by J. Lynn
The answer was nope.
Anyway, the gyno appointment run-in had been horrifying. Since Julio believed that I had to be a virgin, he hadn’t understood why I would be at the gynecologist. As if women didn’t have any other reasons for visiting the gynecologist outside of having sex.
I loved my uncle, but he was an idiot sometimes.
He’d promptly called my father and insisted that I must be sexually active, and when I’d gotten home that day, it was like A&E had showed up and an intervention was about to go down.
So, yeah, I knew if I went to where Katie worked, I’d probably end up sitting next to an uncle or a cousin while boobs were jiggling in my face, and that would lead to therapy.
Abby lingered by the driver’s side of my used Camry, watching Katie fly out of the parking lot in a new Mustang. “She’s nuts and she’s an acquired taste.” Abby turned to me, squinting. “But I love her.”
Smiling, I leaned back against my car as I brushed my heavy bangs to the side. I really needed to let them grow out, because I was getting so sick of them, especially in the summer. Something I’d been telling myself since I was, oh, about fourteen. But I always cut them, the same way I’d always cut them. Straight and thick, brushing my eyebrows.
Maybe I’d let them grow out this time.
Maybe.
Or maybe I’d cut my hair like Abby’s. It was dark and brushed her shoulders. Mine was the color of milk chocolate and long, all the way down past my bra strap. I never wore it down though. Not anymore. It was always up in a bun. So why keep it long, especially when it was such a pain to dry and style?
“Jillian?”
Realizing I was staring at the road, I turned my attention back to Abby. She smiled at me again. Abby was a pretty woman, but when she smiled, she was stunning, and she smiled a lot more since reconnecting with Colton. “Yes?”
She studied me closely. “You know Katie meant well, right?”
My shoulders tensed. “I know.”
“She can just be a little . . . brash at times,” she continued, stepping closer. “But it comes from a good place. She worries about you. So do I. So does Stephanie.”
I frowned as I shifted my weight from one foot to the next. “Why would any of you worry about me? I’m a hundred percent fine.”
Abby tilted her head to the side and the smile slipped a little. The look that crossed her face was full of doubt and then she exhaled slowly as she nodded. “Okay,” she said after a moment, and then hugged me, giving me a quick squeeze before kissing my cheek. “We’re still on for lunch tomorrow with Stephanie?”
Relieved she wasn’t going to push it, I hugged her back. “As long as Nick and Colton let you two out long enough.”
Abby laughed as she stepped to the side, hitching the strap of her purse up. “As if they could stop us.”
Considering that both couples—Abby and Colton, Stephanie and Nick—were experiencing an extended-honeymoon period, I really couldn’t blame them if they’d rather hole up in the house all weekend.
“See you tomorrow.” I wiggled my fingers and then pivoted around. My cell dinged as I climbed into my car, alerting me to a text.
Cranking the air conditioner up, I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell. My breath caught and my stomach took a pleasant tumble as I saw the name on my screen. I couldn’t stop my lips from curving up at the corners.
Brock.
Opening up the text, I felt a silly little grin tugging at my lips when I started reading his message.
Hey Jillybean, change of plans. A few guys are in town. Meeting up with them at Mona’s for a bit. Can you meet me there at 7?
The smile slipped a bit. Who was in town? I gave a quick shake of my head. It didn’t matter. He still wanted to do dinner at the intensely popular steakhouse not too far from Mona’s. Dinner was still happening. Tonight was still happening.
Texting him back that I was okay with it, I placed my phone in the cup holder and then let out a shaky breath. Tonight was going to be the night I proved to Brock I was no longer a little girl.
Brock would no longer think of me as a little sister.
Dragging myself out of the memory, I stared down at my phone. My eyes began to burn and blur. God, I had been such a foolish love-struck idiot back then, but even so, I’d been happy. I’d been willing to take risks.
Because falling for Brock had been a risk. Love was a risk no matter what, and I had been brave—dumb and blind—but brave. When it came to Brock, I dove in headfirst and didn’t come up for air.
And I had lived. Sure, I’d been shy and sometimes overwhelmed by my large-ass family, but there were all these things that version of me had done—collecting books obsessively, going to signings and meeting authors, conning friends into taking trips to New York City, and spending every Sunday morning eating breakfast with the best people in the world. There was so much that I’d wanted to do back then. I’d wanted to travel. To write a book! I’d wanted to meet my ultimate author crush, the Queen known as JR Ward. I’d wanted to stand next to my father during a televised match, knowing I had a hand in bringing that talent to the ring. I’d wanted . . .
I’d wanted so much.
I barely recognized that girl with the thick bangs and wide smile, but sometimes I wasn’t sure if not being her anymore was really a good thing, because I didn’t do any of those things I enjoyed anymore.
I didn’t collect books.
I didn’t go to book signings.
I sure as hell didn’t travel.
I still hadn’t met JR Ward.
I had nothing to do with my family’s legacy until recently.
And I never once attempted to write a book, but that was probably a good thing.
