by Katie Ashley
“I can assume by your use of ‘supposed to’ that you aren’t allowing her to do her job?”
With a shrug, I replied, “Maybe.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t you take advantage of an available resource?”
Well, Dad, here’s the thing: she’s a drop-dead gorgeous woman who makes my cock want to stand at attention whenever I’m in her presence. Besides that horny detail, she’s the first woman I’ve actually noticed since returning home, and I haven’t noticed her just because of her beauty—I find her brain pretty damn attractive as well.
I cleared my throat. “She just rubs me the wrong way.” Oh Jesus, did I actually just say that? There could be no wrong way for Isabel to rub me.
“Can’t you at least try to make it work?”
If only it were that simple. After the asshole tirade I’d been on the last few months, I didn’t think it was humanly possible to wave a white flag of defeat and make everything right with her, but I couldn’t tell Dad that. Instead, I merely nodded my head. “Yes, I promise I will try.”
“I’m not completely sure I believe you.”
I laughed. “You know me far too well.”
A knock came at the door before Dwight popped his head in. “It’s time, sir.”
Dad nodded. “We’re coming.” He then smiled at me. “Thanks for hearing me out tonight.”
“Any time.”
Dad patted my back. “Although you haven’t been completely forthright with me this evening, I still feel it’s in your best interest to warn you that your mother has plans to fix you up tonight.”
“Just when I thought the evening couldn’t get worse,” I mused.
“While I don’t agree with your mother’s ambush tactics, she is a lovely young woman.”
“Hmm, a lovely young woman of a certain pedigree who would make a suitable bride?” I shook my head. “Talk about feeling like I’m in Downton Abbey again. Does she come with a dowry?”
Dad chuckled. “Don’t scoff. Your mother was a lovely young woman of a certain pedigree.” Pure happiness radiated in his face. “And she’s been wonderful for me.”
I couldn’t help feeling slightly envious at both his expression and his sentiment. More than anything in the world, I wanted what he and Mom had, but for some reason, it still remained elusive. “Okay. I’ll try to keep an open mind.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Smiling, Dad motioned for me to open the door. “Who knows? Maybe something good for you can come out of me being president. You could meet your future wife at Camp David.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I’m not going to hold my breath on that one.”
My mother pounced on me the moment Dad and I entered the living room. After throwing her arms around me, she enthusiastically cried, “Thorn, I’m so glad you could join us this evening. I made sure the cook prepared your favorite dessert.”
Dipping my head, I whispered into her ear. “Save it, Mom—I know you’re trying to fix me up.”
After she tensed in my arms, she pulled back to pout at me. “Even though your father ruined it, I’m still planning on fixing you up, and I’m still happy to see you.”
I laughed. While my mom had come from a pedigreed background, she wasn’t one of those cold, unfeeling types who shuffle their kids off to boarding school. Even though we had a nanny and a cook growing up, Mom still packed our lunches most mornings, drove us to school, and came to every practice and game we were involved in. Dad wasn’t exaggerating when he talked about how lucky he was to have her.
“I suppose I have no choice but to concede to your matchmaking unless I plan on running out of here, right?”
Mom nodded. “But I really do think you’re going to like her.”
Scratching my chin thoughtfully, I replied, “Now where have I heard that before?”
After she waved a dismissive hand at me, Mom said, “Come on, at least let me introduce you to her before you completely write her off.”
“Fine.”
Dinner was being served in the Laurel Lodge, which was half a mile down the path from the Aspen Lodge. My family, along with the Secret Service contingency, began making their way down the path in the legendary Camp David golf carts. It was a beautiful late March evening with unseasonably warm temperatures for Maryland.
Once we got inside, we were arranged to do a receiving line of our guests. Of course, Mom stuck me beside her so she could oversee my fix-up. After shaking hands with the prime minister and his wife, I glanced over to see the side profile of a gorgeous redhead.
I did a quick double take because I thought it was Isabel, but when the woman turned her face toward me, I saw that it wasn’t. While she was extremely beautiful, not to mention stacked, I couldn’t help comparing her to the other redhead in my life. Nothing good ever came from comparisons—something or someone always came up short.
Before I could reach out to shake her hand, Mom turned to me. “Thorn, this is Pippa, the prime minister’s niece.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I replied with a warm smile.
Pippa returned my smile. “It’s nice to meet you as well.”
My mother glanced between us before continuing. “Pippa was an art history major at Cambridge. She works at the Smithsonian.”
And there it was: exhibit A of how my mother had no idea how to properly execute a setup when it came to me. I could go ahead and wager that the lovely Pippa and I had absolutely nothing in common. While I had an appreciation for literature and the theater, I had absolutely no enjoyment of art. “How interesting,” I said with more enthusiasm than I felt.
Thankfully, we had to keep the receiving line moving, so Pippa went on to meet Barrett and Addison. It was no surprise to me that she turned out to be seated to my right at dinner. “Are you happy being home from the Navy?” she asked.
“Actually, I was in the Army, and no, I really miss it.”
Her brows furrowed. “You miss being away from home with only the basic necessities?”
Okay, apparently Pippa was never going to be one I could take on a hike or camping. She was far too posh for that.
