Frontline

by Alexandra Richland

  I wonder if he’ll want to continue what we started on the stairs once he returns, and how I will ever deny another proposal to go to his bedroom if he suggests it again. It was hard enough turning him down the first time. With Randall’s interruption just seconds before I was about to orgasm, I’ll find it even more difficult to stand my ground.

  The door to the parlor opens. I expect to see Trenton, but Randall enters instead. He walks briskly across the room.

  “Mr. Merrick apologizes, but he must cut your evening short.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  Randall grins, but it looks forced. “An urgent business matter has arisen that requires Mr. Merrick’s immediate attention. It’s nothing you need to worry about, Miss Peters.”

  A business matter? Near midnight? On a Saturday? Of a holiday weekend?

  “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?” It’s a stupid question, but I feel compelled to ask.

  “Everything is under control, Miss Peters.”

  I rise from my chair. “Okay, well, I’ll just say good-bye to Trenton and then—”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Merrick has already left the premises.”

  My stomach churns. “What?”

  “Mr. Merrick is gone. A member of his security team, Sean Mavis, has been dispatched to this location to drive you home.”

  I try to hide my disappointment, but Randall’s pitying expression tells me I’m not doing a very good job. Obviously everything we shared tonight means nothing to Trenton. He doesn’t even think I’m worthy of a damn handshake or a thank you for coming.

  Randall gestures toward the door. “Allow me to escort you to the foyer and gather your purse.”

  Ouch.

  Suddenly, I get the strong impression that Trenton didn’t say good-bye to me on purpose. This emergency was probably pre-planned between him and Randall to be implemented if I was adamant about not sleeping with him tonight.

  Trenton probably has some secret buzzer he uses to page Randall wherever he is. Or perhaps Randall was watching and listening the whole time on camera, or lurking in the shadows.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  “Yeah, fine.” I rush across the room. Nothing can get me out of this smut castle fast enough.

  After hiking a million miles through Trenton’s manor, Randall and I finally arrive at the entrance hall. My purse rests on a small cast-iron table by the door. I pick it up before Randall gets to it and wait for Sean to arrive. Once again, I’m putting myself in the hands of a stranger. All I can hope is that I make it back to my apartment in one piece, and then I can forget this night ever happened.

  Randall waits with me by the door. Despite the awkward silence, I don’t try to make conversation with him. I just want to go home before I end up voicing my anger—or worse—crying. My feet hurt in my damn high heels and I wish I had a coat or sweater to put on because now I feel ridiculous in my little black dress.

  I hear shuffling toward the back of the entrance hall and turn to see Sean as he rounds the corner. His light gray suit jacket struggles to contain his broad shoulders and chest. An earpiece connected to a coiled wire snakes down the side of his neck and disappears beneath his collar.

  Sean nods at me. “Good evening, Miss Peters.”

  “It’s Sara,” I say, without worrying about insulting him. It’s not like I’ll ever see these people again, and quite frankly, I’m getting tired of this Miss and Ma’am business.

  “Miss Peters, the car is out front,” Sean says.

  I scowl.

  Randall opens the front door and offers a tight smile. “Have a good night, Miss Peters.”

  I dart past him without waiting for Sean.

  A black Mercedes sits where the Rolls Royce was parked earlier. Sean is quick to walk in front of me. He already has the back door open by the time I approach the car. I stop in front of him, hoping to get some answers.

  “Do you know why Trenton left so quickly?”

  Sean locks his brown eyes on mine. “No, Miss Peters.”

  “You got here pretty fast. Were you in the house the entire time?”

  His eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Trenton just left, and then you show up to drive me home almost immediately after.”

  Sean shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood when I got the call to come here.”

  In the neighborhood? What was he doing? Camping? Building a tree house?

  Sean’s expression softens, revealing a boyish innocence that’s non-existent in Trenton’s other employees. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at, ma’am.”

  I sigh. “Let’s just go.”

  I slide into the backseat and Sean closes the door. Tears spring to my eyes now that I’m alone. Knowing my solitude is only temporary encourages me to keep them at bay.

  Sean climbs behind the wheel and starts the car.

  “Seatbelt, Miss Peters,” he says, clicking his own seatbelt into place.

  The Mercedes is just as flashy as the interior of the Rolls. But this time, I’m not offered refreshments or a computer tablet full of reading material. It’s just the Tin Man and me navigating the deserted Connecticut back roads in silence.

  There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.

  For the first part of the drive, I torture myself by analyzing the entire evening.

  I feel like a castoff on The Bachelor. At the end of each episode, they always dump the rejected girl into the back of a limousine with a camera, hoping she’ll divulge her hurt, her ideas as to what went wrong, her anger, and perhaps even shed a few tears.

  Well, that’s not going to be me.

  As I attempt to think things through, I blink back my tears and keep my expression void of emotion so Sean doesn’t have any pathetic information to relay back to his boss.

  I can’t help but hope Trenton did have something unexpected come up because I like to think he’s not a total sleaze ball. This makes me wonder, however, if I had done something differently, would he have at least said good-bye before he took off. Then again, if Trenton ditched me because I asked him too many questions or because I wouldn’t sleep with him, then it’s his loss and I shouldn’t waste any more time on him.

