Embrace

by Fernandez, Michelle

  The wind slaps against my face, the saltwater clings to my lips, and I breathe in the power and speed of the energy surging around me. With nothing but my feet connected to the surfboard as I skim the bumpy surface of the water.

  There’s no other feeling like it.

  It’s the feeling of freedom and separateness. It’s an adrenaline rush when I control my board, shifting my weight, exercising my bad leg so the board responds to my demands.

  After a few waves, I head to my truck, and my thoughts veer to Dee when I see a few kids playing with a Husky in the distance.

  There is something about her. Something overwhelming me with feelings, wanting to be with her and get lost in those topaz eyes. The red dress she wore at the club makes me think thoughts I know I shouldn’t but do. I know she felt that spark on her front doorstep when I almost kissed her knowing goddamn well her hesitancy toward me. Asshole move on my part.

  I have spent the last six years shutting off emotion. Never getting serious with any woman. Using them as they did me. It was easier that way.

  Especially after the conversation I remember verbatim. It was a day like today when Matt made me promise to watch over his family if anything ever happened to him.

  We sat, straddling our boards off Virginia Beach, waiting for the next wave to ride.

  He loved to surf like me. Understanding the waves, the solitude it brings, and never underestimating the power of the water bonded us, cementing our friendship.

  In a heartbeat, I would trade places with Matthew Teals, my best friend and brother in arms.

  Matt’s family is my family. I’ve eaten countless dinners with him, Laura, and their sons, Maximus and Jameson. Laura’s got the biggest heart and a whole lot of patience. Being married to a SEAL isn’t easy. Laura had to share Matt almost three hundred days of the year with the navy.

  When Matt and I waited on the waves, he’d confide in me about the arguments he and Laura had. How things changed and what he’d missed while on deployment. It’s easy to forget that life goes on back at home while we fight thousands of miles away.

  I shove my board in the back of my truck as my mind comes back to Dee. When I think of her and remember her voice, there’s comfort there. A yearning I can’t explain.

  I intended to just walk her home, shake her hand, and tell her to have a nice life. Instead, I asked her out, knowing damn well she’s the exact opposite of the type of woman I normally hook up with.

  Now all I can think about is making our date special as the wheels in my head start turning.

  Chapter Eleven

  Delilah

  “Oh, Lucy, I’m home,” Sydney calls out, impersonating Desi Arnaz’s voice from I Love Lucy. The kitchen screen door swings open and Serena perks her head up from her large doggie bed and runs to her.

  “In here!” I yell, looking around the living room floor littered with sketches spread all over and balls of crumpled paper tossed haphazardly around me.

  “What’s all this?” Sydney drops her suitcase on the floor then plops on the couch next to me. “Did you work all weekend?”

  “Mrs. Cole is back from New York. I’m meeting with her tomorrow and I need to show her my drafts.” I rise and pace our small living room to stretch out my legs, cautious so I don’t step on the mock-ups. “I’m nervous to meet her.”

  “You mean you haven’t met her yet?” There’s shock in her voice. “How did you land a job without speaking with the head of the company?”

  “Beats me. According to Mr. Grisham, I impressed her enough, and she didn’t need to interview me.” I shrug then lean against the wall. “Maybe she saw my stuff that I did back at home. Who knows?”

  “Well, that’s neither here nor there. You got the job and that’s all that counts.”

  “I guess you’re right.” I push off the wall and sit next to my friend. “Anyway, how was your conference?”

  “It was okay.” Sydney rolls her eyes, then leans her head back on the couch. “Had to learn about new educational policies and how to be more sensitive to our students’ needs and in the workplace. And what did you do other than work all weekend?”

  “Let’s see,” I say, tapping my finger on my chin, “I unpacked some of my stuff, talked to Mama, had lunch at the café, and . . .” The corner of my lip turns up. “Got asked out on a date.”

  Sydney whips her head up, eyes wide. “Dee! Are you serious? When? How? Who?”

  “Calm down. It’s nothing fancy. Just a bite to eat at the diner, that’s all.”

  “So, you and Landon, huh?”

  “Landon?” I’m shocked she brought his name up. “What makes you think it’s Landon?”

  “You said the diner.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not Landon.”

  She angles her head, waiting for an answer. “Don’t keep me waiting. Spill it, sister.”

  “Brody.” I press my lips together, trying to hide the giddiness behind my smile.

  “Who’s Brody?”

  “The guy from the club,” I remind her. “The bodyguard.”

  She narrows her eyes with confusion. “You didn’t tell me he asked you out while he walked you to the car.”

  “He didn’t. He was at Tawney’s on Friday,” I tell her. “And he walked me home.”

  “Walked you home? What happened to your car?”

  “The battery died, and I ended up walking to work.”

  “Whoa. Am I missing something? I spoke to you yesterday and there was not one mention about any of this.” Her hand is up, ticking each finger as she goes down a list. “Your battery dies. You walk to work. Brody sees you. Walks you home. And now a date?”

  “And he surprised me by changing the battery in my car too.” I stifle a laugh but can’t keep the grin from spreading across my face.

