Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“Isn’t there one good comment?”
She scans her phone, chewing on her lower lip. I find myself holding my breath. Of course I am. I operate one of the largest security companies in the country, and this whole thing has made us look like complete and utterly incompetent fools.
“Someone says you’re ex-special ops.”
What the fuck? Of course, that would be anyone’s first assumption. When I’m in the field, my past isn’t a secret, so I might have used my other alias as the company’s owner. To the world, I’m someone else. Many people who work for me like to keep their real identity to themselves, but there are probably some who get hired and don’t even realize I’m one and the same person. We’re so big that I don’t get to meet many of the new hires in person, and anyone who joins the company has to sign strict NDAs when they start, which have to do with the company’s internal workings and client privacy.
“Many people go into security after doing stuff like that. They want to know what your body count is, and I don’t think they mean how many people you’ve slept with.”
I let out a grunt that sounds more like an ornery bear dug up from his nocturnal emissions—wait, hibernation—than a human and shoot to my feet. I wince because fuck, that’s a nutbag of a mistake, and also? My hip still hurts like a mother. “That is classified information.”
She tucks her phone behind her back as though I’m going to snatch it like a disgruntled child. I glare at her. She glares right back. She gives a much fiercer glare than I ever would have thought, looking like the nymph, fairy, goddess, queen of the crazy cat ladies that she is.
“How many? Jesus goodness, how many is it?”
“Classified,” I mutter, tight-lipped. I’m still pressing the ice to my junk. That is non-negotiable.
“Ermph. Until it’s not classified, consider yourself fired. I can’t believe I didn’t even think of that! Hiring a trained killer! What was I thinking?”
“Zero! It’s zero. What kind of man do you think I am?”
She gives more good glares. Fearlessly. I know grown men who turn into a puddle of Pissgate themselves if they ever have to look me in the eye.
“You’re just saying that to get yourself unfired.”
“If you knew me at all, you’d know I’m the kind of man who doesn’t just say things.”
“No, you’re the kind who likes to try and tackle small children.”
I am so over this. It stops now. “Give me all your social passwords. I’m going to get my people to fix this, and they’ll be the ones managing this for the foreseeable future. You need to take an internet break and chill.”
She’s good at glare, but she’s even better at fire. “I do not need to chill.”
“You do, though. You’re stressed.”
“Because of you.”
“Yes. Give me a chance to fix it,” I say.
“I gave you a chance!”
For the love of my sore nuts, I’m going to have it to use it. The word that so very seldom ever gets uttered from my lips. “Please.”
“Still no. And you’re still fired. Now, will you please leave? I trust you can get back to your motel. If they’re so good at damage control, they can damage control for you. This was a mistake. All of it. Go pick yourself up and put your pieces back together somewhere else. I just…can’t handle it.” All the steam blows out of her, and she wilts. She looks fragile, and her eyes are getting shiny again.
Fuck.
It’s not entirely inexplicable that it makes me feel wild. As in, badly out of control. I don’t want to see her hurting. Who likes to see anyone hurt? I might look tough and mean, but making women, good women, cry isn’t my MO.
Maybe she’s right. I should have taken my own advice.
Enough is enough when it comes to being badly humiliated.
I nod, sparing her further words, and limp off her bus/house. I even give Peach Lips a head tilt goodbye. She tilts her head and blinks her one eye back.
I don’t even know what I was thinking, wanting to fight for my fallen honor like a medieval knight. It was an absurd notion. I should have gone straight back to base and worked on damage control and regrouping where the merger was concerned.
First thing in the morning, that’s what I’ll do, no matter how badly it stings. My head, chest, crotch. None of it feels good right now.
I’ll take myself back and get it together. Damaged pride, bruised junk, and all.
Chapter six
Ephemeral
I’m sure only the most deranged of the crazy people out there will be wearing one of those bubbly cat window backpacks and looking tear-stained and rumpled while banging on the beat-up motel door of an almost complete stranger.
The cab driver I kindly asked to wait for me while I tried not to break out into ugly crying yet again now watches me furiously pound the door, then literally freaking rolls up his window and drives off.