JOSS: A Standalone Romance (Gray Wolf Security)

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Mr. Shepard is just fine,” Jones said. “He’s been in and out of surgery. He had a cut on his face, is all, don’t panic—and he’s already back at the penthouse. You’ve been asleep for a while, and the doctors all agreed it was for the best. When you got here, you’d lost quite a bit of blood, and you were in shock. As for Dan, Roland knocked him out and the police took it from there. Going to be quite the scandal in the papers, but there’s not much to be done for it.”

  “Is it possible to see Roland?” I asked. It was hard to believe all that had happened in the time I’d been out. Just how long had I been asleep?

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Jones said, standing up. “When you’re cleared to go and ready to do so, Mr. Shepard’s asked me to see to it that you’re taken to the penthouse—if you want to see him.”

  “Of course I want to see him,” I said, looking around quickly. “Where’s a nurse when you need one?”

  Roland, I assumed, or maybe Jones under the direction of Roland, had provided me with a change of clothes from my apartment—a pair of dark jeans and a sweatshirt along with some sneakers. Then, getting a quick checkup and some instructions from the doctor, I was out the door and riding alongside Jones across town.

  The sun had come out, the persistent rainstorm that had troubled the city for the past few days having finally cleared out. Jones chatted for the entire trip to the Shepard Shipments building, about everything from the weather to the sports teams I didn’t follow.

  “It’ll be glorious weather over the weekend,” he was saying as he pulled up and stopped the car for the valet to park. “That’s the thing about Seattle, Ms. Hart. It might rain an awful lot, but when the sun finally does come out, there’s nothing better.”

  “I think all the rain makes me appreciate the sun that much more,” I said, as we walked across the lobby together. We bypassed the bank of elevators I’d been used to taking up to the office, strolling all the way to the hidden, private elevator that shot straight up to the penthouse. Myra had warned me against using it in what felt like a million years ago. I wondered what she would’ve said after everything that had happened now.

  I fully expected for us to surface in Roland’s office, but when the elevator doors rolled open, we were in a place I’d never seen before. I didn’t have a chance to marvel at the wood floors or matching crown molding or the tasteful furniture that matched the leather I was so familiar with in Roland’s office.

  I only had eyes for Roland, who stood in the entryway, half of his face completely covered in bandages.

  I ran at him and flung myself into his arms, wincing as my hand banged against his back, but not caring. I’d never loosen my grip. I’d never let go.

  “Are you okay?” we asked each other in unison.

  “The doctors said to let you sleep,” Roland explained. “I wanted to wake you up, to tell you everything was going to be all right, but they said you needed it. That you were exhausted and in shock. That the sleep would heal you best.”

  “Jones said you were fine,” I said, my tone accusatory. “You don’t look fine. How bad was the cut? Your whole face is practically covered in bandages. I can hardly remember anything. I guess my brain was trying to protect me.”

  “Thank you, Jones, for seeing that Beauty arrived safe,” Roland said, scooting me over to the side so he could address the man still standing behind me. “You’re free to go.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Shepard.”

  “Thank you, Jones,” I said, “even if you lied to me about how bad the cut was.”

  Jones looked cowed and Roland laughed. “The cut really wasn’t that bad. I promise.”

  “But look at all the bandages,” I said, as Roland led me down the hall to a comfortable, warmly lit sitting room.

  “You need to rest,” he said, pushing me a little so I sat heavily on a couch.

  “I need to rest?” I repeated. “You need to rest. You’re the one who’s had surgery. I’ve just been asleep for God knows how long.”

  “Nearly three days,” Roland said, allowing me to pull him down to sit on the couch next to me. “Your hand was pretty bad, and the doctors said you’d just been through too much. Beauty—I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I said, frowning at him. “We had no way of knowing what Dan was going to do.”

  “I should’ve been more cautious when he vanished from the penthouse,” Roland said. “I should’ve been on my guard, or at least been aware that he might try to do something stupid—or permanent.”

  “Well, maybe I should’ve remembered to lock the door after I let you in to my apartment,” I said, shrugging. “If you’re looking to blame someone, start spreading the wealth.”

  “There’s no one to blame but Dan,” Roland said, shaking his head. “I wish we could just forget about it. I can’t believe you grabbed that knife, Beauty. Why were you acting like such a dumbass?”

  I laughed at him. “Don’t call me a dumbass. It would’ve been your dumbass skewered on the end of the knife if I hadn’t. I wanted to protect you. Don’t you understand? He’d already sliced your face clean off.”

  Roland sighed and kissed my good hand. “He didn’t slice my face off, Beauty.”

  “Then why so many bandages?” I asked, peering at him. “If it wasn’t that serious, why do you look like a mummy?”

  “I was going under the knife anyway to deal with Dan’s idiocy, so I went ahead and asked for some reconstructive surgery,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

  “What does that mean?” I asked, going cold.

  “It means that the scar’s going to be less noticeable now.”

  “Why did you do that?” I demanded. “I didn’t mind the scar. You know that. If you did this because you were afraid for me to look at it, Roland, so help me God…”

  “Enough,” he said, laughing at me before seizing my face and kissing me. “I just felt like it was time. I did it for me—but only because you showed me that life was still worth living. I didn’t want to lock myself away anymore, not when you showed me life was possible again.”