  Eventually my characteristic exercise in overanalyzing spirals out of control and I search for a distraction.

  Cue small talk with Sean.

  “So you’re co-head of Trenton’s security detail with Christopher?” I say, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

  He nods. “Yes, Miss Peters.”

  “That’s a pretty lofty position. He didn’t just give it to you because you’re his friend.”

  “No, ma’am. I have many qualifications which make me the right man for the job.”

  “For example?”

  Sean looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Each member of his team is assigned very specific tasks. But my range of specialties is vast.”

  Hmm, talk about elusive. Why am I not surprised?

  “I suppose one of those specialties is driving home Trenton’s castaways.”

  Sean’s expression flickers with confusion. “That’s not in my job description.”

  “Then why are you driving me home?”

  “I’m doing this as a special favor to Mr. Merrick.”

  I guess Trenton sent one of his best men to ensure he gets rid of me with the utmost efficiency.

  Silence fills the car. I could definitely go for some Sinatra right now.

  “You know, Miss Peters,” Sean says after a few moments, “despite what you may believe, Mr. Merrick’s greatest concern was getting you home safely tonight.”

  “You mean getting me out of his hair as easily as possible,” I say under my breath.

  “What was that?”

  I stare out the window into the black Connecticut wilderness. “Nothing.”

  As we round a bend in the road, a faint orange glow hovers over the tops of the trees in the distance
, signaling we’re heading back into civilized territory. I’m glad our ride will be over soon. I revel in our silence now, but Sean doesn’t share my appreciation.

  “How long have you been a nurse, Miss Peters?”

  “If we’re going to continue talking, please drop the Miss Peters title. Call me Sara.”

  “Sara,” he says with a grin.

  I smile back, feeling the tension lift. “Thank you.”

  “So, how long have you been a nurse?” Sean asks again. He settles back in his seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gearshift.

  “Six months. I graduated last spring, but didn’t write the NCLEX—that’s the National Council Licensure Examination—until the fall. Then I had to decide where in the country I wanted to work, find available jobs that interested me, go for interviews . . . apply for a license in New York State . . .”

  Sean nods. “That’s cool.”

  I’m relieved he’s easing up a bit. Despite Trenton’s insistence that Christopher and Sean were friendly, based on my experience, I still assumed all of his Tin Men were callous bores.

  “So you’ve known Trenton a long time?”

  Sean clears his throat. “Since grade school.”

  “Do you like working for him?” I rest my head against the window. “It must be weird since he’s your friend.”

  “There’s no one else I’d rather work for.”

  “Long hours, I guess.”

  Sean grins. “It’s not a nine-to-five kind of deal, that’s for sure.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It’s the nature of the job. When Trent needs something, I’m there. But the guy is always there for me, too. That’s just how it works with us.”

  “That doesn’t leave much time for a social life.”

  Sean shrugs. “It’s just me and my job right now. I like it that way.”

  “After you drop me off, do you have to drive back to Connecticut?”

  Sean switches his grip on the steering wheel, his flashy watch catching the moonlight. “No, I’m staying at my apartment in the city tonight. Trenton has a meeting early tomorrow morning at his Manhattan office that I have to be present for.”

  I lean forward, hoping to acquire more information. “If you’re one of his best men, why aren’t you with him tonight during his business crisis?”

  “As I said earlier, your safe return tonight was Trenton’s top priority. Consequently, he redirected my services.”

  Sean’s reply boosts my hope that Trenton did actually leave on account of an emergency, though his lack of good-bye still troubles me.

  “So you really have no idea why Trenton took off so quickly,” I say, going for broke.

  “I won’t know the details until tomorrow morning. But even if I did know more, your questions are futile, Sara. I’m unable to discuss Trenton’s business matters with anyone outside his inner circle.”

  For the remainder of the drive, Sean and I discuss my job further. I keep my answers reserved and notice he doesn’t offer much insight into his own personal life, despite my casual inquiries. He has a way of alluding to things and answering my questions without providing any relevant information. I find his tactics incredibly frustrating—it reminds me of my Q & A with his boss earlier.

  Our conversation has died by the time Sean pulls up in front of my building and shifts into park. After he cuts the engine, I unbuckle my seatbelt and try the door handle. It’s locked. I look for the release button, but there isn’t one.

  “I’ll get that for you,” Sean says.

  Before I can respond, he’s out of his seat and walking around to the passenger side.

  As he opens my door, his suit jacket parts, revealing a gun slung across his chest in a holster.

  I swallow slowly and tighten my grip on my purse.

  My dad is a fan of the television show, Cops, and I’ve seen enough episodes to know what an appropriate gun is for a standard law enforcement officer or bodyguard. Sean’s weapon goes way beyond that. I understand he’s part of Trenton’s security team, but why does a CEO need that kind of protection?

  I get out of the car. Sean slams the door shut and joins me at the entrance to my building. He holds the front door open and I step inside.

  “Thanks, I can take it from here.”

