by Aly Martinez
My whole body jerked. “Katie—”
“Look, I have to go. We’ll talk soon.”
I didn’t get a goodbye before she hung up.
“Shit,” I groaned, my whole body sagging in defeat.
Had I turned my back on Margaret? The answer was unequivocally yes. But I never would have done it to Katie. I’d sent her over five grand after I’d finished my last book.
And the book before that.
And the book before that.
But I couldn’t do it forever. At some point, Margaret had to pull up her big-girl panties and stop relying on me for everything. But maybe all I’d done was transfer that stress and responsibility to Katie.
She was right. She couldn’t walk away. Despite the fact that her mother was a self-absorbed bitch, she was still her mother. I didn’t remember much about my mom, but even if my father had become a raging lunatic, there was not one thing I wouldn’t have done for him.
Groaning to myself, I plucked my phone off the bed and hit number one on my favorites list.
“Peter Higgins’s office,” she answered.
A comfortable warmth wash over me at the sound of his name. “Hey, Sandy. It’s Rhion. Pete around?”
“Oh, hey, baby. He’s in with a client. Anything I can help you with?”
I sat up, twisted my blond hair over one shoulder, and inspected the ends. Absently, I replied, “Any chance you can wire Margaret ten thousand dollars?”
“Crap,” she breathed. “I thought we were done with that.”
“Yeah, I did too. But Katie called, and…” I trailed off. She knew the rest.
Sandy Morris had been my father’s secretary for over twenty years. I guessed, if I really thought about it, she was the closest thing to a mother figure I had left.
She now worked for my father’s former assistant, Pete. My dad and Pete had been incredibly tight. And, after Dad had passed away, he’d often served as yet another makeshift family member for me. His role: uncle. And the best damn uncle a girl could have.
Pete’s loyalty hadn’t ended with my father. He’d been with me through thick and thin. Refusing to let go, even when I wanted to. He’d taken my father’s companies over a few years earlier. And, in that time, he’d advanced them to a whole new level. I might have provided him with the bricks by turning the family reigns over to him, but he’d more than paved his own path.
“Hang on, Rhion. Let me grab Pete,” Sandy said, placing me on hold.
I hadn’t made it through one song of the waiting music before I heard his voice across the line.
“What’s up, kiddo?”
I sat up straight and pulled my legs under me to sit cross-legged. “I need money.”
“Writer’s block not budging?” he asked. I imagined his crooked grin as he raked his fingers through his perfectly styled salt-and-pepper hair.
“No, it hasn’t budged. But the money’s not for me.”
His gentle voice dropped to a warning. “Rhion.”
“Please, Pete. I don’t know what’s going on. But I do know that Katie’s having a hell of a time dealing with her right now.”
“And what I know is that she’s playing you.”
I knew that too. “Maybe. But ten grand could really get her off Katie’s back for a while. And then maybe I could use that time to talk some sense into Katie.”
“I don’t want you anywhere near her,” he ordered.
I glowered at him through the phone. “I lived with Ursula for three years. I think I can handle a phone call to see if I can remove her slimy tentacles from her daughter.”
“Jesus Christ, Rhion. I know you don’t see it, but I swear to you Katie is equally as toxic as Margaret. There is no helping either one of them. My concern is they’ll get their tentacles into you.”
I should have been paying attention, but as I stared off into the distance, an idea struck me. A really fucking good idea too. The likes of one I hadn’t had in months.
“Maybe I could recreate old fairytales and make the villains the heroines. Imagine if Maleficent falls for the handsome prince.” I suddenly jumped off the bed, inspiration firing through my veins like a surge of adrenaline. “Oh my God, Pete! It could be a series where I redeem the unredeemable. Where the roles of good and evil are reversed. I’ll show the good and decent parts of the villains and the broken and dark parts of the princes.” I wedged the phone between my head and my shoulder and snatched my computer off my nightstand. After prying it open, I typed a million miles a minute before the idea had the chance to escape me.
