“Dude, welcome to the common-man reality. Do you know how much red tape is involved with getting off a no-fly list?”
“That’s what lawyers are for.”
“I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“How poor are you at the moment?”
I’ve got five grand in my West Maryland Credit union account, and I’m getting another paycheck from The Horus Group. I own my truck outright. But I don’t have the tens of thousands it would cost to hire a lawyer to untangle the mess I left in England. Well, I don’t have access to the funds. They’re all locked up tight in England.
f*ck
ers.
“I’m not poor, exactly.”
He gives me a confused look, and I resist the urge to punch him for being so privileged he didn’t get it. He sighs. “Do you need a loan?”
“f*ck
you. I need a job.”
He points at the desk. “Whenever you want it.”
Sharp, cold self-loathing crawls up my back. Never in a million years. “Not this kind of job. Something in the plant, maybe, or on your security team.”
“Mother would have a coronary.”
“We don’t need to tell her.”
“She’d find out.” He leans against the door frame and rubs his jaw as he gives me an appraising look. “What’s your plan, man?”
I don’t have one. “It was to be a Navy SEAL for twenty-plus years and retire in Boca Raton, but Dad f*ck
ed that up for me, didn’t he?”
“He just wanted you to take your rightful place.”
“Your rightful place. And it looks good on you.”
He shrugs. “I like it.”
“You’re living in another f*ck
ing time zone this week. You love it.”
He grins. “I love that part. I love the thrill of a new project. But…change might be coming.”
“What kind of change?”
He shakes his head. “Not here.”
How mysterious. But I’m not getting sucked in to his drama. “Taking over the world looks good on you. But it’s not for me.”
“So re-enlist.”
“It’s not that simple.” What I’d done in England meant that I probably wasn’t eligible, anyway.
“You were working with Cole Parker in Washington.”
I give him a hard look. “Keeping tabs on me?”
“Was that a secret?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Neither is that.”
I want to get up and pace. Instead, I lean back in the leather chair and swing my feet onto the desk. “I’m not working with them any longer.”
“Were you fired?”
“What the hell? No, I wasn’t fired.”
He spreads his hands wide. “You don’t want the special treatment. ‘Just a job in a plant.’ I’m not sure you’d pass the job interview, ass*ole
. Get your feet off the COO’s desk.”
I give him my middle finger and shove away from the desk. Pacing will have to do.
“As a matter of fact, I do have a job for you,” he says quietly. “And if you do it, I’ll see what I can do about freeing up your British bank accounts.”
I don’t like the tone he’s shifted to. “Is it legal?”
He winces. “Don’t ask questions you might not like the answers to. Come with me.”
BOOTY CALL
part two
WASHINGTON
—seven—
MARCH
Alison
I’m back in Washington, studying at a little coffee shop just off-campus one night when I see Scott next. It’s late, after eleven, and I’m sitting in the window. This big-ass black SUV pulls up across the street, which of course gets my attention, because this is a quiet residential neighborhood and that kind of car screams, “don’t f*ck
with me, I’ll drive over you.”
Not really standard fare for Georgetown.
I’m so messed up, that turns me on a little. It’s my dirty little secret. My sister would be horrified. She’s lived through the real-life drama of good guys and bad guys, and doesn’t think anything about it is hot.
Well, except for her bad-ass fiancé. She thinks Cole’s pretty irresistible. I’ve been in their apartment when they duck into their room for a private “conversation”. It’s embarrassing how much she digs his wickedness.
But I’m not one to judge.
Then Scott climbs out of the driver’s side of the giant SUV I’m ogling.
He’s in a suit, like always. No tie. Just a dark suit and a white shirt, muscles straining to be contained by fabric that’s way too soft for him.
That turns me on, too, even as I start to slow-burn at the memory of how we left things between us.
I squirm in my chair and tug the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head. Why does the one guy that makes me want to give up my V-card have to be my sister’s bodyguard?
Why can’t I fall head-over-tits in lust for a football player or a kinky gamer boy?
You know why, a slimy little voice whispers in my head.
I sit up straight. No more squirming. And I’m making a therapy appointment as soon as I’m done studying.