by Shayla Black
“You’re right.” Wisteria looked appropriately contrite. “I’m not in a good head space but I’ll get it done.”
“I’m sorry he hurt you. But he’s a man, so if he hasn’t already, he’ll be moving on soon. I suggest you do the same.”
Jolie strode into her office and shut the door. She couldn’t exactly tell Wisteria that she understood because she’d been there. Jolie refused to give a man that much power over her heart. She intended to build something more lasting than “love.”
Leaning against the wood, she shut her eyes and basked in the moment of silence. In part, she blamed herself for her employees’ lack of urgency. She’d given each a job because she’d believed in their talent, but they didn’t quite grasp that, despite Betti’s growing profits and impending opportunities, she would be unable to finance the company’s expansion for years without an infusion of capital. And if she waited that long to get ahead, the competition would undoubtedly have passed her by. She shielded them from the daily dog-eat-dog rigors of business so they didn’t see the throat-cutting happening all around them. Just last week, a man had initiated a hostile takeover of a growing cosmetics corporation and wrested it from the owner—his own mother.
Jolie wouldn’t rest until her dream was secure. Some may not understand her methods, but experience had proven her staff was most productive when she was professional but exacting. Gaining respect as a female CEO hadn’t been easy. Some misogynist, fidiot, or hack was always waiting to tear her down.
She refused to bend for small-minded people.
With a sigh, Jolie opened her eyes to tackle the mountain of work on her desk—only to be stopped short. Her younger sister, Karis, sat in her chair, staring out the window overlooking the parking lot. The girl’s dreamy expression tightened Jolie’s gut. She loved her sister, but as the baby of the family—and the one most like their mother—Karis didn’t have many practical bones in her body.
“Tell me how you’re working with that male god every day and not tearing your clothes off. He’s so hot.” Karis fanned herself. “And so British. That accent . . . Hmm. I want him.”
Jolie held in a groan. She didn’t have to ask who him was. Heath Powell. Her security contractor was incredibly male and terribly attractive. She refused to let him become a distraction.
Unfortunately, Karis lacked her willpower.
“Mr. Powell has been hired to make sure we don’t suffer any catastrophic security-related event, whether that’s industrial espionage or the burglar who’s been hitting all the businesses in the neighborhood. He is not here to make your vagina tingle.”
Karis huffed. “Not everything can be about business all the time.”
“It has to be until we secure this investor. While you’re getting your ass out of my seat so I can get back to work, let’s talk about expectations. I’ve counseled everyone else in the last five minutes about getting the job done. It wouldn’t be fair if I gave you special treatment because you’re my sister. You’re a hell of a graphic artist and I think you’ll make a great project manager. Stay on top of Rohan. He’s behind on his milestones for the new website. You’re lagging on your deliverables, too. You all need to be caught up by close of business tomorrow.”
Karis’s mouth tightened in mutiny. “I had plans this evening.”
“So did I.” Jolie really wanted a few hours of extra sleep but that would have to wait.
“Fine. But I’m not letting that hunk of a spectacularly single man pass me by indefinitely. Jolie, you should find someone. You’re sacrificing every shred of your personal life and future just for a job. Don’t you want more?”
“It’s not just a job.” Her blood pressure ticked up twenty points. “It’s my dream.”
“Yeah? Maybe my dream looks more balanced, with work I enjoy and an amazing guy. That’s exactly what Heath Powell is.”
Did such a man actually exist? Her mother had been searching for one her whole romantic life, despite her three divorces and a copious number of live-ins. In Jolie’s estimation, the odds of any woman finding the perfect man were right up there with saddling a rainbow-hued unicorn. “How would you know? You met Heath when he started here two days ago.”
“I spent some time looking into him this afternoon.”
Now the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “On my computer?”
“You have more bells and whistles on your machine, plus the software that checks backgrounds.”
