“Hello,” I answer.
“Is this Delilah Marshall?” a woman’s voice greets me.
“Yes.”
“This is Joanne Martinez, from CJJ Public Relations human resources. We met a few weeks ago.”
I nearly choke on my fry recalling that she was who I first interviewed with. “Hi, Miss Martinez.” I shut my eyes, cross my fingers, and pray she’s called with good news.
“I apologize for calling this late. Things have been quite busy here.” There’s a momentary pause and the sound of paper shuffling in the background. “I called to inform you we have made a final decision.”
By the sound of her low voice and brief silence, I release a despondent sigh anticipating the bad news. “I appreciate the call to let me know I didn’t get the job—”
“On the contrary, Miss Marshall. I’m calling to offer you the marketing manager position.”
“Really? I got the job?”
“Yes,” she says with a slight giggle, obviously entertained by my response.
Holy crap! I got the job!
“Peter informed me about your missing designs. But you impressed him with the marketing strategies for Aptos Grocers and the other small businesses you worked on back in Kansas. In addition, there was a particular reference who informed us if we didn’t hire you, we’d be losing out on an asset to our company.”
Tawney, Emily, and Landon are looking at me with proud expressions as I listen to Joanne go over the salary package and benefits. My head spins and all I can think about is calling Mama and telling her about the sunset I chased, but first I need to fess up and come clean.
“Wow! I don’t know what to say.” I swallow to wet my dry throat and can’t believe this is really happening.
“Does that mean you accept?”
“Yes, I accept. Thank you.”
“I know this is unprecedented, and normally we give the candidate two weeks to tie up some loose ends with their current job . . . but can you possibly start this Monday? The prior marketing manager’s departure has left us in a bind, and we need to meet a few deadlines we were unaware of.”
“Yes, of course,” I say, my leg shaking with enthusiasm, eagerness, and excitement.
“Wonderful. We will see you here first thing Monday morning, Miss Marshall.”
“I look forward to it.”
Chapter Four
Brody
“Well, if it isn’t Leave it to Beaver,” Mark Dixon calls out over the short wall of my cubicle using one of the many names he’s called me since I started working for Cole Security Forces. “How’s the old man treating you?” He pulls out a chair, sits down, and props his wet boots on my desk.
I finish typing my report for the Sullivan assignment and email it to Jackson. After spending two weeks with that asshat, I’m glad his regular security detail is back from vacation.
“Well, if it isn’t, Tweeny-Twilight,” I joke, pushing his legs off my desk. “Kind of far from home, aren’t you? Did Charlie finally kick you out after realizing she can do better?”
“There is nothing better than this piece of meat right here.” He waves his hand over his body.
“I wasn’t aware she liked shrimp.”
“Fuck you, Reinhardt,” Mark snickers.
“Get in line, glitter boy.”
I’ll never admit it but working for Mark at the Virginia office for a few months was a blast. There was daily banter and pranks played. We never knew who the next victim would be.
Even Natalie had been part of the shenanigans. She’s a force to be reckoned with. Her sweet innocent persona was anything but. I think she got her husband, Liam, involved to help a few times.
Not that working for Jackson is boring. I’m the new guy and most of the team here are on assignment. So, it will take some time getting to know the fellas here.
“You smell sweet.” I sniff the air.
“Is it turning you on, Brody?”
“Honeysuckle suits you.” I laugh. “Did you borrow that from Charlie?”
“Nope, stole it from your panty drawer,” he jokes.
“Ah, you found my collection from the hotties.”
We hear a door open then shut down the hall which cuts off our testosterone match. At least I got the last word in this time. Pleasantries with Mark are always an event. You never know what the hell will come out of our mouths.
“Did you just get in?” I ask, switching the conversation topic.
“Yup. Rain and LAX airport are a fucking nightmare.” Mark grabs the hockey puck from my desk and tosses it in the air and catches it. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?” I ask, expecting a cocky comeback as I snag the puck from him and put it back in its rightful place.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“What do you mean? You were the one who encouraged me to work in the California office.”
“That’s not what I meant. You don’t need to work, since you have a shit ton of money from—”
“I work because I want to. What else would I do?”
“If I had your bank account, I’d travel the world. Buy a boat, go sailing . . .”
“Maybe invest in Cole Security Forces,” I say jokingly.
After Mom died three years ago, she left everything to me and Avery. Neither one of us wanted the business, so we sold our shares. I put some of my earnings in the bank and invested the rest. Avery started her swimsuit line while working on her modeling career.
As for the beach house that rests on the top of the cliff overlooking Malibu, it’s in both our names and we can’t bear to give it up. It’s the home we grew up in and holds too many good memories that we don’t want to let go.
Even though Mark knows my background, he gets me. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. It’s hard to let go of the action. It’s in our blood. The missions were a rush, my proverbial drug until that fateful day changed me.
I was medically discharged from the navy. It was a mission gone wrong—lost a teammate and I fucked up my leg. I’d undergone surgery and had countless sessions of PT. Although I felt fine, the doctors didn’t clear me to go back to active duty.
“So, what are you doing here?” I ask.
“Monthly meeting with Muff,” Mark replies as he peers at my monitor. “How’d the Sullivan assignment go?”
“I hated the babysitting job. But it kept me busy.”
Thoughts of Dee when I lost her in the crowd never left my mind. She’s all I have thought about since that night. The sight of her in the red dress that hugged her curves, her silken waves of brown hair that draped down her naked back into the low dip of fabric and those long legs were breathtaking.
I don’t know why, but when my hand touched her soft skin, not only did she flinch, bringing out the hero complex in me and wanting to chase her demons away, but heat stirred in my chest. And it’s been bugging me ever since.
I’m only kidding myself when I think about her. I’ll never see her again. I have kicked myself in the ass more times than I can count for losing her that night. Every brunette I passed the days after reminded me of her and I wished I could see her again.