Maybe I didn’t know how I came across.
“Uh...” My head slanted as another uneasy laugh left me. “Yeah, not today.”
She playfully pouted as she placed lids on both cups. “Bad morning?”
Bad three months.
I nodded toward her and pointedly said, “Thanks for the drinks.”
Her lips turned down even more as she murmured, “Ooo. That’s ayes.” Sliding the drinks toward me, she winked. “See you next time, handsome.”
Something like guilt gnawed at me as I numbly walked to my truck and drove back to the office. All the while, I wondered what I might do—what I might say—even when I wasn’t attempting to charm women.
I set the iced matcha on Mallory’s desk without a word, then headed over to my desk. Determined to focus on work between figuring out how to break through this unfamiliar Mallory.
But before I even had my computer turned on, she roughly slammed her drink onto my desk, making some of the creamy, green liquid slosh out of the wide-mouthed lid.
“What—” I began, but the demand died on my tongue when she purposefully twisted the cup for me to see.
There, in black marker, was a phone number and a heart.
My stomach dropped, but I just sat there, staring at the writing as a dozen excuses choked me.
But it didn’t matter that I hadn’t done anything to get the number. It didn’t matter that I had a feeling the barista had intentionally written it on Mallory’s cup to stir up trouble, since that had been my first time in the shop without her. Because, what could I say?
If women thought I was flirting with them even when I thought my full attention was on Mallory, then I’d brought this on myself. And trying to explain away a phone number would only raise questions with the rest of the guys—questions neither of us were ready for.
So, I just sat there as Mallory angrily dropped back into her seat before pushing out of my chair and heading for the break room. As soon as I had a clean glass and paper towel in hand, my movements stilled as the past minutes replayed in my mind.
In everything she’d done, from slamming the cup on my desk to storming back to her desk, Mallory had beenangry. Not Solemn. Not indifferent.
She’d been the Mallory Monroe I’d first met and the rest of the world knew.
The corner of my mouth ticked up as hope flickered in my chest. I could work with an angry Mallory.
After all, it was kind of my favorite version of her.
Stealing through the office again, I transferred the contents of the grassy-smelling drink from one cup to the other, then set the glass on her desk as I leaned close to whisper, “Between all these silences and business-only talks, I can’t figure out if you’re set on punishing me or trying to tell me you love me.” Dipping my head closer, I twisted my words into a taunting tone I knew got under her skin. “Either way, try harder.”
I didn’t give her a chance to respond.
I just fought a smile when I felt a very distinct, Mallory-like wall of indignation slam into me as I returned to my desk. Cleaning up the mess from her drink, I tossed everything into the trash—never once giving the number on the cup a second thought.
When Mallory had been assigned to our SEAL Team, she’d always gone above and beyond what was required of her, no questions asked. She’d been good. When Briggs had retired and opened a private security business that catered to high-profile clients, I don’t think Rush, Thatch, or I had been surprised when he’d asked Mallory to come work for him upon her retirement too. She’d deserved it.
Again, she wasgood.
And whenever people had doubted, mocked, or tried taking advantage of her because she was a woman, she’d always let them know she wasn’t the girl to be underestimated.
Tonight’s security detail was different...and I had a feeling it was my fault.
I’d felt it from the moment we’d slid into the company SUVs we used for events like these—this storm slowly building and building as she’d silently seethed from the passenger seat beside me. Not quite the Mallory we all knew, but definitely not the dispassionate Mallory from these past months either.
She and I were personally guarding a foreign dignitary, and even though we weren’t so close to him that we would beoverheard if we spoke in the low tones Shadow usually used at these events, it would’ve been hard for anyone to miss when that storm finally broke.
Mallory turned on me and snapped, “Just tell mewhy,” far too loudly.
I swallowed a curse when a handful of people turned at the demand, but the reminder of where we were died in my throat when my attention shifted to her—to all that stunning beauty and the pain and accusation in her eyes.