And Karis knew how to uncover personal information online because she’d recently dated Ben, a hacker who had taught her how to dig into anyone’s background, including his university dean’s. Jolie was pretty sure the dirtbag had blackmailed his way into a degree.
“My office also gave you the privacy of a closed door so Heath couldn’t see what you were up to.” She raised a brow at her younger sister.
“Yeah, it came in handy, especially when I called Ben for help,” she admitted. “Oh, don’t make that face. He’s a white hat . . . mostly. He walked me through bits of cracking and a back door or two. Some of it looked like top-secret stuff.”
“Yeah, Ben is obviously a great guy.” Jolie rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to know how much of Karis’s productive time that had wasted. “Looking into Heath’s background isn’t in your job description. Don’t make it your top priority.”
“But what if he’s the ‘one’?” She rose and grabbed Jolie’s hands, her excited tone like a teenage girl’s waiting for the football captain to give her a sweeping “promposal.” “I needed to know more about him.”
“Be real. That concept is an old myth perpetuated by fairy tales and exploited by Disney. Sis, he’s sixteen years older than you.”
“Age is just a number,” Karis protested.
Jolie snorted. Only someone naive actually believed that. Then again, that described Karis well. So the difference between her sheltered twenty-three and Powell’s well-lived thirty-nine might as well be a century. “Bullshit. Back to work.”
“You’re my sister. Why don’t you want me to be happy?”
“I do.” It hurt that she’d actually believe otherwise. “But your happiness shouldn’t be dependent on a man.”
“It’s not dependent,” Karis argued. “I’m just saying, he would help the cause.”
“Well, I’m also your boss who thinks you could be very happy accomplishing great things here. So please start caring about your job as much as some guy you barely know.”
Karis finally looked chastened. “I care.”
“Then don’t let me down. I’m counting on you.”
“I won’t. But will you hear me out first? Please.”
Why was she a sucker for her little sister’s pleading? “You’ve got two minutes.”
“Did you know he’s former MI5?”
And Karis clearly thought that having an ex-spy for a boyfriend would be somehow romantic. “That did come up in our conversation, yes. I know how long he was employed by the British government, the types of missions he completed, and some of his other relevant job experiences. He was candid about his professional background and seemed extremely qualified.”
Callie Mackenzie, her friend from Yoga Oasis, had recommended him, based on her handsome husband’s word. Sean was a former FBI agent and obviously knew his stuff. She was grateful to have friends like them.
“Qualified?” Karis blinked, her chocolate eyes wide with incredulity. “I know you like to pretend that you’re dead from the waist down but surely even you must have noticed Heath Powell is scorching hot.”
Jolie let her sister’s jab slide as she took her seat. Of course she’d noticed the man. The moment he’d walked in her door and shaken her hand, he had rattled her with his big presence. He spoke with an economy of words she appreciated. He’d obviously catalogued everyone and everything around him with a single glance. And he’d been so damn male, she co
uldn’t deny he was shiver-worthy.
But this emotional shit wasn’t her speed, so she tucked it away as she reached for her computer. “Karis, I love you, but I’m only going to say this once. Mom isn’t a role model to aspire to.”
“Just because I’m interested in a guy—”
“You’ve been interested in far more than one, and you’re not listening. You have to be a complete person before you can have a meaningful relationship with someone else.”
“I am,” she defended.
Jolie shot her younger sister a skeptical stare. “You don’t know your father. God knows I’d like to forget my biological dad. Like you, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen that scumbag. They didn’t want either of us, and that hurt, but expecting some father figure with a penis—no matter how attractive—to fill the void in your heart now won’t work. Ask Mom. Ten bucks says she’s headed for divorce number four.”
“I won’t give up on finding someone to share my life with.” Karis whipped out her phone, tapped a few keys, then sent Jolie an accusing stare. “I don’t know what happened to you. Maybe you had to sacrifice too much of your childhood to raise me and Austin. Maybe you enjoy being miserable and alone. Or maybe you’re too afraid to risk your heart. I just emailed you everything I found about Heath. Read it. He seems like a great guy. And I think he needs someone to make him whole.” She raised her chin. “He needs me.”
