Overlooked

by Lulu Pratt

  Finally, I land on our favorite housewives show before my mind drifts to eyes the color of honey and rough hands large enough to…

  “What did I miss?” Stephania asks, interrupting my wayward thoughts. She plops down beside me with a bowl of saucy wings.

  I try, unsuccessfully, to concentrate on the overdressed women and petty catfights but Jameson intrudes every thought I have for the next thirty minutes. Stephania doesn’t hold her tongue when she notices.

  “Okay,” she says muting the TV. “What’s going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, playing it coy.

  She doesn’t buy it and says as much. I know the guilt is visible all over my face.

  “You’re still thinking about this Jameson guy, aren’t you?” she asks reading my mind.

  A frustrated groan escapes me as I drop my head on the cushion.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” I admit.

  I know there’s no point in lying to her. Since meeting at a job fair a year ago, we’ve been thick as thieves. She’s the one person I’ve grown to trust here.

  “Are you sure you told me everything?” she implores knowingly. “Have you seen him since the office on Friday?”

  “No, but he called me last night.” I briefly fill her in on Jameson’s bold attempt at seducing me over the phone.

  “The guy has balls,” she says after a sip of her soda. “Just be careful, Grace. He has a reputation.”

  She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.

  “I just wish I wasn’t so turned on by it. This is wrong for so many reasons.”

  “You need a distraction,” Stephania claims, eyeing me closely.

  “What kind of distraction?” I ask, leery of what’s coming next.

  A huge smile eclipses her face and I know my premonitions are right.

  “Let me set you up with one of the teachers at my school. I know the perfect guy for you.”

  I roll my eyes at her enthusiasm. She works at the local high school and has been trying to set me up with the history teacher since she started the gig.

  Each time, I vehemently turn down her offer. This time is no different.

  “You know I’m not ready to date anyone yet, Steph.”

  Exasperation clouds her once playful expression and she huffs.

  “You always say that but you never tell me why.”

  Guilt assails me. I trust her more than most people but I still haven’t been completely open about my past. I’m just not ready to confront those feelings.

  “One of these days,” I promise, turning my gaze back to the TV.

  “Fine,” she concedes, standing up to walk in the kitchen. “Do you want another drink?”

  I smile quietly to myself, happy that I’ve purchased myself a little more time.

  *****

  On Monday, I sit in my office sifting through emails, mentally preparing for the work day. As I type out a response to my boss about my latest report, my phone vibrates twice, alerting me to a new text message.

  Absentmindedly, I grab the phone and scan the screen. The same number from Friday night stares back at me and I know it’s him.

  Butterflies rapidly invade my stomach.

  Swiping up, I key in my passcode to reveal his message.

  Miss me yet?

  Heat rushes into my cheeks and I can’t stop the smile that follows. Since his phone call Friday night, I’ve foolishly anticipated his next attempt at communication.

  Not a chance, I type back.

  He replies twice within a matter of seconds.

  Liar.

  What are you wearing, Ms. Chambers?

  Instant arousal shoots through my core and I squirm in my chair. It is far too early for these sensations to assault me.

  When I don’t text him back right away, he abandons the text messaging and calls me directly.

  “Tell me your secret, Grace.”

  I’m unprepared for how sexy he sounds first thing in the morning. His sinful voice is somewhat scratchy, as if he’s just waking up.

  The thought of him calling me from bed does inexplicable things to my swelling lust.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask as I begin my new practice of folding and unfolding my legs in an attempt to relieve the building pressure.

  “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I left your office on Friday and I want to know your secret.”

  “I’ll never tell,” slips past my lips before I can stop myself.

  Am I really flirting with this man?

  His tempting laugh fills the line and I am filled with pride that I am the one to elicit it.

  “You’re something else, Grace Chambers. Listen, do you have lunch plans today?”

  His question momentarily douses the fire in my loins and I slowly regain a portion of my senses. I have to remain firm with him or he will walk all over me and my rules.

  “Mr. Wilcox,” I say, attempting to sound stern. “I’ve told you already that this can’t go any further than a working relationship.”

  Momentary silence is followed by the sound of him clearing his throat.

  “I was going to ask you if I could stop by and discuss my account.”

  I’m so happy no one is here to witness the mortified expression on my face.

  Jameson chuckles lowly.

  “But I’d be more than happy to take you lunch instead. If that’s what you want,” he adds and I can almost picture the brash smirk on his face.

  Words fail me before I gather my wits.

  “I’m sorry. I just assumed — you know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m free in the afternoon if and when you decide to drop by. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have regarding your existing account or loan application.”

  I’m certain he can read my embarrassment through the phone because his next words mercifully spare me any further humiliation.

  “Great. I’ll see you around one.”

  “Great,” I squeak out.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” he says before we disconnect.

  Casting a glance at the clock on my office wall, I realize I have three and a half hours to prepare myself to see him again.

  Three and a half hours to rein in my unruly libido and control my mischievous thoughts.

