I want it because the pay involved is astronomical. I want it because I invested my own money in it. I want it because when you work in my industry; you learn a lot about people and what’s behind the doors you’re guarding for them. At the level we are at, security can be a dirty business. Everyone is trying to protect something. I found that people who have a lot of money have the most to protect, and some of those things are less than savory.
There’s a lot of shade in this industry, and I do my best to keep our hands clean. Rafe doesn’t fight clean on any platform. If he gets access behind the scenes with a company like Golden Rule, he would be privy to a lot of information. A lot of people could get hurt, and it would all go unreported because he’s that sneaky.
I’m not about to let that happen.
When I get to the house, I find Mila standing in the kitchen polishing the stovetop.
“Do we cook on that enough to need weekly polishing?” I ask. I’m in a shit mood.
“I do,” she says without looking up. Then she says, “How was your meeting?”
It’s the first we’ve spoken since our little incident the other day in my office. We don’t often have conversations, but the air has been tense since then.
“Unproductive,” I say. “Frustrating.”
“You want to talk about it?” she asks. It feels like an olive branch. Andrew is usually the only person I ever willingly vent to. I prefer to take it out in the ring. But right now, I feel like a shaken Coke bottle, about to blow its lid.
“I want a drink,” I say. Mila does one last shimmering swipe over the stovetop, then quietly puts away the cleaners before walking over to the cabinet for a glass and a bottle of whiskey. She sets both down on the bar.
“Where did that come from?” I ask, nodding towards the unopened bottle of my favorite bourbon.
“I bought it,” she says. “With the card you gave me. I figured since the last of the other bottles got mopped up, you needed a replacement.”
Damn.
This is more than an olive branch.
“Is this a white flag?” I ask her as I sit down and break the seal on the bottle.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“For what happened the other day. The coffee, the yelling…”
She bites her lip and my blood fissures under my skin. “Call it a truce,” she offers.
Damn, this girl is stubborn. I stare at her, and she stares right back. I’m not used to that. I’m used to women being clumsy, blank, and dense. But this girl isn’t any of those things. She’s detailed, determined, and bold. Honestly, I don’t know why she’s working as a maid and a bartender.
I allow my scowl to soften a little. “Drink?” I ask.
“I’m good, thanks. My boss gets grumpy when I’m not at peak performance.”
“He sounds like a hardass,” I play along.
“The worst,” she says, and it earns her a small smirk.
“So what’s got you so stressed?” She asks as she grabs a cloth and starts dusting cabinets.
“You mean besides the fact that I run a million-dollar security industry with a billion moving parts?” I ask, taking a sip.
“Oh, is that all?” She asks, and I can hear the smile in her voice. Is she flirting with me?
“I have a…rival…so to speak. He thinks he is going to outbid me on a job, and it’s a real pain in the ass.”
“Are you going to let him?” she asks.
“Am I going to let him what?” I ask, looking over at her. She’s buzzing around, making sure every inch of my kitchen is spotless. It’s making me a little uncomfortable, but I don’t think it’s the glistening countertops that have me shifting in my seat. It’s the way she looks while she’s doing it.
She’s petite but curvy. Her ass is nearly perfect, even in those knock-off brand leggings. She pulls her hair into a tight, no-nonsense ponytail, but it looks wavy and wild when she lets it down. She’s understated, but not plain. Actually, now that I look at her in the sunlight that pours through the windows, I realize for the first time just how attractive she is.