Pete chuckled on the other end of the line, but he knew the drill and waited for me to finish typing.
“So, what do you think?” I asked excitedly.
“Is there going to be sex in these?”
“Of course. Who writes romance without a little sexy time?”
His voice was teasing as he feigned frustration. “Just once, I wish you’d write something I could read.”
I laughed. “What’s wrong, Pete? Not into the kinky stuff?”
He groaned. “Not when I consider the woman writing it a daughter.”
The feeling was mutual, and my heart swelled in my chest.
“Rhion, if you want ten grand, it’s on its way. But I don’t want to know what you do with it or, more specifically, who you give it to. I’ll never tell you no, but that doesn’t mean I’ll give up trying to keep you from falling prey to the Spencers’ games. There’s a reason your father divorced Margaret. Please remember that.”
“I know. But there was also a reason he married her and took care of her for those years before we lost him.”
He sighed in defeat. “You always have had a bleeding heart.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Thank me by coming to visit. And bring Johnson.”
Now, that made me roll my eyes. “Johnson would rather jump off my balcony than fly to New York and be forced to go to dinner with you.”
“Think about it, okay? I owe the man a scotch—or, more likely, a distillery.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I lied.
“See what you can do about writing a wholesome book too.”
I giggled. “Well, the good news is that, now that I’ve had this brilliant redemption idea, I won’t have to write that stepbrother male/male romance Brianna suggested this morning.”
He began coughing loudly. “Jesus, Rhion. I’m an old man. You can’t say stuff like that to me.”
I attempted to suppress a laugh but failed as I offered him a halfhearted, “Sorry.”
“You always did enjoy torturing me.” He stated it seriously, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
God, I missed him.
I squeezed the phone tight as if he could feel it. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m getting another tattoo today.”
“Where? You can’t possibly have more than three inches of blank skin left.”
“I’ll surprise you with a picture when I’m done.”
“I’ll be waiting on pins and needles,” he deadpanned. “Okay, kiddo. I need to go. Love you, and stay safe.”
“Love you too, Pete.”
I listened until he hung up, and then I wasted not a single second before grabbing my laptop.
Three hours and five thousand words later, I called and postponed my tattoo.
Ink could wait.
Words would not.
Chapter Two
Jude
“It’s four thirty in the morning here, Jude,” she said in a sleepy but still very bitchy voice.
Sitting in the underground parking garage of a Chicago high rise, I gripped the steering wheel of my Jeep until my knuckles turned white. “Consider yourself lucky. I was gonna call at two thirty.”
“Well, aren’t you generous,” she snipped. “What do you want?”
“I wanna know why, when I checked my voicemails this morning, I had one from Val saying Kevin took her computer away last night.”
<
br /> “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jude. She got in trouble for not doing her chores.”
I ground my teeth and cracked my neck. “I swear to God, April. I will not repeat myself again. Working out is not a fucking chore.”
“It is when you’re fat,” she shot back.
God had not granted me the patience to deal with her bullshit. Between my nightmares of Butterfly and the new job, my mind was completely maxed out on shit to worry about without my ex-wife adding to it.
This had been going on with April and Val for as long as I could remember. I thought I’d made my stance on the issue clear before I’d left for Chicago. Apparently, I had not.
“She’s not fat!” I boomed.
“Yes, she—”
I willed my heart to slow in hopes that my blood pressure wouldn’t turn my head into a geyser. Shifting the phone to my other hand, I glanced around the parking garage to make sure no one was watching me. “What she is is a kid. There is not the first thing wrong with the way she looks. You need to pull your head out of your ass and stop trying to turn her into some socially warped version of perfection. That shit does not exist. And you and your workout schedule and fad diets are ruining the kind of perfect she already is.”
“Oh yeah? She’s so perfect that she can’t even buy clothes in the juniors’ section anymore. What’s next? The plus-size stores? Fuck that. She’s eleven!”
