by M. S. Parker
“Yeah.” He waited until the server left, then cocked his head at me. “You thought one way or the other about what you wanna do, other than something boring?” There was a trace of amusement in his eyes.
“Don’t knock boring,” I told him. “Beats getting shot at.”
He shrugged. “Maybe you should aim for something…what’s the word…loftier. Yeah, loftier. Aim for something loftier than not getting shot at and boring. I mean, hey, me? I got a job where I don’t get shot at, and it’s not boring.” He squinted, pondering what he’d just said. “Okay, it’s usually not boring.”
“Good for you.”
As the server returned with two more brews, Gavin excused himself to go to the bathroom.
Yeah, Gavin probably couldn’t understand my desire for something low-key. I hadn’t lied when I told him that serving had been intense. But I hadn’t told him about the day I knew I wasn’t cut out to be a lifer in the army.
That was the day my convoy had been ambushed.
Up until then, I hadn’t known what it was like to kill up close and personal. Not that it had been easy the first time I aimed a weapon, but it was different when you’re up close and could see the life fade from a person’s eyes.
No, I wasn’t cut out to be a lifer in the army. There were still nights I woke up feeling the hot wash of blood on my hands, nights when it seemed like the screams of fellow soldiers echoed in my ears so loud I couldn’t sleep for it.
Now I just needed to figure out what in the hell I wanted to do with the rest of my life. And I still had absolutely no clue.
Think about it later, I told myself. I’d just gotten out. I’d only just gotten home. I could take a few days to decompress and figure things out.
I sipped my beer as I leaned back against the wall to take in the low-lit, smoky interior of the bar. It wasn’t that different from any dozen other bars I’d been over the past few years, although the music was a lot louder, a lot shittier, and if the guitarist hit one more note off key, I might suggest he find somebody from the audience to play.
“Hey there.”
The low voice caught my attention, and I looked over to meet the big blue eyes of the woman who’d just appeared at my side. “Hi.” Keeping my voice calm, I took another sip of the beer and turned my attention back to the stage.
“What do you think of the music?”
The voice was a little closer this time, and I once more met the wide blue eyes of the woman standing at my table. I jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve probably heard worse.”
She threw back her head and laughed.
She was pretty, with her big blue eyes and short, flirty haircut. But as her gaze slid my way one more time, I told myself that pretty didn’t much matter.
I avoided women.
For a reason.
Her big blue eyes weren’t going to change that.
She reached out and stroked a fingernail down my arm, smiling at me. “You want to dance?”
“No.” I shook my head, softening the response with a smile. “I’m not much of a dancer. I’m not very good company either. You’d probably do better elsewhere.”
She pursed her lips as she studied me, clearly not certain how to take my response.
“Have a good night,” I said, hoping that would do it. I reached for my beer and subtly turned my body away from hers.
A few seconds later, Gavin returned to the table. “Dude, are you nuts? She’s been eying you half the night.”
I shook my head. “Not nuts. Just not interested.”
He gave me a squinty-eyed look, then just shook his head. “You’re messed up a little, Liam. You know that?”
I didn’t bother responding.
Later that night, I scooped the boxes off the bed. My bedroom had become a storage of sorts, so I’d be sharing the living space with last year’s tax returns and a bunch of Christmas decorations that didn’t fit in the attic.
My eyes were gritty, heavy with fatigue as I finished clearing the space off. I should probably wash the sheets – and the pillowcase – but there would be time for that tomorrow.
I went to grab the paper that had been folded and left lying on the pillow. I glanced at it, intending to add it to all the other stuff that had been on my bed.
But the picture displayed on the bottom right made me pause.
“What the hell?” I muttered.
Unfolding the paper, I searched out the text that went along with the image, then started to read.
In no time, I was grinning. “Son of a bitch.”
Dropping the paper on the boxes I stacked next to the bed, I lay down with a smile on my face.
Back in high school, my cousin Matthew Jakes had been sentenced to jail for manslaughter. He’d killed his mom in a drunk driving accident. No, that wasn’t anything to smile about.
But the article itself was about his acquittal. Matt had been innocent the whole time.
He was living in New York now. Shit, that was a far cry from Texas.
I checked the time, then scowled. It was already eleven here.
Way too late to look him up right now, but come first thing in the morning?
I was giving him a call.
3
Mila
When I was younger, we started up a tradition where I had dinner with my father once a month.
Before Mom died, she’d asked that we please continue it. The relationship between my dad and me was…odd.
I loved him, and I knew he loved me.
But he wished I’d been more like him, and I wished he’d get over that already.
Because of our difference of opinion, not to mention mannerisms, personality, and just about everything else, a dinner with him wasn’t really what I’d called relaxing or calm.
Still, out of respect for my mother, I continued in the practice, and I was ready in front of my condo when my father’s driver picked me up at seven. As I slid into the car, I glanced at Eduardo. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’ll be meeting us there. A meeting ran a little long.” He gave me a polite smile before closing the door.