This version of me, the one from the last six years, went to work, came home, and then lost herself in fictional worlds that were far, far more exciting than mine. I lived through characters that weren’t real, but they still lived more authentic lives than me, and how . . . how was I supposed to keep going like this? How was I supposed to continue when living among pages held more appeal than living in real life?
Dropping my phone, I clapped my hands over my face and rubbed at my eyes. I felt like I was seconds from shattering all over again, and the good Lord knew I’d already done that once before.
But I couldn’t let myself do that.
Because tomorrow I was starting a new job and it was one I would care about, because it was a part of my blood. And I was going to go out on that second date with Grady. Not only that, but when Avery invited me to Sunday breakfast, and she would, because she texted nearly every Friday and asked me to go, I wouldn’t come up with an excuse to not go like I normally did. I would go. These were small but impressive steps, and maybe I could be a little of that old Jillian.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
Chapter 6
My stomach was churning and full of knots the entire drive to the Lima Academy on Monday morning. I didn’t even know why I was so nervous. I knew how to manage the Academy. I’d grown up looking over my father’s shoulder as he ran the business.
Today was such a big deal.
I could buy so many more purses with my new salary.
And Rhage could start eating Fancy Feast.
But I was still as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I’d woken up about an hour earlier than necessary, which meant I had time to style my hair, something I normally didn’t do when I went to work. Dressing in the wide-leg black trousers I’d picked last night, I paired them with a deep maroon blouse with lacy sleeves I found this morning. I still had more than enough time to make the drive from my apartment off of Del Mar Orchard Road to where the Lima Academy was situated a few miles outside of Shepherdstown, between the University and Martinsburg.
The Academy was located about a mile off of Route 45, beyond a sub-division and a small farm. I’d seen it a hundred times since it opened, but I couldn’t help but feel awed when the sprawling, three-story building c
ame into view.
This was my father’s, but it was also mine.
The first floor was the state-of-the-art gym open to public membership. It came complete with separate rooms for classes, an indoor Olympic pool, sauna and whirlpool rooms, childcare for those working out, and of course, several tanning rooms, because why have all those sleek muscles and be pasty white? I rolled my eyes at that.
The second floor was dedicated to various martial arts classes, ranging from classes for kids who were interested in karate, to those serious about learning jiu jitsu, grappling (both standing and on the ground), striking, and so on, and of course, a training center for those looking to pursue a career in the mixed martial arts. Self-defense classes were also held on the second floor. There was a lot of available space on the second floor, and that was what my father had wanted me to focus on.
The top floor was offices—where my office would be located.
This was my family’s legacy.
And it was a part of mine.
I’d once told my friend Abby that I didn’t want to do what my family did, but that had been a lie in the end. Maybe at that time I was going through some stage in life where I wanted to rebel against everything and everyone, but deep down I always wanted to be a part of it. So pulling into the parking spot was almost like I was finally, finally coming home.
I opened the back door and grabbed the box of personal items I’d placed on the back seat. I hadn’t brought much with me. A candle from Bath and Body Works that would make my office smell like a pumpkin had thrown up all over it. One framed photo of my parents from a couple of Christmases ago. A hot pink stapler that Avery had given me a year or so ago, and my Sam and Dean Winchester Funko Pops, because they went everywhere with me.
Feeling more ready, I rode the elevator up to the third floor, my sleek black bag dangling from my forearm since it had slipped down my arm. I nibbled on the inside of my cheek as the elevator slid to a gentle stop and the doors glided open.
Just like at the Academy in Philly, a sea of cubicles greeted me. They were all empty as I walked past them. It was still about an hour before the sales teams and trainers would arrive.
I walked toward the closed offices, my steps slowing as my uncle, Andre Lima, rounded the corner. With slightly graying hair, he was still more fit than most men in their twenties.
“Jilly!” He strode forward, his short but powerful strides eating up the distance. Grasping the box from my arms, he placed it on a nearby desk and then wrapped his arms around me. I squeaked as he spun me around like I was twelve. When he placed me back on my feet, I felt like I’d just gotten off a merry-go-round. “Look at you, all dressed nice and stuff.”
Andre was wearing khakis and a Lima-branded polo.
“You look nice too,” I told him, brushing my hair back from my face.
He laughed as he picked up my box. “This is my I’m almost out of here clothing attire.”
“You really want to get back to Philadelphia, don’t you?”
“I miss it. So does Tanya, and you know what they say. Happy wife, happy life.” Andre winked at me. “Aren’t you here early?”
“I figured I’d get myself settled before everyone started showing up.”
“Smart idea,” he replied. “Well, let me show you the office. It’s new since we didn’t have a manager position before.”
Moving so he was to the left of me, I peeked over at him. “Can I ask you a question and you give me an honest answer?”
Grinning, he nodded. “When have I’ve ever lied to you, Jilly?”
“Does the staff think this position is unnecessary?” I asked.
He started to frown. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
I guessed I couldn’t beat around the bush. “What I mean is, do they think Andrew Lima randomly created this position for his daughter?”