“Yeah, I miss roughing it. I miss the camaraderie of my men, the ability to help those in need.”
“That’s nice,” Pippa mused.
That was the extent of the depth of our conversation. While she had Isabel’s same auburn hair, she didn’t have the same fire within her. We continued making the usual polite conversation you engage in at a dinner party, but there was no romantic spark. Just as I had anticipated, there was absolutely no chemistry. Mom had struck out yet again.
Before the main course was served, I glanced up to see Barrett staring at me. When he popped his brows, I shook my head. He appeared slightly let down that there wasn’t anything happening with Pippa. I was sure it would be disappointing to my mother, and I knew a relationship between the president’s son and the prime minister’s niece would have made a great diplomatic love story on Page Six, but unfortunately, it just wasn’t going to happen. In a way, I wished there were fireworks with Pippa as it would have gotten my mind off of Isabel.
As I ate the Yorkshire pudding prepared in honor of the prime minister, I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to have her by my side. As intelligent as she was, I knew she could hold her own when it came to making conservation. She would have both my parents enthralled by how well she could work a room.
I especially liked imagining what she would look like in a tight-fitting cocktail dress, one that showed off the chest I was so well versed with. Jesus, I had to stop thinking about Isabel in that way. I would wager good money she wasn’t spending her Friday evening fantasizing about me. If she was, it was likely more about inflicting bodily harm, and not of the sexual variety.
No, when it came to Isabel, I was thoroughly and completely screwed, and not in the good way.
Chapter Thirteen: Isabel
After the dinner meeting with Halliwell, I vowed to never, ever sabotage Thorn again. There was somet
hing about seeing his face turn the color of the white linen tablecloth that made me see the error of my ways. There was no way I could have foreseen him having had that kind of reaction. I learned later he had been scarfing protein bars chock full of fiber that day, which ended up making for a lethal combination.
While I truly felt horrible about what happened to Thorn, I couldn’t deny how good it had felt to win over Halliwell and salvage the evening. Hearing Murray praise my valiant efforts was music to my ears, and even Thorn had been complimentary about how I’d managed to rise to the occasion.
Of course, all the uplifting words rang a bit hollow. It was like cheating to win a race—there was no true honor in the victory. I’d taken out my competition with dog laxatives. Whatever morals and ethics I’d thought I possessed had completely flown out the window. Even Mila didn’t question my anti-sabotage stance after she heard about Thorn’s extreme reaction. Since she had initially egged me on, I think in a small way she felt like an accomplice.
In the end, I’d felt so bad about the laxative debacle that I skipped out on working Sunday morning to attend church. I was pretty sure I was going to need to attend services for a long, long time to atone for what I’d done. When I saw the sign for volunteer opportunities, I gladly offered my services.
Now a week had passed and things were somewhat back to normal. In other words, Thorn was being his usual asshole self, and I was grudgingly putting up with it. Even though I was utterly repentant about my actions with the laxatives, it didn’t completely stop me from giving him attitude. In my mind, I argued that no one could get violently ill from sarcasm.
I’d been working steadily all day when I realized I desperately needed some documents from Thorn to finish off the project, so I made my way down to his office. “Alice, I need the Pedansky files from Mr. Callahan.”
“I’m afraid he hasn’t completed them.”
Inwardly, I growled in frustration. “Is he inside?”
Alice shook her head. “No. He’s out cold in the sleeping room.” She glanced down at her hands. “I was afraid to wake him.”
Yeah, I was sure she was. Thorn had been a douchebag to me, but Alice had also incurred his wrath from time to time. While I had told him numerous times to get bent, Alice was much too sweet to tell him off.
A low growl came from within my throat. “Don’t worry. I’ll wake him.” After taking the folder from her, I stomped down the hallway to the office that was designated as the official sleeping room. When I’d first interned there, I had been shocked to find the secretive room away from prying eyes. Officially, it was where analysts took private calls. Unofficially, it had a nice, comfy couch along with mats under some of the desks. I’d come to understand that when you’re working thirteen- and fourteen-hour days, you sometimes choose to eat at your desk and take a power nap during your lunch hour.
After I threw open the door, I scanned the room for Thorn. When I didn’t see him on the couch, I started peeking under the desks, and I finally found him at the back of the room. Lying on his side, his back was to me. “Mr. Callahan, I need your signature on this file.” Thorn’s response came in the form of a loud snore. With a roll of my eyes, I tapped his leg with my foot. “Mr. Callahan?”
Okay, so Alice hadn’t been kidding when she’d said he was out cold. I eased down on my knees beside him. After placing my hand on his shoulder, I shook him. The next thing I knew he’d shot straight up, his chest rising and falling in harsh pants like he’d been running. Before I could move away from him, he leapt at me, knocking me onto my back. As he pinned me with his body, his hands grabbed my arms and shoved them above my head. The wild look in his eyes caused me to shudder in fear. “Thorn, stop!” I cried.
At the sound of my voice, he blinked several times, and then the tension visibly melted from his body. Too afraid to move, I remained deathly still. The only sound in the room was that of Thorn’s and my heavy breathing.
