BATTLE OF THE BULGE (The OHellNO Series Book 4)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  My name had been on the guest list since Mitch’s cousin, who I had an accounting class with, invited me. But my plus one had been left off the list. The security guard wouldn’t let Georgie in, so I went looking for Mitch’s cousin to see what could be done. I found the cousin and Mitch together. That was the first time we met, and it was one of those nonverbal “Well, who are you and where have you been all of my life?” moments. For both of us, I thought. Because neither he nor I could stop smiling or looking at each other. Mitch made sure Georgie got in and then didn’t leave my side the entire night.

  “Yeah, well…maybe he was nice because you’re Georgie Walton,” I offer.

  “Pfft! My name might impress some people, but Mitch hangs out with rich, hot heiresses all the time.”

  I want to roll my eyes. “Fine. He’s a real giver. A saint. When do you want to submit his application to the church?”

  “Oh stop. There has to be a reason for what happened between you. Why not just ask him?”

  “Right. I’m just going to walk up and say, ‘Hey, Mitch. Remember how you pulled me out of bed, threw my panties at me, and shoved me out your front door before slamming it in my face?’”

  Georgie gasps. “No! Say he didn’t.”

  “Did,” I throw back.

  “How come you never told me that part?” she asks.

  “Why the hell do you think? It’s super embarrassing!” I step into the purple dress and zip up the side. I do a swivel in front of my full-length mirror in the corner. Man, this is short.

  Georgie groans on the other end of the phone. “I’m so sorry, Abi. I honestly didn’t know. I mean…I thought he just did the whole ‘call you tomorrow’ thing and then conveniently lost your number.”

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t get it. He doesn’t seem that cold.”

  “Well, he is.” And no amount of Georgie optimism is going to change my mind about him.

  “I need to tell Sam.”

  “While I’m thrilled that I’ve won this little debate and brought you into my camp of the Mitch haters, why would you tell Sam?” I remove the towel from my head and get to work with a comb on my wet hair. I’m going to have to blow-dry it and pull it up; otherwise it’s going to take another hour to get ready, and I want to hang out with my mom a little before I take off.

  “Sam thinks you two just didn’t hit it off in the relationship department.”

  “Why would he think that?” I ask.

  “I dunno. Mitch apparently said something about you being too good for him.”

  Huh? “Well, that’s partially true. I am too good for him, but that’s not why he chucked me like a putrid egg.” Not that I have a clue about the real reason. Nor do I give two turds.

  “Oh, Abi.” Georgie sighs. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You didn’t know.” Honestly, I just wanted to move on as quickly as possible. I mean, yeah, the encounter was magical. I felt like I’d found my soul mate that night.

  Damn, someone should write a bad country song about it…Kissed at dusk. Dumped at dawn. Pumped my heart into a sad, sad song. And cue twangy slide guitar.

  “Georgie,” I say, “I know you won’t agree with this, but you can’t tell Sam. Not ever.”

  “Abi! Why? He needs to know what kind of guy Mitch is.”

  My mind points to an earlier convo with Sam. More or less, he said that unless the client is crossing some serious lines, then he’s not going to be cancelling any contracts. And, the truth is, I need this job. Not want. Need. Besides, what happened between me and Mitch is personal. Guarding him is business. The two are and should remain separate.

  “Sorry, Georgie,” I say, “but I am prohibiting you from saying anything to my boss.”

  She groans. “Fine. I won’t tell Sam. But you really should mention something yourself.”

  I kinda already did, and Sam wouldn’t listen. Of course, Georgie could get through to him, but I’m not going to put a wedge between my best friend and the love of her life. Sam is a good guy, so despite how I feel about dickosaurus, I have zero desire to fuck up Sam’s new business.

  “Thanks, girl,” I say. “And if it makes you feel any better, I’m okay with all this. Other than Mitch being a sleaze, I like the job.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” I slide my feet into a pair of black heels. “I get to carry a gun, dress like a stripper, and say stupid things. It’s like facing every fear I’ve ever had and then being forced to make peace with them.”

  “Oh-kayyy.”

