Officemate

by Katie Ashley

  Glancing over my shoulder, I shouted, “I know you’re back there. Quit being a pansy ass and catch up.”

  My Secret Service agent, Ty, hustled up to my side. “You’ve got to stop this, Thorn. You know you’re not supposed to go out in public without me,” he huffed due to a combination of exertion and indignation.

  I shot him a look. “Do you honestly think some disenfranchised voter who hates my dad’s policies is going to be waiting to take me out on my six a.m. jog?”

  Ty grunted. “You never know. Stranger things have happened.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I seemed to be getting a lot of mileage out of that word lately; I’d said the exact same thing to my father after he was elected president and I was issued a Secret Service agent upon my return to the States. I could understand the young children of presidents having agents, and I was even happy to hear my college-aged sister, Caroline, would have armed supervision to prevent some douchebag taking advantage of her, but the president’s adult children? It was a little ridiculous, not to mention completely demeaning for someone like me. Considering I’d spent my adult life protecting others, there was no way in hell I was going to agree to having my every move shadowed.

  It was bad enough I’d had to leave my military career as a result of my father’s presidency, but now I was being emasculated even further. While I might’ve been forced to leave my post and my fellow service men and women, I’d put my foot down on who was going to be protecting me. I wasn’t going to accept some hotshot who had been through the minimal twenty-eight-week Secret Service training program in Georgia and D.C. No, I wanted a seasoned military man. When it came down to it, I hadn’t just demanded a military man who had fought in combat and knew what a soldier experienced mentally and physically.

  I’d demanded Ty.

  Ty Frasier was a half-Brit, half-Scot who had grown up in London’s East End, or as he loved to refer to it, the dodgy part. Not only had he been a member of the Rifles regiment in the British Army, he’d trained and worked for the elite Blackstone Security Agency in London. For the past couple of years, Ty had been the personal bodyguard for my younger brother, Barrett. Their working relationship had actually started as a personal one—they’d become friends when Ty had first moved to New York from London. That relationship was why I imagined Barrett being pissed at me requesting Ty, but surprisingly, he’d given me the green light.

  “Would you just get off my dick and let me do my job?” Ty questioned.

  “Fine. I’ll try,” I grumbled.

  “Thank you.”

  We ran the rest of the five miles in silence. That was another thing I admired about Ty: his integrity. Even though he was a family friend and could have taken advantage of that to screw off, he always had his head in the game, not to mention he took great offense when he wasn’t able to do his job as thoroughly as he preferred. While I focused on the run, I knew his senses were on high alert for any danger that might pop up. If—God forbid—some nut-job actually tried to hurt me, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Ty would give his life for mine.

  For that very reason, I really needed to stop being a prick about him protecting me. Truthfully, I needed to stop being a prick to basically everyone. I still felt so much anger and resentment about being forced to give up my military career. You would’ve thought after what I’d seen in life coupled with my age, I would be better equipped to handle my emotions, but I wasn’t. I seemed hell-bent on the childish mentality of making everyone around me as miserable as I was.

  As I neared my apartment building, my right leg, which had been aching for the last two miles, began screaming in agony. At what must’ve been my anguished expression, Ty asked, “War wound giving you trouble?”

  I nodded. Five months before, a convoy I was leading had come under enemy fire before a set of roadside bombs exploded all around us. Bastards took out two of my men while I ended up with a leg full of shrapnel. The head surgeon at Landstuhl in Germany told me if one of the pieces had hit just an inch higher, it would have gotten my femoral artery and I would have bled to death. While a solider stares down the Grim Reaper every day he or she is in battle, it was sobering to hear just how close I’d come, not to mention how precariously close it had come to taking off my dick.

  Thankfully, the wounds had healed quickly, and I was allowed back in the field a week later, but my stay in Afghanistan was short-lived. Two months later, my dad was elected president. While I was home for the inauguration, Dad had taken me aside. Six weeks had passed since then, and the day was still so fresh in my mind.

  “I’m glad to have you home, son.”

  I’d returned his smile. “It’s good being home. Of course, I’m also anxious to get back to the field and finish out this deployment.”

  Dad’s expression had saddened. “Since I was elected, the Department of Defense has made me aware of security concerns. Their latest intel is very troubling.”

  I’d furrowed my brows at him. “Is my unit facing increasing danger?”

  He’d nodded. “But not because of any growing factions.”

  “I don’t think I understand.”

  “They’re in danger because of you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re the president’s son, Thorn, a trophy to be won and exploited for political gain. As we speak, forces are working double time to locate you.” Dad had shaken his head. “I can’t afford the risk.”