  “I’m quite impressed.”

  “It’s no big deal. I mean, yes, it’s a date with a really hot guy. But it’s very casual.”

  “There’s nothing casual about it, Dee. It’s fate.”

  “Not you too,” I say, remembering Brody’s words.

  “You didn’t want to go to the club, but I dragged you with me anyway,” she says, raising a brow as she smiles. “And let’s face it, if you didn’t come with me, you would have never met Brody. And he wouldn’t have walked you home.”

  I stand and begin stacking my story boards in a pile then gather the balls of paper strewn all over the floor. My imagination goes elsewhere and I remember the walk home with Brody.

  The soft call of my name, how safe he made me feel and when he touched my skin, it was hard not to react. This time in a good way, no flinching, no recoiling. Just a simple touch sent an intense warmth to my heart.

  “I’m starving. And from the looks of it, you probably didn’t make any dinner,” Sydney continues as she stands and grabs her suitcase.

  “No, sorry, Syd. I got caught up and lost track of time.”

  “Tell you what, let’s order from that Thai restaurant and have it delivered. Then you can tell me all about Brody and his battery.”

  “Syd!” I throw the couch pillow at her. “I said he changed my battery, you twit.”

  * * *

  “So, Levi’s having a barbeque at his house this Saturday,” Sydney says, pointing her fork.

  “A barbeque?” I pick up my empty plate and place it in the sink. “I don’t know, Syd.”

  “He has a beautiful home in Malibu. Please come. He’s been asking about you.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “That you are well. Nothing else.” She takes a sip of her wine. “He misses the old times.”

  “So, what’s the deal with you two?” I turn on the faucet and start washing the dishes.

  “We talked. And we’re taking things slow. I know I jumped to conclusions when I read what they plastered in the gossip section about him and his co-star, Reeza. But he assured me nothing happened. It was a publicity stunt to get the ratings up.”

  “And you believe hi
m?”

  “I do,” she counters as she scrapes the food off her plate into the garbage then hands me the plate to wash. “The night at the club, we left his party. Took a drive and talked. Then he cried. Begged even for me to come back to him saying how miserable he’s been. Said he’s been screwing up his lines almost to a point that he was going to get replaced by a look-alike.”

  “Oh, Syd. He still loved you this whole time,” I say. “Well, I’m happy things are working out for you.”

  “Why don’t you bring Brody with you?” Sydney suggests as she waggles her brows, effectively changing the subject.

  “Not a chance,” I snap as I place the dish on the rack to dry. “Why would I invite him? I hardly know anything about him.”

  “Well, that’ll change when you meet him on Friday.”

  “It’s only at Tawney’s. It’s no big deal.”

  “From what you have told me, he seems like a big deal.”

  “Whatever.” There’s hesitation in my voice as I dry my hands on the dishrag.

  “Tell you what. Let’s put Brody to a test.” Sydney narrows her eyes and I know that look.

  “What kind of test?”

  Sydney snaps her fingers. “What’s that saying your dad says about being ten minutes late?”

  “If you’re ten minutes early, you’re ten minutes late,” I recite. “And your point?”

  “Get to Tawney’s thirty minutes before your date and wait for him. Then see what happens.”

  “Syd, I’ll look like a desperate puppy.”

  “Then enter through the kitchen and wait for him in there.”

  “And what’s it going to prove? That he’s punctual?”

  “That he’s taking this date seriously even though it’s only at Tawney’s. And I think he asked you to meet him there because he probably sensed that you didn’t want to go out with him in the first place.”

  “So, he shows up on time. Then what?” I ask.

  “Then have your date. Get to know him. Apparently, he’s a good guy. Chivalry at its finest by walking you home, changing out your battery, and wanting to repay you for the cocoa he spilled.”

  “I spilled it,” I correct her.

  “Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.” She waves her hand in the air. “He scared you, which made you drop it.”

  “And that’s just it, Syd. I’m scared.”

  “Which is natural after what that shitbag, crazy, waste of space ex-boyfriend did to you.”

  I want to laugh as I glance her way while she clears the table. Because she’s right. Todd is a shitbag and crazy. “And why do you have a good feeling about Brody? For all we know, he’s some guy who’s trying to get his jollies or worse, he could be just like that shitbag.”

  “He’s a good guy.”

  My eyes narrow. “You think so?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Delilah

  “Kitty?” I gasp as I enter the office. Then I clear my throat while placing the box of mock-ups on the long table next to a couple of designs she must be reviewing. “I’m sorry. I mean, Mrs. Cole.”

  Turns out, the woman I met several weeks ago in the bathroom is Catherine Cole.

  Catherine Cole is Kitty.

  I should have figured it out. Her expensive suit, the information she knew about Liz going on maternity leave, and all the trigger words.

  Was the bathroom conversation my interview? I spoke to her like she was another employee, not realizing Kitty is the chief operating officer at CJJ Public Relations.

  “Please call me Catherine. Kitty is a nickname a friend of mine gave me a while back,” she says as she stretches out her hand to shake mine. “Sorry I misled you in the bathroom a few weeks ago. You looked so tense I didn’t want to add to your bundle of nerves.”