  My breath caught in my throat, and Roland took my chin in his hand gently.

  “If you start crying, I promise you that I will fuck you right here on this couch, injuries or not,” he warned.

  I burst into laughter, a tear trailing down my face in spite of the threat.

  “You said something a while back—I’m not sure if you remember,” he said, stroking my hair. “You said that maybe you were supposed to end up here.”

  “I remember.”

  “That’s the thing. Maybe you were. Who can tell? I’m glad you’re here with me. And I’m ready to move on to the next part of my life. Aren’t you?”

  I grinned. “Hell, yes.”

  “Hell, yes,” he answered and kissed me again, the promise of more always in the next breath.

  ~ End ~

  THORN

  Prologue

  It’s amazing how much can change in a year.

  A year ago from today, I was interviewing for a job I was incredibly underqualified for. I mean, really, I shouldn’t have even been there. It was my first interview out of college, and I thought I could do anything, even apply to be the vice president of accounting for a construction firm that did things about which I knew absolutely nothing. I mean, really, does the average person really care about all the things that go into building green office or apartment buildings? Do I really care about renewable materials and plant-based insulating foam? I mean, I’d never even thought about those sorts of thing, let alone knew what they were and how they were used as building materials. Now, of course, I do. But not because it was something I wanted to know about. It’s just because it was the only thing my husband ever talked about.

  Yeah. Husband.

  So I go for an interview. I don’t get the job, but end up married to the CEO of the company. Sounds romantic, right? It wasn’t.

  I needed the job. I needed the m
oney. My aunts—I love them to death, but they don’t always make the smartest decisions—needed my help. When I couldn’t get a scholarship for college, they mortgaged their house—a house that had never had a mortgage because they inherited it from their father—and quickly began missing the payments. The bank was threatening to foreclose, all because they had wanted me to have an education. They took me in when I was five, just after my parents were killed in a car accident that spared my life for some unknown reason. They were already older, two women completely content to live a spinster’s life. But then I came along, turned their lives upside down, and caused them to go into debt that they wouldn’t have had if not for their kind hearts and sense of obligation.

  I had to save their house. And this job…but, of course, even a top-notch education cannot fake knowledge I simply didn’t have. So, when Miles made his proposition…how could I turn down that much money? It was more than enough to save the house and allow my aunts to live the rest of their lives without financial worries. The plan seemed so simple.

  But it didn’t stay simple. It turned into a mess that I’m still reeling from.

  And now, here I am, about to cross the gangplank of a cruise ship. My aunts were standing behind me, giggling and waving. They thought this was the perfect birthday gift, a two-week stint on a singles cruise. Like I said, they didn’t always make the best decisions. I’d rather be at home, lying on my bed and watching some bad reality television. But how could I look at my kind, gentle aunts and say no? It was nearly impossible.

  If I hadn’t gone on that damn interview in the first place…

  Chapter 1

  “Miss Giles? You can go in now.”

  I stood slowly, a strange smile pasted to my face. I was so nervous my palms were sweating. I wiped them on the front of my skirt and then worried that I had left marks on the dark material. I walked down the narrow hallway, staring down at my skirt, pulling at it like it was giving me a wedgy or something, probably looking like a complete fool to the strangely bitter receptionist. Well, at least I was offering her a little comic relief, right?

  As I turned the corner into the marked office—checking the nameplate on the door three times to make sure I was in the right place—a tall woman with such a severe ponytail that my scalp crawled at the sight, stood and held out her hand to me.

  “I’m Joan Tarek, Mr. Thorn’s personal assistant.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I muttered, all while wondering if my palm was still too moist. She didn’t seem to react to it, so it must have been okay.

  She gestured for me to take a seat in one of the chairs carefully placed in front of a heavy oak desk. She took the other, pulling a file folder into her lap and thumbing through it briefly.

  “I see that you recently graduated from Baylor,” she said.

  I nodded. “I did. With a double major in communications and business.”

  Ms. Tarek nodded back, her eyes thoughtful as she looked at me. “Do you know a lot about environmental construction?”

  I didn’t know anything about construction except what I saw on the DIY network. That odd smile came out again, as I tried to figure out what to say.

  “I know that the company does some really great things for the city. I drive by the new Franklin Insurance building almost every day. It’s quite impressive.”

  “It is,” Ms. Tarek agreed. “Have you ever been on a construction site?”

  I shook my head. “No. But I’m a quick learner, and I am willing to do just about anything to advance the company.”

  Ms. Tarek’s eyes continued to stare through me, a slow nod doing nothing to dislodge her concentration. “I’m sure you are,” she said softly, almost under her breath. “Your work experience is pretty vague. It says here that you worked for the Starbuck’s Corporation?”

  I was a barista for five years. In fact, I was still a barista. I had a shift in twenty minutes. However, I hadn’t written that in my resume, hoping she would assume I worked at the corporate offices in some sort of executive-type role. I hadn’t expected her to ask about it.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t push for details. But, of course, I couldn’t be that lucky.

  “And your role there was?”

