“I’m careful,” she insisted. “I hire a respectable cab driver recommended by the resort staff, I don’t go off into dark alleys alone—I don’t go out after dark at all, in fact. And I’ve been trained in self-defense. I’m not some weak little twit who can’t take care of herself.”
“Then why are you lying to your family about what you really do on these trips?”
“Because unfortunately, they think I’m a weak little twit who can’t take care of herself. So rather than try to change their minds, I let them think what they want and do my own thing.” She studied his face. “Disapproval of my tactics aside, what do you think of these pictures? Honestly?”
Cash sighed. “They’re incredible.”
A blush dotted her cheeks. “Are you just saying that?”
“No. If anything, I’m tempted to tell you they suck ass, just so you’d quit putting yourself in potentially dangerous situations,” he grumbled. “But I can’t lie to you. These photographs are…spectacular.”
The joy that flooded her eyes bugged him a little. Was this the first time anyone had complimented her work? If so, that was a damn shame. The pictures on the screen were crisp, stark, unforgiving—she didn’t use any fancy techniques or filters to pretty up her subjects. She simply captured what she saw and forced you to look at it. Really look at it.
“Why aren’t you working for some big-time magazine or newspaper?” he asked in bewilderment.
Jen looked startled. “I do this for fun. I have a blog where I upload pictures, but it’s just a hobby. Other than the people who go on my blog, you’re the first person I’ve ever shown my pictures to.”
“You seriously haven’t shown these to anyone other than me?”
Her brows furrowed. “Why do you look so pissed?”
“I’m not pissed. I’m stunned.” He shook his head. “You should be doing this professionally, sweetheart. Forget blogging, your work needs to be hanging in a gallery. Or on the cover of National Geographic or something.”
She stared at him as if he’d just told her she’d won the lottery. “You really think that?”
“Hell yes.”
“I never thought…wow.” Her voice wobbled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His expression clouded over. “But I’m still unhappy about you exploring all those foreign countries without a single concern for safety.”
“Isn’t that your job? Exploring foreign countries without a single concern for safety?”
She had him there.
Before he could point out that he was trained for that kind of shit, Jen’s cell phone broke out in an ear-shattering military march, complete with pounding percussion and a lot of horns. The sound was so intense it made the dining room table shake.
She grinned. “That’s my dad’s ringtone. He programmed it in for himself because he thought my other ringtones were too girlie.” Rolling her eyes, she lifted the cell phone to her ear and said, “Hi, Dad.” She paused, and then all the color drained from her face. “Are you serious? Did he…did he hurt her?”
Cash’s shoulders went rigid.
Next to him, Jen breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God… Yes… Dad, I just said yes, okay? I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” She mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. “Yes, Dad, he’ll come with me. Tell Carson he doesn’t have to—oh fine, whatever.” Her jaw tightened. “Yes, sir.”
She hung up and turned to him with a flat, angry expression. “An hour ago Brendan showed up at my parents’ house.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing crazy, which proves he’s not a total moron. You don’t mess with the admiral, and Brendan knows it. But he did yell a little and demand to know where I was. Carson already told our parents that Brendan and I broke up, but he didn’t give them any details. Now they have an idea, seeing as Brendan mentioned the restraining order during his rant.”
She scraped back her chair and stood up with a scowl. “He scared my mom—and trust me, she doesn’t scare easily. And he pissed off my dad, who is now requesting our presence.”
Wariness climbed up Cash’s throat. “Our presence?”
“Carson told him I’m staying with you, so he wants you there. Be prepared, because he’ll probably grill you.”
Cash felt shell-shocked as he watched Jen scurry off toward Matt’s bedroom. He had to meet her parents? Now?
He ran a hand over the stubble coating his jaw. Normally he had no problem charming a girlfriend’s folks, but if Admiral Scott was anything like both Carson and Jen described, then no amount of charm would work on the man. Shit. And he didn’t even have time to shave, damn it.
Cash sprang to action. In his bedroom, he rummaged through his dresser drawers for some presentable clothing—showing up in sweatpants and a wife beater definitely wouldn’t make a great first impression. He settled on a pair of wrinkled khakis he hardly ever wore, hence the wrinkles, and a blue button-down shirt. Forgoing his trademark shitkickers, he shoved his feet into a pair of brown loafers he found in his closet, which made him take pause because he had no idea how they’d gotten there.