Typical.
I didn’t even bother rolling my eyes.
Pulling out my phone, I spent the drive clearing my emails and penning a quick one to my maternal grandmother, Millie. I was much closer to her than I was to my father. If I had a standing dinner date with her once a month, I’d look forward to it instead of dreading it.
“Stop it,” I told myself, feeling bad when I knew my dad at least made an effort.
It was more than some kids could say.
We got to the restaurant quicker than usual, and I slid out before the driver could come around to open the door. Still, Eduardo came around to meet me, a pleasant smile on his face. “Your father asked that I walk you inside, Miss Mila.”
I cocked a brow at him. “That’s new.”
He spread his hands wide. “I do what I’m told, Miss Mila. You know that.”
I also knew that he picked up on a lot of things but decided not to push him. At least I had something to talk to my father about tonight.
And that was a pathetic way to look at it.
Still, I knew it would come up for discussion, so I accepted Eduardo’s quiet presence at my side as he escorted me to the door. “I’ll pick you up after dinner,” he said.
“I’m taking a cab,” I told him.
He frowned in consternation.
“Sorry.” Giving him a waggle of my fingers, I added, “I already have other plans after this.”
It wasn’t exactly the truth, but I really had no intention of going straight home. I’d be too tense to do anything but pace away the time inside those four walls, and that wasn’t conducive toward sleep.
Dad kept me waiting for almost thirty minutes.
He did send a text about five minutes after I arrived and told me a meeting had run over, but he’d be there shortly.
I told myself I’d give him a half hour.
Two minutes
before his time was up, Christopher Golding arrived.
Dad didn’t pause at the hostess stand, just strode right in, his eyes searching until he found me. A broad smile creased his face and my worry increased by about fifty percent.
He never looked so open and easy unless he was after something.
I had no idea what he could want, but I already knew it wasn’t anything good.
I remained seated as he approached and tilted my head for the kiss I knew he’d drop on my cheek.
Once he’d settled into the seat across from me, I gave him a polite smile. Then… “What’s going on, Dad?”
He blinked, looking confused.
Waving a hand, I said, “Don’t bother playing innocent. Something is going on, and I want to know what it is.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head.
“Bullshit.” I reached for my wine and took a sip, meeting his eyes over the table.
He gave me a pained look, then acquiesced. That he’d done so relatively easy was…surprising, to say the least.
This really, really wasn’t going to be good.
“I’ve been having a few…issues,” he said. “With a past client of mine. He’s becoming a nuisance, started making veiled threats…”
I put my wine glass down with a snap.
“Dad…”
“It’s probably nothing,” he said, rushing to reassure me. “I’m almost positive he was just venting, pissed-off, you know? But I’m not going to take a chance with my only child.”
Now he gave me a look that all but invited sympathy and acceptance. I didn’t have much of either for him.
He’d gotten into some sort of mess with one of his companies.
He did construction – or rather his company did. There were rumors floating around that he cut corners he shouldn’t cut and other shit that had to do with unions. I had no idea what, and I didn’t want to know.
But maybe I should have paid attention.
If he was getting me roped into one of his schemes, I needed to be aware.
“You said there have been threats?” I asked, keeping my voice level.
Christopher waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t need to worry about this. I’m handling it.”
“If you’ve got the driver walking me to the door and you’re sitting there all mum about what is going on, then I think I do need to worry about it,” I responded.
But I was wasting my time.
Getting anything out of Christopher Golding once he’d decided he didn’t want to speak was like trying to get oil out of a rock.
Actually, it might be easier to get oil out of a rock.
Disgruntled but determined not to show it, I took another sip of my wine. “Sooner or later, I’ll figure it out,” I told him.
With a shark’s smile, he replied, “It won’t surprise me if you do. You’re my daughter, after all.” He winked, his charming smile inviting me to smile back.
I did, but I suspected he saw the strain underneath it. If he did, though, he elected to keep the peace, reaching for the wine list and studying it with a practiced eye.
“What did you go with, darling?” he asked.
I told him, already wishing I’d told the waiter to leave the bottle. I was probably going to drink it all. “I doubt you’d like it. It’s got a bit of sweetness that wouldn’t appeal.”
Christopher made a face. “No, I’ll pass. I’ll take a good dry red any day.” The server appeared, and my father pointed to my glass, asking if I wanted more. I nodded, and he placed his order too. Once we were alone, I wracked my brain thinking for something to talk about that didn’t involve why he was worried about my safety, or that might lead to some row between us.
My father and I, we were like oil and water.
Everything to him was money, money, money. I should appreciate the fact that he loved me – and I did. But I was more like a second thought to him.
What came first and last with my father was the pursuit of the almighty dollar.