  “No. Really. I’ve always been afraid of saying something lame and everyone judging me. Now I get paid to do it. Sorta takes the sting out of making an unintentional jackass out of myself. Do it enough times on purpose, you’re immune. Plus, I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have men just look at me like a piece of eye candy.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll find out tonight,” I reply. “My dress is so tight you can see my ovaries. It’s very seductive,” I joke.

  “Where are you putting your gun?”

  “I’m using that little sparkly black purse you got me for Christmas. It’s the perfect size.”

  I still can’t believe I even have one. A gun, that is. But oddly, I like knowing I can protect anyone, anywhere, at any time despite my five-five height and smaller female frame. I’m a good guy, and the world needs more of us, ready to stop the would-be attacker, the thug, the rapist. But, truthfully, I wouldn’t feel this way had I not spent one month with four skilled riflemen and target shooters. Jack, our head instructor, was rated the best long-distance shot six years in a row at some international competition. Rumor has it from the other instructors that he spent fifteen years in the CIA as a weapons trainer. The point is that I’m well trained for an average, everyday Jane, and I would never treat a gun like a toy. Can’t say the same for everyone out there.

  “Well, just be careful,” she says. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

  “I’ll be fine. The job is actually kind of exciting. Way better than my summer job at Taco World, working for that jerk Lester.” Worst boss ever. He yelled at me every five seconds. It got so bad I finally told him to fuck himself and quit. Ironically, though, working for him became this big turning point in my life. I started standing up for myself and getting heavily involved at school. I felt like if I could stand up to Lester and face him, I could face anyone. I still hate public speaking though. Standing in front of a crowd terrifies me. It’s the one thing I won’t do. Not ever.

  She chuckles. “I think you’re perfect for your new job, Abi.”

  “Someone has to protect these weak men, right?”

  “Ha! Right?” She laughs. “Poor Mitch. I dare him to kick you out on your ass again.”

  I smile. “I don’t think he’d dare. But thankfully, I’m just helping with surveillance. Technically, I don’t even have to talk to him.”

  “Good luck with that. It’s clear you still have a lot to get off your chest, not that I blame you. Just wait for the right time; otherwise—”

  “I’m not getting canned. Not for him.” I start loading up my purse with the essentials. Lipstick, driver’s license—yes, I have one, but I don’t own a car since I had to sell it for cash—Band Aids for my foot in case I get blisters from my heels, and some Tylenol for the headache I’m going to get from being in the same room with Mitch all night.

  “Good. Glad to hear it. By the way, has Sam told you about the trip to Miami?”

  “Miami?” I freeze, almost dropping the phone. “You mean the one in Florida?”

  “No, the Miami down the street. Yes, Florida! It’s for some big photo-shoot fashion-show thing.”

  I groan. I really don’t want to take any road trips with Mitch. The hours will be long and there’ll be no escape. At least here in Houston I can come home at the end of my shift and decompress. Plus, I’ll miss my nightly dinner chats with my mom.

  “Oops,” Georgie says. “
Guess Sam forgot to mention it. Mitch has to make an appearance for some swimsuit thing, which you’ll get to go to.”

  I sigh with defeat. “Sounds spectacular.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “What?” I feel the dread creeping in.

  “Sam feels like the risk is really high. He tried to talk Mitch out of going, but that man is stubborn. He refuses to change a minute of his life because of these threats. And, don’t hate me, but I overheard Sam telling Phil that he’s considering having you glued to Mitch’s side.”

  “What? I’m supposed to be the owl. Eyes and ears only!” I feel my arms and legs tingle as anger pumps through me.

  “Guess you’re getting a promotion?” she says awkwardly.

  Great. Just…great. I’m going to kill Sam. This was not the deal.

  “I have to go, Georgie. The Bulge is going to some fundraiser party tonight, and I need to finish putting together my ’80s ho disguise.” Plus, my mom made lasagna to welcome me home. I just don’t know what I’m going to tell her when she starts asking questions about my new job or the monthlong training in Alaska. I hate lying to her.