  “Is that why I never had my last interview with you?”

  “Yes. I was so impressed with how passionate you were. I looked up your work and told Peter we need people like you on our team.”

  “I don’t know what to say, except . . . thank you.”

  A photo resting on the corner of the desk catches my eye. It’s Catherine with a baby girl in her lap and a man embracing them. That must be her daughter and Jackson. My goodness, he’s so handsome.

  Catherine motions to the box. “Looks like you have hit the ground running. Show me what you have done so far,” she says with a smile.

  “The account is Evergreen Escapes, a glamping campground resort not too far away from Napa Valley.” I pull out the boards and lay them on the long table. “The grounds are absolutely beautiful, with lush gardens, lots of trees, and the amenities are luxurious. I added a catchy slogan here”—I point to one of the boards—“with the plush accommodations, attention to detail with different themed rooms, and the spacing of each sleeping space giving the guests the privacy they need.”

  “I think you just gave me the presentation pitch, Delilah.” Catherine nods as she picks up each draft. “I am in awe of the research you have done. Very impressive work.”

  “Thank you,” I say bashfully.

  Since I am still building my personal list of contacts, I had to use the internet to research the clients and owners, Kevin and Beverly Carson. Their daughter, Kayla, is the resort director. The happy couple bought the land, built the campground from scratch, and added to it over the years to what it is today.

  “Although this isn’t my idea of camping, it’s a great concept. It would be nice to visit the grounds.” I pick up one board showing an intimate bedroom with a fur carpet inside a large tent.

  “I think that’s a great idea. Why don’t you book a weekend there? Survey the grounds and get a feel for it.”

  “Okay. I’ll do that.”

  “This project is a small account for us. Their marketing strategy just needs a little revamping.”

  “Rumor has it, the owners want to retire.”

  “Well, there are some things happening behind the scenes. Nothing set in stone yet and nothing I can disclose right now.” Catherine sits in her chair and opens her calendar. “They’re scheduled for a formal presentation six weeks from today”—she looks up at me— “that’s plenty of time to prepare.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “So, let’s look at what else we can do to hit the ball out of the park.”

  * * *

  Where has the week gone? I have buried my head in this project and it’s only one account. I can’t imagine what it will be like when the workload piles on with more than one assignment.

  “You’re still here?” Peter Grisham peeks his head in the war room, a place we can spread out and get creative, since my office is stifling my creative juices.

  The large room has CJJ’s award-winning designs hung on the wall. I recognize them all too well from their ads and commercials, and I hope mine will be up there someday. Also etched in the wall are a few inspirational quotes.

  My favorite quote:

  The only easy day was yesterday.

  “Hi, Mr. Grisham.” I look at my cell, checking the time, and realize it’s been in silent mode. I see missed calls from Sydney and a text from Drake asking for me to call him.

  It’s been months since I have talked to my brother. I’ve been avoiding his calls and ignoring his text messages. The last time we spoke was at the hospital after Dylan’s shooting when he gave me the big-brother-rub-it-in lecture, making me feel weak and stupid for staying with Todd.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, please call me Peter,” he says, entering the room. “What are you doing here so late?”

  “Just finishing up a few more details,” I reply as I slip on the heels I removed to give my feet some reprieve.

  “We don’t want you to burn out too quickly.” He studies the designs laid on the table.

  “Is there anything I can help you with, Peter?”

  He picks up an 11x17 board and angles his head then raises it showing me. “You have done an amazing job here, Delilah. I hate to
admit it, but these designs are so much better than what Liz came up with.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Listen, have you ever heard of Lindell Investments?” Peter asks as he pulls out a chair and takes a seat.

  “Who hasn’t? They’re one of the largest investment companies in the country.”

  “Well, they own Evergreen now.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought it was family owned.”

  “It was. And as of this morning, it’s been acquired by Lindell.”

  “What does this mean for the project?”

  “We have a retainer with Evergreen. So, continue with what you are doing.”

  “Then what?” I ask.

  “Then we pitch for this account at the end of our contract against the other bid.”

  “Great. Just great . . . no pressure, right?”

  “Welcome to the big leagues, Delilah.”

  * * *

  “Another late night at the office, dear?” Sydney asks, imitating a man’s voice as I enter the front door then slam it making a loud thud. “Wow! Let me rephrase. Bad day at the office, dear?”

  “Yeah. It’s been that kind of a day.”

  There are piles of paper on the coffee table and another stack on Sydney’s lap as she taps a red pencil on her lips.

  “I made your favorite . . . meatloaf,” she offers as her head tips toward the kitchen.

  “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” I drop my leather case and purse on the floor and let out a breath.

  She pulls down her reading glasses to the tip of her nose. “For you to turn away my meatloaf and sweet mash, you must have had a really bad day.”

  “It’s this project.” I slip off my high heels, sit down on the couch next to her, and massage my feet. “Apparently, I’m competing to keep the client now. When originally, I thought I was just doing some maintenance and revamping their marketing.”