  “But I took an oath to serve and protect this country, not to mention to lead my men and women. I’m sorry, but I refuse to back down just because my life is in slightly more danger than it was before you became president.”

  “It’s simply unprecedented to have a sitting president’s child in combat.”

  “What about Prince Harry? He was able to secretly lead his unit on combat missions when he was in service,” I challenged.

  “Harry was third in line to the throne, and he wasn’t the prime minister’s son.”

  “He still would have been ‘a prize to be won’, as you called it.”

  “Don’t you see? It’s not just about you. Our enemies will do whatever it takes to get to you. They couldn’t care less about the collateral damage that stands in their way.”

  It was those words that had changed everything for me. When it came to my own life, I was willing to let the chips fall where they may, but I would never, ever bring undue risk to my men and women. “So that’s it? I just walk away and never go back?”

  Dad had given me an apologetic smile. “I’m so very sorry, son. I never imagined it would come to this. We will arrange for you to go back and speak with your unit.”

  I’d thrown my hands up in frustration. “And then what? I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to do with my life?”

  “You’re Ivy-League educated, intelligent, and highly capable. We’ll find you a job within the company until you decide what it is you want to do.”

  The company he was referring to was the Callahan Corporation, a financial conglomerate that had been started by my grandfather, James Thornton Callahan. Dad, or James Thornton Callahan II, had worked there full-time until he’d won his first senatorial race. After that, he’d worked as a consultant when the senate wasn’t in session. It had been expected that I, James Thornton Callahan III, AKA Thorn, would work there as well—at least it had been until I’d expressed interest in a military career.

  When I hadn’t appeared convinced, Dad had said, “It won’t be forever, Thorn. I’m only guaranteed the next four years.”

  Four years might as well have been forty. I couldn’t see four months into a future that didn’t involve the military, not to mention not being able to recall any officers who had come back from the civilian life.

  “Thorn?”

  Ty’s voice brought me out of my thoughts and back to the present. Our run had ended outside the entrance to the Park Avenue apartment building where I’d been living the last three weeks. Although my parents considered Virginia home, they’d kept the a
partment since I was a kid. With its marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and oil paintings, it was a little highbrow for my taste, and my first on my t-do list once I got settled into my job was to find an apartment in the Financial District.

  Turning my attention to Ty, I asked, “What did you say?”

  Using his forearm, he swiped the sweat from his brow. “I just asked what time you’re leaving for the office.”

  “I want to get there by eight-thirty.”

  He tilted his head in thought. I knew he was calculating the time the route would take. “We should leave here at eight to ensure we can stop for coffee and breakfast.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  I nodded a hello at the doorman before we headed inside the palatial lobby. When Ty walked ahead of me to check out the elevator, I rolled my eyes—like anyone sketchy was going to get past the intense security. After he slid in his keycard, the elevator took us up to the eleventh floor and the doors opened up to the apartment. Yes, we had the entire floor, and yeah, I guess you could consider me an elite asshole.

  Motioning to the foyer, Ty said, “I’ll be waiting out here by seven-thirty just in case you try to give me the slip again.”

  Chuckling, I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll play nice today.”

  Although he didn’t look convinced, he managed to nod. “Good. See you in an hour.”

  As I trudged toward my bedroom to get ready, anxiety blanketed me at the idea of going to the office. While no one had expected me to get off the plane from Kabul and head straight into the corporate world, I’d somehow managed to put off taking my next step in life. For the last three weeks, I’d kept up my morning runs and gym trips along with acclimating back to civilian life.

  My version of acclimating had concerned my parents, Ty, and Barrett. I guess they interpreted me barely leaving the apartment, binging on Netflix, and sleeping during the day as “unhealthy”. Finally, my loved ones had had enough of what they saw as potentially destructive behavior. You would have thought I was thirteen, not thirty. When I went down to D.C. to have dinner with them last week, a sort of intervention had taken place. To put my parents’ minds at ease, I had agreed to start working. Now I was having second thoughts about fulfilling that promise.

  When I was in uniform, everything made sense. There wasn’t a single issue or task put in front of me that I didn’t feel I could handle. I’d been in the military world for twelve years, and I wasn’t entirely sure I could assimilate again, not to mention relating to civilians. That disarming fact would make it impossible to interact with investors, which were pretty essential to investment banking.

  Yeah, I was feeling like a complete and total pussy, a ball-less wonder. I’d been in combat, for fuck’s sake, yet there I was practically pissing myself at the idea of putting on a suit and sitting down at a desk. Besides worrying about being unable to interact with the investors, I was also scared out of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to do my job.

  After years in the desert, what the hell did I really know about investment banking? Sure, I’d earned a double major in business and finance before entering the Army’s officer program, and in the downtime between deployments, I’d earned my MBA predominantly online while spending a few months working at the Callahan Corporation, but all that felt like a lifetime ago.