An eternity seemed to pass before he forlornly shook his head. “Jesus, Isabel, I’m so sorry.”
I widened my eyes at him addressing me as Isabel and not Ms. Flannery. “Uh, it’s okay,” I croaked.
“Are you okay?” His voice vibrated with a concern I’d never heard before.
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t sure how long he planned to remain on top of me. Although I was still shaken up, there was a part of me that enjoyed the feel of him. He was all muscle and power and strength, and I didn’t like just how much I was enjoying it. “Do you think you could get off me now?”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” After scrambling to his feet, Thorn extended a hand to me. Normally, I would have smacked it away and told him to shove it, but my emotions were too jumbled for a smartass comeback. Instead, I slipped my hand into his and let him help me up off the floor.
I also wasn’t just thinking about me. The look in Thorn’s eyes would haunt me for years to come. He had to have experienced some epic shit to express that level of horror. I wondered how many service men and women came home so internally scarred. I’d never witnessed firsthand the struggles of my grandfather who had served in Vietnam. Had he had moments like that when he’d first come back? Moments where he would fight off a touch simply because human contact had previously meant danger?
“I think you could use a drink,” I suggested.
He scowled. “I’m fine.”
“Okay, well, I need a drink because I’m sure as hell not fine after what just happened.” I jerked my chin at him. “Why don’t you let me buy a drink for a distinguished serviceman such as yourself?”
Eyeing me suspiciously, Thorn crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you suggesting we skip out on work to drink?”
“Consider it a working dinner.” I waved the manila folder at him. “We can go over the Pedansky file.”
“Okay. I really could use a bite to eat.”
“Great. I’m just going to get my purse. Meet you downstairs in five?”
“Yeah. See you then.”
Exactly five minutes later, I walked up to Thorn in the lobby. Hanging a discreet distance behind him was Ty. “You’re late,” Thorn stated without a hello.
“I am not. Your watch must be fast.” When I started walking to the door, Thorn fell in step beside me.
“Where are we going?”
“Rafferty’s.”
“That pub down the street?” he questioned almost disdainfully.
“Yeah, that one.”
“It looks like a dive.”
“That’s because it is, but the food is good, and the drinks are stiff but cheap.” I grinned at him. “Besides, as a Flannery, I have a soft spot for all things Irish.”
He snorted. “I call bullshit on that one.”
“Why is that?”
He smiled. “Because I’m Irish, and I’m pretty sure you hate my guts.”
Shit. I wasn’t expecting that one. Sure, it was a well-known fact in my mind and in my circle of friends that I hated him, but I certainly did not want him being so aware of it. “Hate is a pretty strong word.”
Thorn opened the door of Rafferty’s for me. “It’s a strong emotion, and I’m pretty sure you feel that way about me.”
“If I hated you, would I have offered to buy you a drink?”
“You’re buying me a drink out of pity for what happened back in the sleeping room,” Thorn stated matter-of-factly.
Before I could argue with him, the hostess stepped forward. “Hi there. How many?”
“Just two,” Thorn replied. Then he jerked a thumb behind us at Ty. “He’ll take a booth close by.”
After giving us a strange look, the hostess then led us over to one of the booths. After handing us a menu, she walked down the row to seat Ty.
“For the record, I’m not buying you a drink entirely out of pity.”
“Then you admit this is a pity party?”
I sighed. “I like to think it’s more empathy than pity.”
A waiter interrupted us. “What can I get you?”
/> “I’ll have a vodka orange and an order of cheese fries.”
Amusement flickered in Thorn’s eyes. “You’re having cheese fries for dinner?”
“I plan on adding a Caesar salad later,” I replied.
He smiled at me before looking at the waiter. “I need a moment to look at the menu, but in the meantime, I’ll take a shot of Jack.”
With a nod, the waiter replied, “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
Once he left, it finally hit me that I was alone with Thorn. Sure, I’d been out of the office with him before, but only in an official work capacity. There was very little official about being at Rafferty’s having drinks, and it was in moments like these when he wasn’t wearing his asshole mask that I could see how good-looking he was, how very sexy and desirable.
Damn, I hated myself for thinking those thoughts.
After clearing his throat, Thorn asked, “What’s good here?”
“Obviously, I’m a fan of the cheese fries, and you can’t go wrong with the chicken wings or any of the salads.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Propping my menu up on the table, I said, “Although you really don’t impress me as the chicken wing type.”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t know, maybe because you’re a little white bread.”
Thorn chuckled. “Whatever alleged white bread I had in me disappeared when I entered the Army. You don’t get four-course meals from the mess, not to mention how unappealing MREs really are.”
“I stand corrected.”
After tossing his menu back on the table, Thorn said, “I think I’ll take your suggestion of the chicken wings.”
“If you’re a fan of spicy, go for the habanero sauce.”
“Is that the hottest one?”
“No. That would be the nuclear. I’m pretty sure you’ll lose feeling in your lips.”
“It’s not a true spicy sauce if you don’t start to tingle,” Thorn countered with an uncharacteristically crooked grin. It was the kind of smile that got me tingling below the waist. I wasn’t sure what it said about me that I was getting hot over hot sauces.
