—he’d spilled his guts in front of her. He’d revealed his past, his guilt, his regret. Those intense emotions had created a level of connection he’d never reached until her, and she’d embraced that. Most amazing of all, she’d fully accepted him.
The night they shared would remain seared across his heart and mind forever. But…now what? How could their fates intertwine, with jobs and lives and distance mortaring together like an unscalable wall between them?
Frustrated, Shane dropped into his chair and logged in on the computer. The bodyguard life was no life to offer the woman of his dreams. He needed permanence, at present beyond his reach.
Then he looked at the card he’d brought to work with him, meant for Mrs. Laster. On the front, it held an image of lilies and read, “People on a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us,” the quote by Iris Murdoch.
Taking a deep breath, heart open and inspired because of Emma, he pulled a pen from the stash on his desk and opened the blank card.
Dear Mrs. Laster,
It was good to see you. I wish I had hugged you. I’ve wanted to, for so long. I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch. Please find the enclosed pages of my letter. It explains more than what I can fit in a card, including my appreciation of you embracing me, not blaming me, after Donnie’s death. He was my best friend, and I miss him every day. You were like a second mother to me, growing up. I’ve been wrong, not keeping in contact with you. I hope this can pave the way.
All my best,
Shane
The door behind him whipped open. He stuck a stamp on the letter, finished wetting the envelope to seal it, and glanced up at the new arrival. Few volunteered for the night shift. Hell, he’d volunteer for almost anything to avoid the boredom of standing guard, prepared to risk his life for celebrities he didn’t care about or diplomats whose purposes he didn’t always support.
Slone Rowan strolled in, in command beneath the CEO of the company, Adam Soren, who’d been on his honeymoon for the past two weeks. Shane had privately relished the honor of having been invited to the CEO’s wedding. He meant something to the company, more than a warm body willing to fulfill a role. He knew Cam well, who held a ton of weight with Adam. Apparently that association—along with their gym workouts—had warranted an invitation. The wedding had been a spectacular affair, the couple hopelessly in love.
Shane thought of Emma. He couldn’t offer her a fraction of that amazing ceremony. What would Emma want for her wedding?
Would it—could it—include him?
Recalling his superior had recently rolled in, Shane straightened in his chair.
Slone approached him.
Nerves took hold, but Shane kept his cool. “Evening, sir.”
Slone didn’t waste words. “I’ve found since you’ve been sitting in at this station for Cam, the acceptance rate of potential employees has risen twenty percent.”
Surprised, Shane said, “I didn’t aim to lift numbers, sir.” That was news to him. “I recommended men—and women—who remind me a lot of myself or show real promise.”
“That’s an interesting point,” Slone said, pacing behind Shane’s chair, hands folded behind his back. “I’ve spent t
he past week interviewing those you’ve recommended. Hiring has shot through the roof. Once signed, every new employee received an assignment, requested by clients, within two days.” Shane lifted his eyebrows, impressed. “We’ve added nine more good recruits to our ranks in the past three weeks. More than I, with my best numbers, added in three months.”
Shane swallowed. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm capacity.”
The response came as a soft chuckle. “It’s not a bad thing, marine. What are you seeing that I don’t?”
“I don’t know.” Shane almost second-guessed himself, before he said, “I have this ability, I’ve been told. I can see to the heart of someone.” He thought of Emma when they first met, of the gift he’d harbored since childhood, knowing the good seeds from the bad ones. He swiveled in his chair to look up at Slone. “I can’t explain it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Slone said, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Innate ability usually can’t be explained.”
“I’m not sure I understand, sir.”
“Shane.” Slone pulled up a chair alongside him, leveling a gray-eyed gaze at him. “Since I started here, in your exact capacity, I’ve vetted hundreds of employees. By myself, I’ve attempted to be the recruiter, the HR guy and the onboarding man. I can’t do all three.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Would you consider taking on the first of those responsibilities, on behalf of Soren Security Bodyguards?”
A cough preceded Shane’s wide-eyed response. “Are you offering me an in-house position?”
“I am.” Slone’s features held pride and assurance. “I respect a man who understands the depth of people. Someday, I’ll introduce you to our CEO Liam Soren. He has a similar gift. He gets people in a way few of us understand. I think if you worked with him you could learn more about your talent. And we would continue to fill our ranks with people who will not only deserve their job title of bodyguard but arrive ready to earn it.”
Bidding on the Bodyguard Page 11