“That’s my point. She’s only eleven!”
She laughed sardonically. “I’m not having this conversation with you. She knows she’s fat and she’s embarrassed about it. She hasn’t worn anything but sweatpants and a hoodie to school in weeks. She’s a girl, not a homeless man.”
“April,” I growled.
“Besides, according to the quiz I found online, she does not have a healthy BMI. She needs to lose some weight and that’s the end of it.”
“You know, April, if I thought you were doing this because you were worried for her health, that would be one thing. But your only concern is what she looks like standing next to you. Now, cut the crap. Act like a mother, and better yet, while you’re at it, see if you can pull off the façade of a decent human being too.”
She gasped. “You’re such a dick.”
I leaned back in my seat and straightened my suit coat. “Maybe I am, but I’m not the one fucking with a little girl’s head because I’m scared what my friends will say about her. Make Kevin give back her computer. And I mean first thing this morning. I find out you waited until tonight—”
“Fuck off, Jude,” she snapped. “She’s my daughter. I’ll decide when she gets her computer back. The same way I decide if she needs to work out or not.”
“Do not make me fly back this weekend,” I warned.
She laughed. “Fly back and do what?”
When she paused, I sucked in a sharp breath and braced, anticipating her signature blow.
“She’s not yours!”
“She is mine!” I roared.
“Not in any way that counts,” she sneered.
“In every fucking way that counts,” I corrected through clenched teeth.
“Whatever. If you’re done bitching, I’m going back to sleep. Don’t forget to pay her school tuition and I’ll see what I can do about not forgetting to give her back her computer.”
Before I could reply, she severed the connection.
“Fuck!” I slammed the heel of my hand down onto the steering wheel. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I cursed in beat with my pounding.
Giving up on the boxing match against my steering wheel, I cut the engine and then shoved the door wide.
“Thirty minutes early?” a man called from across the garage as I folded out.
“Excuse me?” I replied, checking over my shoulder to see if he was actually talking to me.
“Come on, man. You’re gonna make the rest of us look bad.” A big guy in pair of navy slacks and a crisp, white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms smirked as he sauntered in my direction. His hair was cut short, the dark color suiting his olive complexion. With aviator sunglasses hooked on the front of his shirt, he looked every bit the role of the typical LA bodyguard. Tall, well built, menacing if he needed to be, but friendly enough for the clients to feel comfortable.
He clicked a remote over his shoulder and the taillights of a white Acura NSX blinked behind him. Either he didn’t work for Leo James or he was being paid significantly more than I was.
Stopping in front of me, he extended a hand my way. “Devon Grant.”
I took his hand in a firm shake. “Jude Levitt.”
One side of his mouth lifted into a cocky grin. “So I’ve heard. Leo briefed us yesterday.”
I made a mental note to renegotiate my salary sooner rather than later.
Scanning the nearly full garage, I noted I couldn’t possibly be the only one who liked to be punctual. “Sorry, but I’ll probably always be early.”
He shrugged and turned toward the elevator. “Smart man. Johnson’s gonna shit though. He almost never gets breakfast, and now, with you here, that almost never will become just plain never.”
I fell into stride behind him. “Breakfast?”
He stopped at the elevator and pulled a card from his wallet before flashing it in front of a square sensor located where the up button would normally be. The door immediately slid open, and we both stepped inside.
“Yeah. Leo’s wife makes breakfast on Mondays for our weekly briefing,” he answered. “We have muffins and bagels delivered for our Friday team meetings. Tuesday through Thursday, you’re on your own.”
I leaned against the back wall of the elevator as it began its ascent to the fourth floor. “I already ate,” I said, tugging on the red tie attempting to strangle me.
Devon’s dark-brown gaze flashed to mine, a humor-filled grin pulling at his lips. “You can lose the tie. We’re pretty casual around here as long as we aren’t on duty. And, even then, I don’t think I’ve seen but one of the guys wear a tie. And it was a bow tie, so I’m pretty fucking sure that that travesty of fabric doesn’t count.”