  “Drive-thru.”

  She looked up again, her eyes slightly wider. “Excuse me?”

  “I work the drive-thru at the Starbuck’s on Fifth Street.”

  She just nodded. “Have you ever supervised a team of any sort?”

  “Not officially, no.”

  “And your other work experience? There doesn’t seem to be anything else here other than some volunteer work.”

  “Starbuck’s is my only work experience. My aunts—they didn’t want me to work while I was in high school because they were worried my grades would suffer.”

  Ms. Tarek smiled. I wasn’t sure that was a good thing, however. She didn’t seem to be the kind of person who would find doting aunts amusing.

  “Do you know anything about aerated concrete slabs? Or bamboo flooring? Do you know how to take an inventory or how to order supplies on a large scale? Do you know how to interact with subordinates and how to diffuse difficult situations?”

  “I took a class on conflict resolution,” I said, aware how lame that sounded even to my ears.

  Ms. Tarek stood. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Giles. Someone will call you next week and let you know what was decided.”

  I stood slowly, well aware of what that meant. I didn’t need to be experienced at job interviews to know a brush off when I saw it.

  “Thank you for your time,” I said softly, as I took her hand. We shook, and then she gestured for me to lead the way to the door. I wasn’t really looking where I was going, too lost in my own thoughts to see the tall, solid man—who was standing just outside the door. I walked right into him, pressing more of body to his side than I had any other man in longer than I cared to remember. He turned, grabbing my upper arm to keep me from bouncing off his solidity and falling to the ground, further humiliating myself.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled without looking up.

  “No problem,” he said, his voice so deep that it seemed to reverberate through me. And it was filled with so much humor that I had to look up just to make sure he wasn’t laughing at me.

  Damn, he was tall.

  There were very few guys who made me really look up. At five eight, I’m pretty much on eye level with most guys my own age. Now. In high school, I towered over most of the guys in my class, including the one boy I loved from the moment I set eyes on him. I always felt like a freak standing next to him, which is probably why nothing ever happened between us—even when he asked me to the prom my junior year. But this guy…I had to step back a little to look him in the eye without having to tilt my head back.

  And handsome. He had dark hair that was a little on the long side, big, wavy curls just touching the back of his collar. He had gray eyes that brought to mind the word steel, but they were so filled with kindness that I couldn’t quite assign that designation to them. He had a solid jaw that could be called square, but it soften as it moved into his chin. There was a dimple in one cheek. I’d always loved dimples on guys. It made them so approachable. And solid. He was wearing a pair of old jeans that were splattered with mud and a t-shirt that looked like it had seen better days. It was tight, hugging his chest and arms in a way that defined his muscles with an I-have-to-touch-that sort of emphasis.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, squeezing my arm before letting go.

  “It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Well, no harm done.” He smiled, that dimple growing deeper, wider.

  “Let me show you to the elevator,” Ms. Tarek said, coming up alongside this handsome stranger. She didn’t seem too inclined to introduce me, and I couldn’t really blame her. I think she was so disgusted by my qualifications that she just wanted to get rid of me. I nodded politely to Mr. Handsome and followed her down t
he hall.

  She stabbed the button for the elevator. When it opened, she looked at me but didn’t seem interested in a long goodbye. I just nodded and climbed into the elevator. The last thing I remembered—and I should have seen it as a warning of what was to come—was her stern expression and Mr. Handsome smiling thoughtfully as the elevator doors closed.

  ***

  “What was I thinking? I knew it was a waste of time.”

  “But it got you off the horse,” my friend, Lisa, said later that night over drinks at the bar where she works.

  “I felt like an idiot. She asked me what I did at Starbuck’s, and I could see her interest in me just slip away with the first syllable out of my mouth.”

  “Her loss if she couldn’t see what a great asset you would have been to the company. It’s brand new, isn’t it? I can’t imagine they can be all that picky about whom they hire the first year or two of business.”

  “Yeah, well, they seem to be doing quite well for a business that’s only existed for seven months. I mean, they already have two projects finished, and I read on their website that they have five more near completion. That’s pretty impressive for a construction company.”

  “I suppose. But they would have been much better off with you among their rank.”

  I shook my head. While I was grateful for Lisa’s encouragement, I knew I’d made a mistake by applying there. I let my desperation to save my aunts’ house color my logic. It was just hard to accept the fact that my poor, elderly aunts were going to have to leave the home they’d lived in their entire lives.

  “At least you met a guy.”

  I snorted. “A guy whose name I didn’t even get. And he was so…” An image of him filled my mind again, nearly taking my breath, as it had when I was standing in front of him. “He’s way too far out of my league.”

  “No one is out of your league unless you want him to be. At least, that’s my philosophy.”

  Yes, well, this was coming from the girl who dated everyone from the president of the chess club to the star quarterback of our high school football team. She was not incredibly picky about the men she dated. Last week, she went out with a forty-year-old divorcé who cried about his children all through dinner. And she slept with him. Told me it was because she felt sorry for him. And, predictably, she never heard from him again. Probably went back to his wife. But that didn’t seem to faze Lisa. She had a date in less than an hour with one of her customers here at the bar.