  “My orders are to escort you up to your apartment,” he says, buttoning his suit jacket.

  There’s that line again.

  Sean is a big guy, armed with a gun, so my common sense tells me it’s a very bad idea.

  I exhale deeply. “Thanks, but—”

  Sean darts behind me. I turn around, just as another tenant exits the lobby. Unfortunately, Sean catches the door before it closes, messing up my escape plan.

  He flashes a grin and motions inside. “You coming, Sara?”

  If I tell him no, he’ll probably follow me anyway.

  “Yes, I’m coming.” I shuffle past him. It’s easier to agree. In a few minutes, he’ll be gone, Trenton Merrick will be removed from my life for good, and things can get back to normal.

  We walk to the elevators in silence, Sean’s hulking presence more of a nuisance than a threat. He seems like a nice guy, and he may have orders he’s expected to follow, but I’m perfectly capable of getting upstairs to my apartment without an escort.

  We arrive at my floor and Sean follows me down the hall. I rummage through my purse for my keys, grab them from the bottom where they always seem to end up, and shove the correct one toward the lock. My hand stops in mid-air.

  I spin around to face Sean.

  “What the hell is that?” I say, pointing to my apartment door, which now sports something that looks more like a mini safe than a lock. Even the flimsy brass hinges have been replaced by thick, shiny steel ones.

  Sean takes a step closer and slips his hand inside his suit jacket.

  The gun!

  I dart my eyes around the dim corridor.

  No escape.

  Panic hits me like a battering ram. The next few seconds pass in slow motion.

  Sean fishes around, removes his hand from his jacket, and . . .

  The air rushes from my lungs.

  “You’ll need these.” He uncurls his hand, palm up.

  When I see what he’s holding, my blood runs cold.

  Keys.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  Sean chuckles. “What did you expect after Trent saw that ridiculous lock you had on there before? It wasn’t safe.”

  “What does he care? He disappeared without saying good-bye and then dumped me with you!”

  “I told you, Sara, your safety was his—”

  “This has nothing to do with my safety. That bastard tricked me!” My voice sounds tiny and shrill. “He changed the lock on my apartment, even though I told him not to, because he’s obviously some kind of paranoid control freak. He knew I wouldn’t be home tonight and took advantage of that.”

  Sean’s face remains expressionless.

  “Don’t you see how wrong this is? Trenton has majorly invaded my privacy yet again, and I’ve known him all of one day!”

  Sean lifts his eyebrows and stays silent.

  In an evening that has been full of sighs—frustrated sighs, overwhelmed sighs, passionate sighs—I look to the ceiling and wonder where the harm is in one more. It’s useless to argue. It’s pretty clear that Trenton’s employees do whatever is asked of them without question.

  I snatch the keys from him. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Mavis. Now, goodnight.”

  Sean saunters backward down the hallway. “If you’re angry about something as minor as a lock, then you better prepare yourself. Because, believe me, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  His cryptic comment leaves me fuming and confused all at once. I turn toward my apartment door and fumble with one of the keys in the lock, cursing under my breath.

  “Hey, Sara!”

  A grinning Sean stands at the end of the corridor, propping open the door to the
stairwell.

  “What?”

  “Have yourself a good night.” With a wave, he enters the stairwell. The door slams shut behind him.

  I let out another curse and enter my apartment, eyeing the new lock. I wonder if the two keys Sean gave me are the only copies out there and how they got into Sean’s possession in the first place if he wasn’t my intended chauffeur and was just supposedly “in the neighborhood”.

  My purse and the gleaming new keys land on the coffee table. Just to be safe, I decide to call the superintendent tomorrow and have him replace the lock.

  Trenton Merrick will not get away with this.

  Chapter Ten

  “What do you mean you won’t replace it?”

  The next morning, I stand before Gus, the superintendent of my building, dressed in my workout clothes. I called him when I got up and he agreed to meet me at my apartment at ten o’clock, following my yoga class.

  “Miss Peters, this lock is a Schlage 2400LX.” He gestures to my front door. “It’s top of the line and very expensive, the opposite of the lock you had on here before. Not to mention it works perfectly. Why on earth would I pay to have it replaced?”

  I tap my foot impatiently. “I don’t like it. Please, all I want is the other style back.”

  “Did you not keep the old lock?”

  I cringe. “I, uh, threw it out by accident.”

  Gus shakes his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do anything to help you, unless you want to go to the hardware store and buy yourself another one. Then I’d be more than happy to install it. Otherwise, I refuse to take money out of the building’s reserve fund to fix a perfectly good lock.”

  I contemplate his suggestion. “How much would another lock cost?”

  He shrugs. “The lock that was on here before cost around thirty dollars, but I bought it in bulk fifteen years ago, at a discount, so I could replace the locks on every unit in the building at once. So I’d say, ballpark, with inflation . . . one hundred dollars.”

  “A hundred dollars, that’s ridiculous! I can’t afford that!”

  “Miss Peters, the Schlage 2400LX costs around eight hundred dollars. If you bought that one, then a basic lock shouldn’t be a problem for you. Just return the new lock and use some of the credit toward another model. Problem solved.”