  “Oh no. You’re going to the charity party at The Sterling?” Georgie asks.

  “Yes. Wait. How do you know?”

  “Gotta go! Love you. Mean it. Bye.” The call ends, and I stare at the phone in disbelief. I feel like life can be cyclical sometimes—i.e., good things come in waves, just like bad things—but lately I feel the universe is having a little fun at my expense. “Today is poke-Abi-in-the-butthole day. Tomorrow will be kick-her-in-the-shin day, followed by a biiig hug! She’ll never know what hit her!”

  I text Sam and ask what he’s not telling me about this party, but by the time I’m dressed and finished eating over an awkward game of “dodge the question” with my mom, it’s an hour later and he still hasn’t responded.

  Well, it’s only a party. How bad can it be? Then again, Sam has been making a habit out of not telling me things until the very last moment.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Can you repeat that?” I say to the tuxedo-wearing greeter at the door of The Sterling, a luxury golf resort forty minutes north of Houston in The Woodlands. It’s the type of place where companies hold big conferences and political groups raise money by offering-pro-golf weekends.

  “Miss, it’s a charity event for dolphins.” The man points to a big sign propped up beside the door. There’s a Photoshopped picture of Mitch in his swimsuit, strategically cropped at the waist for decency purposes, I assume. His arm is wrapped around a giant dolphin, like they’re BFFs, and it reads Dolphins are our mates, mate! So bring yours and enjoy an evening of music, pints, and an auction to raise money for the Hofer Dolphin Sanctuary.

  I crinkle my nose. Oh…so now he’s a dolphin lover, huh? Right. Sure he is. Mitch Hofer cares only about himself.

  “Okay,” I say, “I see the sign. Think I’m up to speed on that. Now can you go over that other part? The one about me having to be tied to another human being all night?”

  “The event planners are trying to capitalize on Mr. Hofer’s nationality. They wanted to give the party an Australian flair, mate.” He holds out two blue and red ribbons. “And you’ll need to be tied to yours in order to get in.”

  “What? I am not going to be lassoed to someone all night. What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

  “Look, lady, I’m just working the event. I don’t come up with the themes. If you want in, you have to be tied to a partner.”

  “Well…I’m supposed to meet someone here. Inside.” Sam actually told me to wait for him outside. He just failed to mention why.

  He dips his head, giving me a look like he’s not buying it. “If you’ve come alone, please step to the side, and you will be paired with the first single person.”

  “What is this, a roller coaster?” I suddenly notice the long line of partygoers, all bound at the wrists in Aussie-flag-colored ribbons.

  “Fine.” I hold up my hands. “I’ll wait over here.” I step aside, grab my cell, and shoot off a text to Sam, asking where he is because I can’t get into the party, which means I can’t hoot, hoot, hoot for him.

  Sam: Sorry. Had emergency w/ other client. Sending team member now to meet you. I’ll be along shortly to check in on things.

  Phil is in charge of the team, so I wonder why Sam is coming at all, other than he wants to see me in action.

  Me: How will you get in? Must have mate to enter.

  Sam: Have special pass.

  Me: Okay. See you here.

  Just as the dots are flickering on my screen, I hear a deep voice from behind me. “Are you Abi?”

  I turn and see an incredibly gorgeous man approach. He looks like he just flew in from the set of a Bond movie—his hair perfectly cut and styled, his skin with just the right amount of golden glow, and the most charming smile I’ve ever seen.

  Wow. Just… I shake my head. Wow!

  “Looks like I’m late. The party’s already started,” he says. “I always seem to get caught up in your wretched traffic.”

  Oh…he’s British. He’s also tall, swarthy, and debonair. I’m smitten.

  “Sorry, but you are…?” I ask quietly as the line of well-dressed partygoers stream by and enter the ballroom.

  “Leland Merrick, at your service.” He extends his hand, and when I offer mine, he presses his soft lips to the top of my hand. I literally shiver. It feels like he just smooched the back of my knees.

  Oh, God. I’m too hot-man-whipped to think straight. “Bahgood. Meetyou. Me. Hello?”