“What?” Andre laughed. “No. Not at all. They actually think it’s a good idea. Trust me, I needed the help, and more than once I had to have one of my sales reps join me in meetings—spending extra time on the job in a way that’s not necessarily going to make them money. Now they’ll be able to focus on their accounts and training sessions while you’ll be accompanying the new GM to meetings.”
That made sense. “Well, I’m relieved to hear they think it’s a good call.”
“They do. So we had a contractor come and carve out a new office for you,” my uncle explained, stopping in front of an office that had a glass front. “The office furniture just arrived. Never used, and it’s all yours.”
The office reminded me of a partial fishbowl. This was nothing like my tiny office with walls that weren’t see-through, but it was definitely nicer than I realized as I’d stepped inside.
The large, dark cherry wood desk was spotless—not even a fingerprint marked the shiny surface. A new desktop computer sat to the right. Beside it was a NASA-level phone system. Two chairs were stationed in front of the desk, and the chair behind it looked like it would be more comfortable than my bed. There was a credenza against one wall, and on the other was a large potted plant with palm leaves. Blinds covered the wall facing outside.
“What do you think?” Andre placed my box in one of the chairs in front of the desk.
“It’s great.”
“My office—well, my old office—is right on the other side of the sitting area.” He gestured to his right, and since I had glass walls, I looked past the sitting area, and saw the fully walled office of the GM.
“Has a new GM been hired yet?” I asked, wondering if another one of my uncles would be coming down in the interim.
His dark brows knitted. “You don’t know who’s replacing me?”
I placed my purse on my desk. “So the position has been filled?”
“Yes. It was filled quite some time ago,” he said as I turned around, moving toward the blinds. Been filled for quite some time? My father hadn’t mentioned that. I opened them as Andre said, “Actually, here he comes now. Earlier than I expected. Not that I’m surprised. You’re early, so of course, he’ll be early too. Just like old times.”
Just like old times?
I froze.
My fingers were wrapped around the little knob connected to the blinds and I simply stopped moving as a series of shivers crawled across my shoulders.
I’ll see you again soon.
No. No. No.
Everything started to click into place, but I refused to believe it, because I couldn’t fathom how or why. In a state of utter disbelief, I let go of the knob. It swung back toward the blinds, clanging off them. I slowly turned around.
Brock Mitchell stood in the doorway of my brand new office, his lips curved into a half-smile. “Good morning, Ms. Lima. I hope you like your new office.”
Chapter 7
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I gasped.
Brock’s eyes widened and then he threw back his head, laughing loudly and freely. “Ms. Lima, language.”
My face turned blood red. Did he seriously just say that to me?
Andre’s smile was a bit sly as he eyed the both of us, and I knew—I just knew—he was fully aware of the fact I had no idea Brock was going to be here. Just like my mother had to have known and just like my father had failed to mention.
My family was a bunch of assholes.
“Okay, I’m going to go—uh, pretend to do something,” Andre said.
Brock’s brown eyes were trained on me as he stepped aside and clapped the shorter man on the shoulder.
“Good luck,” Andre said to him, and my hands balled into fists.
The half-grin appeared on Brock’s mouth and he waited until Andre had disappeared. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word ‘fuck’ before.” His gaze flipped to the ceiling. “Well, there was the one time you tripped over your own feet and banged your knees off the pool deck. Pretty sure you yelled ‘fuck’ then.”
“This is not happening,” I murmured, heart thumping heavily in my
chest.
“Actually, I think you yelled ‘fuck’ when your uncle Julio caught you trying to sneak out of the house. You remember that, right? You were trying to follow me—”
“You can stop,” I snapped, “with the walk down Fuck Lane.”
That grin increased, spreading into a full smile that caused my stomach to dip. I placed steadying hands on my desk. “Please tell me I’m dreaming right now.”
“If you were dreaming, I’d hope we’d both have less clothes on.”
“What?” My jaw hit the top of the table. Was he flirting with me? Not entirely surprising. If you looked up “flirt” on the internet, I was sure it had a picture of him grinning the panties right off of some chick, so I guessed a fiancée wasn’t going to change that.
Chuckling, Brock leaned against the door and folded his arms across his broad chest, stretching the material of his white button-down. My gaze dropped. Yep. He was wearing the damn Chucks. “You’re not dreaming, Jillian. I’m the new General Manager and you’re my assistant manager.”
“There is no way,” I said dumbly.
He glanced around, arching a brow. “Is it really that surprising?”
I wanted to scream yes, but I should’ve guessed it the moment I saw Brock Friday night. Anger swept through me. Not only did I feel incredibly stupid for not figuring out Brock was my new boss, I was extremely pissed everyone in my family had basically set me up.
Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Can you give me a second? Please?”
Brock didn’t move for a moment and then he unfolded his arms. “Your wish is my command.”
My fingers curled around the edge of the desk to stop myself from throwing something at him. The moment he stepped out of my office, I hurried to the door and closed it behind him. Storming back to the desk, I pulled my cellphone out of the little slip inside my purse and jabbed my finger on my father’s contact.