Determined not to let myself brood, I reached for my menu and opened it. We tried a different restaurant almost every time we went out – at my insistence. If my father had his way, he’d stay with the five-star joint he’d taken me to for my graduation.
He was something of a stick in the mud, especially in some ways.
It was little wonder the two of us had so much trouble seeing eye to eye.
“You’re upset with me.”
His quiet voice had me raising my head, and I met his eyes levelly. I suppressed a sigh but couldn’t quite manage a smile for him either. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m upset, Dad. I just…” Waving a hand between the two of us, I said, “We can’t ever quite seem to hit a niche. It was like we lost the ability to really connect when Mom died.”
His mouth tightened, and he looked away. “I do try,” he said, finally looking back at me.
“I know. So, do I.” Closing the menu, I reached over and touched his hand. “So, we’ll keep on doing it. But…Dad?”
He gave me an appraising look.
“I don’t want to get dragged into any of your messes, okay?”
He squeezed my fingers. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
4
Mila
I wouldn’t dream of it.
Yeah, right.
Sitting across from him, I tossed back what was left of my wine and put the glass down on the table with a snap.
“Private security?” I demanded. “For me?”
He made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Just for a little while. Until I get this mess straightened out.”
“This mess that I’m not supposed to get drag into, remember?” I didn’t wait for him to respond as I leaned forward and dropped my head into my hands. I had a headache.
I had a massive headache, and it had all started less than five minutes ago when Dad casually dropped a comment about how I might consider hiring a bodyguard.
A bodyguard.
“What kind of letters and phone calls have you been getting?” I asked, not looking at him. “Have you called the police?”
He was quiet for so long, I almost wondered if he’d heard me. But then I looked up and saw the sheepish expression on his face. “Let me guess…the police are already looking into things. Looking at you,” I added, so disgusted it wasn’t even funny. “I thought you were done with that!”
He’d been investigated before for shady business practices – that was my term. Once the charges had been dismissed, he’d promised he’d straighten his act up.
So much for that.
“Sweetheart, it’s not that big of a deal. This is more of a…labor dispute,” he said, beaming at me.
I didn’t want to hear it.
Lifting a hand to silence him before he could go any further, I said, “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear about it, know about it, nothing.”
He was quiet for a long moment, then asked, “Are you going to consider hiring a bodyguard, Mila? I want you safe.”
“I can take care of myself,” I said shortly, rising from the chair. I grabbed my bag and resisted the urge to walk off without telling him goodbye. Losing my mother had taught me to value the people who mattered to me, and Dad, as impossible as he was, did matter. I paused by his chair and kissed his cheek.
He sighed, patting me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed, Mila. But please, consider the security.”
“I already have. And…no.” I shook my head. “Think how it would make my clients feel if they saw armed goons standing outside my office.”
At the mention of my practice, he made a face. “I wouldn’t think anything would sway your clients.”
My entire head went hot with anger, and he raised his hands in apology. “I’m sorry, Mila. You know I just don’t understand this business of yours. But how could a discreet bodyguard cause any problems?”
I didn’t even want to think about it. Shaking my head, I said, “I need to go. Hav
e a good night, Dad.”
I stopped at one of my favorite hangouts on the way home.
I wasn’t in the mood for anything other than a drink, but when the hot guy next to me offered to pay, then asked for a dance, I decided what the hell.
While we were swaying to the music, he slid a hand around my waist and tugged me in a little closer. He was smooth about it, making it clear I could break contact or back away any time I wanted.
But I didn’t want.
He’d told me his name, but now I couldn’t remember what it was. Tipping my head back, I met his eyes in the low light.
His gaze rested on mine briefly before dropping down to linger on my lips.
My heart rate hitched a little, and I swept my tongue across the curve of my bottom lip and cupped a hand around the back of his neck, urging him closer.
He didn’t need any more hints and closed the rest of the distance between us, placing his mouth on mine.
He tasted like the wine he’d been drinking at the bar. Humming in satisfaction, I opened wider for him and let his tongue slide in to tangle with mine.
His hands tightened on my hips.
I pressed myself closer and closer until nothing separated us but our clothes.
Against my belly, I felt the hardening of his cock, and I tugged my head back, meeting his eyes.
He stared levelly back at me as we danced, and I shivered a little, arching my hips toward that heavy weight pressed so enticingly against me.
His lips parted, and he said something, but with the music playing so loud, I couldn’t hear him.
Tapping my ear, I leaned in closer.
His lips brushed my skin.
Another shiver.
“…someplace with me?”
I pulled my head back, meeting his eyes as I pondered it. My dad’s admonition to be careful echoed in the back of my head, but I shushed it.
As he waited for a response, I pulled his head back to mine and kissed him.
I think he took that as a yes.
We ended up at a hotel.
Sure, I might get a little reckless from time to time, but I wasn’t about to go to a stranger’s house or let him come to mine.