  *****

  The rest of the morning passes in a mundane blur of phone calls and paperwork. When one o’clock rolls around I realize I have worked straight through my usual lunch hour and Jameson will be arriving at any second.

  I shove a mint in my mouth just as a knock sounds at my door.

  Jameson’s imposing figure fills the doorway in the next moment, stalling my breath.

  His beautiful eyes are piercing and focused on me. Unshaven stubble darkens his strong jaw and he’s wearing all black again. Is it possible that he looks even better than before?

  “Hello, Grace. This is for you,” he speaks coolly extending something in my direction.

  When I blink, I realize it’s a tall cup of hot coffee.

  “Thanks,” I accept the proffered cup. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Consider it a peace offering. I’ll be on my best behavior during this meeting. You have my word.”

  A sense of loss settles over me at his words.

  I should be happy that he’s giving me what I want.

  What I say I want. Yet, I can’t help feeling like I’ve lost something.

  Shaking my head, I sigh and push away the thoughts.

  It’s better this way.

  Chapter four

  GRACE CHAMBERS

  “Grace, are you listening to me?” Jameson asks, snapping me out of my lusty haze.

  I feel the heat rise in my cheeks and offer a repentant smile.

  “You seem distracted,” he assesses as his head tilts to take in my features.

  “I apologize,” I sigh. “It won’t happen again. What were you saying?”

  “Anything in particular on your mi
nd?” he asks, ignoring my question and trying to sidetrack the conversation.

  His grin tells me he knows I’m distracted by him.

  Who can blame me? The man embodies sex effortlessly.

  “You were saying? About your account?” I refocus my attention on the present situation and call on my professionalism.

  We talk a few minutes more regarding his account and I refer him to an analyst at the credit union to follow up our conversation.

  Business concluded, he leans back in his chair making himself rather comfortable for someone who should be heading out the door.

  I bite down on my bottom lip, anticipating his next words.

  My actions have drawn his attention to my lips because he won’t look away, even once he starts speaking.

  “How was your weekend, Grace?”

  “Uneventful,” I reply, but I don’t follow up to ask about his.

  Not that he cares. He continues the conversation, at last tearing his gaze away from my lips.

  “Mine was pretty dull, too,” he says mildly before his gaze darkens. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you though.”

  I shift in my seat at his confession. A rush of embarrassment fills me at how responsive I am to this man. The vibrator on my nightstand had received the workout of its life over the weekend. Yet, my thirst still isn’t quenched.

  “Did you dream about me, Grace?”

  A startled gasp parts my lips as he looks on seemingly pleased with how easily he riles me.

  “Of course not!” I sputter indignantly but the denial fools neither of us.

  “You’re a horrible liar,” he teases without malice. “But it’s cute. You’re cute.”

  I want to swoon at his assessment of me, but I know better. He’s probably baited countless women in the same way. It would do me well to remember that.

  “What does a woman like you do for fun?” he continues his disarming line of questioning.

  His relaxed posture in my guest chair is in stark contrast to my tightly wound nerves.

  I decide to join in on his banter, hoping it will help me relax. If only a little bit.

  “Why? What do you plan to do with that information?” I ask a few questions of my own.

  “You’re a feisty one. I like it,” he says with an enchanting smile.

  Before I can respond to his latest remarks, my stomach rumbles embarrassingly.

  “Have you eaten, Grace?” he asks and I swear concern enters his tone.

  “No,” I admit uncomfortable with this level of attention. The flirting was fine but now he actually sounds like he cares about my well-being.

  Not possible, I remind myself.

  “I’m sorry I made you work through lunch,” he says sincerely. The concern in his gaze is too much for me to process.

  I wave away his concern, knowing that my face is probably crimson from all the attention.

  “Let me make it up to you. Have lunch with me. I’m headed to grab a bite myself and I would love some company.”

  His offer is more than tempting but I shake my head anyway.

  “It’s fine, Jameson. I still have a ton of work to complete before I leave tonight. I’ll be fine,” I say assuredly.

  “Work will be here when you get back, Grace. You shouldn’t be skipping meals,” he scolds unconvinced.

  “I’ll have a big dinner. The workday is almost over, no need to leave now,” I reason.

  He doesn’t look pleased with my answer, but thankfully decides to let it go. I suddenly miss the playful side he revealed earlier. It is a lot less intense than the man currently sitting across from me.

  “Whatever you say,” he concedes, pushing himself to his feet. “Thanks for agreeing to see me at the last minute. You’re a lifesaver.”

  I feel small as he towers over me so I stand to erase some of his advantage.

  “It was my pleasure,” I say dutifully and the damp state of my panties taunts me with just how true those words are.

  “Take care of yourself,” he says as an easy smile reclaims his lips. I breathe in relief at the welcome sight.

  “I can walk you out,” I offer, not ready for our time to end.

  But he declines with a firm shake of his head.

  “Save your energy for work, gorgeous. I’ll see myself out.”

  I watch helplessly as he walks to my door and turns the knob.