  In the end, I knew I had to conceal my fear. I had to appear cool, calm, and collected. While I might have been falling apart on the inside, I would slide on a mask the same way I would put on my suit.

  * * *

  True to his word, Ty was waiting for me in the foyer. I’m not sure why I expected anything less from him. After an elevator trip downstairs, a car was waiting outside to take us to the office.

  “I’m not sure about this,” I muttered as I slid across the leather seats.

  “About what?”

  “The car.”

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t get a Humvee on short notice,” Ty quipped.

  “Har-fucking-har. It’s not about the type of ride—it’s the ride itself. I’d prefer the subway.”

  Ty grimaced. “Do you know what a logistical nightmare that will be?”

  With a grunt, I replied, “Fine. I’ll keep playing Posh Spice with the car.”

  “Don’t knock my Spice Girls. I love them,” Ty mused with a grin.

  “You would.”

  “Where to, sir?” the driver asked as Ty walked around to get in the front seat.

  “Some fried deliciousness from Trend Diner.”

  The driver nodded, and once Ty buckled his seat belt, we pulled out into traffic. I fielded a few emails and texts on the drive. While I might’ve been a slug for the first two weeks of being back, I had at least spent the last week getting reacquainted with the ins and outs of my new job as best I could. I’d even had several working lunches with Ted Beaton, the guy I would be replacing.

  Even though it had been years since I’d eaten there, Trend was just like I’d remembered it—small and cozy. After the hostess led us to a booth, Ty winked at me. “That chick was totally drooling over you.”

  “She was not.”

  “Yeah, man, she was.”

  Glancing back over my shoulder, I caught the blue-eyed woman’s gaze. When she winked at me, I startled and quickly stared down my menu. Since returning to American soil, I’d been so immersed in my own self-loathing that I’d been ignoring my baser urges—namely, the morning salute from my cock. Ignoring him meant ignoring any female attention.

  Ty chuckled at my response. “I can’t believe how blind you are. Everywhere we go, there’s always a chick eye-fucking you.”

  Furrowing my brows, I took a thoughtful sip of my coffee. “I guess with everything going on the last few months, I haven’t really thought about dating.”

  Ty shook his head. “Forget dating—you need to get laid.”

  I snorted. “I think you’re confusing me with Barrett. I don’t do the random hookup scene.”

  “Why not?”

  With a shrug, I replied, “Good question. I don’t really know why. I guess I’m just some leftover relic from the past when monogamy was cool.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with monogamy. I’ve tried it a few times myself.”

  “Tried it? Did it not stick?”

  He nodded. “I don’t have a lot of time for dating, so I guess I look at hookups as a hazard of my trade.”

  Curiosity got the better of me. “When was your last one?”

  “A month ago.” At what must’ve been my questioning look, a slow, lascivious smile curved on his lips. “The new White House assistant social secretary.”

  “The tall redhead?”

  “Yep.”

  “Nice one. I’ve always had a thing for redheads, especially ones whose drapes match the carpeting.”

  Ty waggled his brows. “Well, this one was completely smooth down there, so I couldn’t tell.”

  “I got ya.”

  “How long has it been for you?”

  “Since before I shipped out nine months ago, back when Marcella and I were still together.” Yeah, it was more like back when I was an idiot and thought Marcella Romano, the daughter of the Italian ambassador, was the one. Sure, she wanted to get married as much as I did, but as it turned out, not for the same reasons. While my reasons for matrimony were love, commitment, and companionship, hers were more about landing a rich American husband and being on Page Six.

  “Jesus, she was such a bitch,” Ty murmured around the mouth of his coffee cup.

  He was right about that one. Instead of a Dear John letter, Marcella had given me the boot during one of our Skype video calls. Her excuse was my deployment just being too hard on her, but then she also managed to find consolation with a Greek shipping tycoon just a few weeks after our breakup.

  “Well, if that was the last piece of ass you got then you’re way overdue.”

  “I wish it were that easy.”

  “It can be. Go get the hostess’s number. W
hen the two of you get off work, you work on getting each other off.”

  “Tempting, but I better pass.”

  With a grunt of frustration, Ty stared down at the menu. “If you say so.”

  * * *

  After we finished eating, we had about ten minutes to get to the office. When Ty motioned to the car that was waiting by the curb, I groaned. “You know, I could walk.”

  “The car will get us there faster.”

  “No shit,” I mumbled.

  “I see what you’re doing.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Stalling.”

  Damn. He was good. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumbled as we headed out the door.

  Ty chuckled. “I know it’s been a while for you, but your poker face could use some work.”