  He winks those twinkling chocolate brown eyes with golden flecks. A shameless, unapologetic pair of dimples pucker in his cheeks. “Lovely to meet you as well, Abi,” he says, all politeness with a crisp accent.

  I lean in close. “So what’s your position?”

  I’m thinking he might be a wolf? Those are the team members who actively hunt threats, versus my passive role. The peacocks are people like Phil, out front, showing their feathers.

  He leans in to whisper in my ear, gently sliding his smooth cheek against mine, which ignites another delicious shiver. “I can do whatever position you like, Abi. No one mentioned how beautiful you are.”

  My heart starts to pound like a horny fist wanting to break through the wall that’s preventing me from getting a raging case of goo-goo eyes.

  I nod dumbly. “Uh. Yeah. You too?”

  He stands tall, breathing into his wide chest like a rooster out to conquer. “Such a nice compliment from a nice girl.” He holds out his elbow. “Shall we mate, love?”

  Yesss, please. I’ll even let you be on top. I bob my head.

  “Lovely.” He steps forward and says a bunch of things to the guy at the door. I’m seriously not paying attention. Leland is…well, he looks like if Momoa, Mr. Darcy, and 007 all pitched in to create a super baby and that baby was raised by alpha males and princes, until one day he became the man standing before me. Flagrantly masculine and sexual, wrapped in a fine suit.

  Before I know it, my wrist is tethered to the only man in the room capable of pulling my attention away from the host, who’s standing just a few feet away, posing for selfies with the guests alongside someone in a cheesy dolphin costume.

  I know I’m here at this party for a reason, but the moment is too magical to do my job. Being on the arm of this god makes me wonder if this is what it feels like to be plucked out of the crowd by your favorite actor as he walks down the red carpet on Oscar night. Suddenly, you catch his eye. He walks toward you and reaches through the mass of photographers, summoning you, wondering where you’ve been his entire life. “From this day forward, we shall never part.”

  I sigh. It’s the lamest romantic fantasy ever, but it’s mine. So is the one where Captain Kirk is Idris Elba, and I’m the green Orion lady.

  “Ah, here is our table,” Leland says, pulling out my chair with his free arm. “Can I bring you a cocktail, love?”

  “Love…” I swoon, takin
g my seat. “I’ll have champagne.”

  “Champagne it is.” He unties our wrists. “Back in a flash.”

  “Okay,” I mutter and watch him saunter off to the far corner of the room.

  “Abi, who is that?” Mitch is suddenly hovering over me, an ugly snarl on his sex-lips. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

  “Huh?” Still seated, I blink up at him.

  “You’re supposed to be here as part of my entourage.” He looks over his shoulder at the group of tall blondes giggling and having the time of their lives. They’re all tied together in one long chain. He leans in. “And I thought I made myself clear; I don’t date women who dress like they’re out to make a buck.”

  My face flushes with angry heat. So many words come to mind in this moment, but none quite capture my feelings because such a word doesn’t exist. Motherfuc­kerbuttholebas­tardpigfacecave­man. But I’m an educated woman. My mother taught me to take the high road like a lady. Or, in this case, annoy the hell out of him just for fun.

  “Sorry. Do I know you?” I say, patting the side of my hair, which is pinned up in a twist.

  Mitch narrows those hazel eyes with thick caramel brown lashes. “Don’t make me call Sam.”

  And cut my evening short with the Greek god from steamingpantyopolous? I think not!

  “Shoo, wet wipe,” I hiss. “Sam asked me to crowd-blend tonight. You’re blowing my cover. And just plain blowing.” I mumble that last part.

  This time, he leans all the way down, getting in close. His supple lips graze my ear, and it sends a sinful shock wave through my body. I don’t want him. I don’t. But goddammit, the smell of his skin and the feel of his lips on my earlobe instantly propel me back to our night together—his naked body on top of me, his hands touching my tight nipples, his heated breath bathing my neck.

  “I can get you fired in two seconds, Abi. Don’t push me,” he says.

  The memory shatters like a wineglass dropped to the floor. And…I’m back.