Jolie tried not to let her sister’s barb hurt. “I’m not afraid. I’m ambitious. Why would I want to surrender my heart when I could conquer the world? Now get back to your desk and start giving me your deliverables.”
Her sister sniffled. “I won’t confide my feelings to you anymore. I know they’re a terrible waste of your time, and you don’t give a shit anyway. I’ll enjoy the flowers he sent me earlier and ask him out the first chance I get.”
Heath better not have given Karis flowers. “That’s against company policy. You know that. I’ll remind Powell he can’t cross that line, either.”
“Why? So you can make sure I don’t have anything in my life but work? Or because you can’t stand him pursuing me when you want him for yourself?” She held up her hand. “Never mind. I don’t care.”
With that, Karis slammed her office door. The sound reverberated in the otherwise silent room, echoing off the walls. Hurt sliced through Jolie’s chest. She blinked away the acid sting of threatening tears and retrieved the spreadsheet she’d been working on. There was a reason people called it tough love. If it was easy—either to give or receive—it would be called something else. More importantly, Jolie knew she was right. Romance always let a woman down. Ambition never would.
But if she had to break up the budding office fling between her temporary security contractor and her sister to ensure no one’s heart was broken and shit got done, Jolie had no problem doing it.
At half past nine, Heath Powell stared into his Scotch. The bar around him was dark and loud, a press of perfumed bodies, despite it being a Wednesday night. Then again, it was smack in the middle of a trendy area a few blocks from Betti’s offices. College students from nearby SMU rubbed against single professionals and a few overgrown partiers. The place thumped with Fall Out Boy and drinks flowed freely. With his back to the wall, he watched people coming, going, smiling, flirting, and hoping for a good time tonight.
He was the oldest man in the room. From experience, he knew that could be an advantage. He liked his odds. More than one pretty girl slid her inviting gaze his way. Now if he could just muster up more enthusiasm. Damn difficult to do when his mind was on someone else.
When he’d accepted the job with Betti, the position had been short term—perfect for his current needs because he didn’t have a home here in Dallas. Hell, he didn’t even have a country at the moment. This job gave him a few weeks to decide if he wanted to stay or start over elsewhere.
With forty breathing down his neck, Heath wasn’t certain anymore what he wanted out of life.
Seven years ago, it had been simple. Anna, his wife, had been his world. He’d give anything now to go home to her and the small brood of children they should have had. But an afternoon of tragedy had wiped away that possibility. Six months later, he’d begun working for Marshall Mullins, the world-famous movie director, bodyguarding his daughter after their move to London, following her headline-making abduction in L.A. Mystery had been sweet and reserved—at first. She’d given him her trust slowly, blooming gradually, and awakening more than a protective instinct inside him. He’d fancied himself in love with her—and told her as much. Mystery hadn’t felt the same. Instead, she’d paired off with the soldier who had once rescued her. She and Axel would be married soon. And Heath would still be alone.
After losing in love twice, he wasn’t in a mad rush to fall again. But he enjoyed sex and missed a woman’s touch. So tonight, like many others, he found himself in a lamentable cesspool of booze and desperation. Only now he had a completely new reason to find a distraction.
Jolie Quinn.
After a summer spent in London and encountering constant reminders of Anna whilst running into Mystery, doting fiancé in tow, Heath had headed back to the States. Once in Dallas, Mitchell Thorpe, Axel’s former boss, had called asking for a favor. Thorpe’s submissive, Callie, did yoga with this lovely up-and-coming clothing designer, and would Heath be interested in shoring up her security, just temporarily of course? He hadn’t turned down the quick cash or the chance to earn a reputation locally for his work. Now he wished he had because he couldn’t get the bloody woman off his mind.