  Before he leaves, he throws a teasing dare over his shoulder.

  “Don’t forget to dream of me tonight.”

  I fall back into my chair and sigh like a contented high school girl. There is no doubt in my mind that he’ll be the star of my dreams tonight and many nights to come.

  Staring blankly at my computer screen I know there’s no way I will get any work done at the moment.

  I reach up to touch my flushed cheeks and wonder how frazzled I must appear to others. Luckily, no one is in the vicinity of my office at the moment.

  Retrieving my compact mirror, I flip it open and examine my face. My full, round cheeks are rosy just as I imagined. Focusing on my eyes, I notice even my pupils are dilated.

  The effect this man has on me is unacceptable.

  Trying to regain my composure, I run my manicured fingers through my auburn tresses, situating them on one side to flow over my right shoulder.

  I’ve decided to get back to work when I receive a call from reception, telling me that I have a delivery waiting for me in the lobby.

  Confused, I walk to the front of the credit union and see a guy outfitted in a uniform from the deli across the street.

  “This is for you, Ms. Chambers,” the lanky teenager says extending a paper bag in my direction.

  “Wait, let me get you some cash for a tip—”

  “Don’t worry about it, miss. It’s already been taken care of.” He turns and leaves the building.

  Back in my office, I retrieve my phone from my desk’s surface and type out a speedy message to Jameson.

  Again, you didn’t have to do this.

  Thanks for lunch.

  He doesn’t keep me waiting long for a reply.

  It’s my pleasure, Grace.

  Then a thought crosses my mind.

  I wasn’t aware that the deli delivered.

  In fact, I know they don’t. In the year that I’ve worked here, I’ve always had to go pick up my orders.

  Some would say I’m very convincing.

  Entertained by his cheeky response, I type out another message.

  I’m impressed, Mr. Wilcox.

  I dig into the bag and start assessing the goods. My phone vibrates again and this time warmth flashes through me as I read it.

  You said yourself I was thorough, Ms. Chambers.

  I want to make sure I surpass all your expectations.

  I turn my phone over and, in the name of productivity, I vow to ignore his texts for the remainder of the day.

  Chapter five

  JAMESON WILCOX

  Sitting outside of the shabby bar, I scan the crowd of people. I’m searching for Eric Mendoza.

  I need to talk to him about a favor and although we don’t live in close proximity of one another, I know this isn’t a conversation I should be having over the phone.

  This place is somewhat of a middle ground.

  As I continue to wait for him, I run over the reasons for this meeting.

  My current case is starting to rub me the wrong way and I need to know the facts before I royally fuck this up. I need the real info on this Brick guy as soon as possible and I know Eric is the guy to do that for me while I’m otherwise occupied.

  Something about Grace pulls on a protective instinct I’m unfamiliar with and I need to know why. On the exterior, she appears to be a typical, sweet non-threatening woman. Had she really done something to end up on Brick’s black list?

  My time in the navy had taught me how to compartmentalize, which is how thrived separating morality from my end goal: money. But I’d also learned a lot about how to read people and som
ething just isn’t adding up.

  *****

  “You sure know how to pick a bar,” Eric jokes, taking in our surroundings. The bar is rowdy and teeming with people who just escaped a long day’s work.

  With a grin, I flag down the scantily clad bartender and order two whiskeys, neat.

  “I knew you would fit in here,” I tease. “Underdressed women, cheap beer and plenty of lowlifes. Right up your alley.”

  Then I clap Eric on the back before we dive into a bit of small talk, catching up.

  Eric Mendoza and I were bunkmates during basic training over a decade ago and our sense of kinship had led us to become great friends. The sense of loyalty that grew from friendship had been fostered by our time as SEALs. No matter our differences, we always presented a united front.

  “So, tell me why I’m here again,” Eric cuts to the chase.

  “I need you to look into a guy for me. Real name is Brian Masner but most people call him Brick. All I know is that he sells life insurance in Ravenwood.”

  Eric takes another sip of his beer and eyes me suspiciously.

  “Why do you need me? Can’t you do this on your own?” he asks, knowing we have similar backgrounds in investigative work.

  “Because he hired me a couple weeks ago.”

  “Why are you investigating your client?” he wants to know.

  “I need to know if he’s shady.”

  Eric laughs, obnoxious and loud.

  “Since when has that ever mattered to you? You’re the fucking king of shady.”

  I’m irritated by his words, but only because I know he’s right.

  Before Grace, I would have completed this assignment three weeks ahead of schedule. I should be kissing a fat bonus check right now for my swift turnaround, but instead I’m here.

  “I’ve met the target a few times and something feels off. I wouldn’t feel comfortable turning her over to this guy unless I have solid proof to implicate her.”

  Mendoza’s eyes triple in size as soon as I finish the word her. And I know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth.

  “Holy shit, you’re trying to protect the target.”

  I don’t think about denying it. He’s not entirely wrong. I want to protect Grace until I know for sure. No matter my current field, my predatory instincts always took a backseat to protect those I believed were innocent.