“Good to know,” I mumbled.
The door opened and I followed Devon out into an open breezeway. The cool wind whipped past us, rendering the fifty-dollar product the chick at the salon had to talked me into buying and the twenty minutes I’d spent trying to make my chin-length, sandy-brown hair appear professional useless. I did my best to tuck it behind my ears as he led me toward the only door in the breezeway.
“Leo will issue you your own security card. There’s an intercom at the elevator and the front door if you ever forget it though.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Word of advice. Don’t fucking forget it. Chances are whoever is in the security room will leave you hanging as entertainment. And the colder it is or the harder it’s snowing, the longer you’ll wait.” He once again waved his card in front of a sensor beside the door and then pushed it open.
As the scent of vanilla and bacon rushed out, Devon growled his approval and walked inside, holding the door wide for me to enter behind him.
Inside, I got my first glance of Guardian Protection Agency. It was a far cry from the sterile business environment of my last job. Actually, it didn’t look like an office at all. Dark hardwood floors covered the expansive area. No walls divided the rooms, but overstuffed leather couches, complete with matching leather ottomans and a big screen TV, had been arranged to section off a living room. Behind it, a long, rectangular table surrounded by at least twelve chairs served to create a dining room. And, on the far right, an island with a black marble countertop and six barstools separated the dining room from the kitchen. But not just a regular kitchen you would expect to find in an office break room. I was no chef, but it didn’t take an expert to recognize that the stainless-steel appliances were all top of the line.
“Shut the door. You’re letting out the warm—” a woman started only to stop when her eyes landed on me. A huge smile broke across her face. “You must be Jude,”
she said, tugging a baby-blue apron that matched her eyes over her head. She smoothed down her long, blond hair and her fitted, black dress while heading in my direction. “I’m Sarah James. Leo’s wife.”
“Jude Levitt. Nice to meet you.” I took her hand, and her returned shake was surprisingly firm.
“Christ, you’re a tall one,” she stated.
She was pretty damn tall herself, but at six-five, I towered over her.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
Devon coughed loudly to cover an unmistakable laugh.
“Ma’am?” she questioned in horror.
I quickly amended. “I mean…yeah.”
She shot me a blinding, white smile and patted me on the chest. “Better.” Spinning on a toe, she headed back to the kitchen. “Let me tell the rest of the guys breakfast is ready and I’ll get you some coffee.” Then she turned around and yelled to an empty room, “Breakfast is ready!”
As if she’d rung the cowbell at feeding time, men began flooding in. Some offered me chin lifts, others gave me a pat on the back, and a few grunted, “What’s up?” as they passed. It seemed a table full of food was more interesting than the new guy.
Devon shoved me on the shoulder when I didn’t fall in line behind the rest of the men. “Come on. Grab a plate. And drop the ma’am shit. Take it from me: Her biscuits and gravy are hell to eat off the floor.”
I chuckled and, out of habit, rubbed my hand under my hair and over the scars on the back of my head. “Noted.”
“So, I hear you moved here from LA?” he asked.
I followed him to the end of the newly formed serving line. “Yeah. I was at PPS until they closed up shop last month. Luckily, my name got passed over to Leo.”
“No luck involved. Word is you’re good.”
I shrugged.
With a past like mine, I’d learned to follow protocol to a T. I couldn’t afford to have any more fuck-ups haunting me. I was barely surviving with the one I had.
So, damn right I was good. However, so was Leo James. His agency was known throughout the country for his team of misfits and his unconventional take on personal security—which basically meant he got shit done for his clients and wasn’t above turning a blind eye to how it happened as long as, at the end, it was done. In my research, I’d found that turnover was virtually nonexistent for Leo, and clients eagerly sat on waitlists for over a year in order to work with his firm. It’d been a miracle I’d gotten the job at all.