Blisteringly quick, acerbic, and ambitious, Jolie wore her confidence like a sexy sequined dress. Bright and sparkly, it hugged her every womanly curve and dip—and made her madly attractive. She never bothered with feminine wiles or coy flirtations. When she wanted something, she went after it. She was a green-eyed shark. Damn if he didn’t want to swim in her waters until he got her under him and make her surrender to the bigger fish in the tank.
A brilliant but risky notion. He wasn’t interested in anything that lasted more than a night. On the other hand, neither was she. But Jolie fascinated him as no woman had in years. He suspected that his desire to stay after the sheets had grown cold might exceed his will to walk away.
So he’d come to Nite Time, this terrible excuse for a watering hole, looking for a woman who would neither intrigue him nor linger his memory.
A few feet away, a young woman sidled up to the bar with a glance from under a thick honey curl. Blue eyes. A smattering of freckles. Slightly crooked front teeth. A little scar on her chin. Given the way she leaned against the surface, she was slightly tipsy but not incapable of making a rational decision. Her short skirt and sky-high heels indicated she’d come looking for something more than a cocktail.
“Hi,” she murmured. Her lashes were fake. Her breasts probably were, too. But he wouldn’t know for certain until he wrapped his fingers around them.
“Hello.”
“Your voice . . .” she said with a hint of a soft, southern drawl. “You aren’t from around here.”
“I’m not.” He didn’t elaborate because he really didn’t want to talk. He doubted she did, either.
“Oh, I love your Aussie accent.”
Heath didn’t bother correcting her, merely glanced down at her empty wine glass. “Drink?”
“Sure.” She smiled and stood, teetering slightly.
He took hold of her glass, sniffed, then downed the last swallow before motioning to the bartender. “A glass of merlot for the lady.”
The bartender nodded, and Heath felt relieved that, even after a few visits, the man knew his routine. Helpful to have something of a wingman pouring. “You got it. Another Glenfiddich?”
“Please.” Heath tapped the bar and turned to the girl with a smile. “Here with friends?”
Her smile faltered as she glanced toward
the dance floor. “I came with a coworker and her boyfriend.”
“They look busy.” The couple she watched clung to each other like overgrown vines.
“Yeah.” The girl’s glum voice said she’d soon be having a pity party . . . unless he distracted her.
When the bartender delivered their drinks, Heath paid, then took hold of his tumbler, waiting until she did the same with her stem. “To finding your own fun.”
She smiled brightly again. “I’ll drink to that.”
They clinked glasses, and Heath sipped his Scotch, watching the woman over the rim. She chugged half the glass, then set it down, sending a coy glance his way. “You want to dance?”
“If you’d like. It’s not what I do best.”
A little smile tipped up the corners of her lips. “And what is it you do best?”
He eased closer, sending her a weighty glance filled with manufactured seduction. Then he brushed his knuckles down her cheek before sliding his thumb over her mouth. Her eyes widened and her lips parted to form an “O” as his meaning sunk in. She drew in a shuddering breath.
Now that she understood him, she seemed nervous. He wouldn’t push, of course. Everything he did with any woman was completely consensual. If she declined, another would come along. But so far, she wasn’t walking away.
“How do I know you’re not bragging?” She studied him, her eyes glittering.
Ah, the good girl who longed to be bad. By day, she probably had a very responsible job. She paid her bills on time, called her mother at least once a week, and had always done everything expected of her. Tonight she was feeling a bit envious of her friend and didn’t want to be the wally who couldn’t snare a man. Based on the smudges under her eyes and the slightly droopy cast of her lids, he’d bet she hadn’t been sleeping particularly well. Lack of REM, coupled with alcohol, could heighten people’s emotions. She obviously felt more than a bit lonely tonight, so she’d worn the “slaggy” dress she’d likely bought in a moment of weakness or impulse, torn the tags off, tossed on whatever daring shoes she owned, and come to this bar to prove she was both attractive and merely alone by choice.
