I was already satisfied with my decision to work for Douglas Smith. The man radiated a cool calm that I envied now more than ever. He'd outlined the work I'd be doing for the company, and the sort of clientele they dealt with. It sounded like a fairly routine security detail for those who could afford the best in the security business.
"We're excited that you're here," he'd said with a genuine grin on his weathered face. Then his expression turned serious. "It's not easy to make the transition back into the civilian world," he said, his voice low.
Smith had made that transition for himself, back when Matt was just starting high school and Emma was still in 6th grade. His wife had died while he'd been abroad, and he'd immediately requested a leave of absence. Smith couldn't leave his family alone by returning to active duty, nor did he want them cared for by someone else.
The family was grieving, and his children needed him. So Smith had done the right thing and put in for retirement. He'd gone from taking out bad guys to cooking breakfast for his children every morning. Talk about a tough transition.
His voice roughened. "We're here for you if you need us."
I thanked him. "I appreciate it. And I'm grateful for the job."
"You'll do well, I'm certain. And, unlike active duty, you get to sleep in your own bed every night."
It wouldn't be like the desert, but the new job would be enough to keep me on my toes. After the position rundown, Smith got a gleam in his eye. Saying he had something to show me, my new boss led me to a bookshelf that looked like the others in the room. This one, however, held a keypad hidden behind a volume of Sun Tzu's Art of War. He hit a few digits and the bookshelf swung open.
It wasn't a bookshelf. It was an armored and alarmed door that led to a gigantic walk-in gun safe. My eyes widened as I took in all the pieces, from assault rifles to handguns. Cases of ammo. Scopes. Clips. Kevlar vests. There was even a shelf of knives and brass knuckles. The holy grail of assault weaponry, at your fingertips.
I was giddier than a kid in a candy shop, and I could see that Smith shared my enthusiasm. He pointed out a few pieces he preferred, and we engaged in a lively debate about the merits of 9 millimeters versus .45s.
Without warning, Emma popped into the safe, holding a phone in her hand. Her face was strained, and I could tell he wasn't pleased with whomever was on the other line. Her hand covered the microphone, but she still spoke in a whisper. "He wants to talk to the boss and won't take no for an answer."
Smith seemed to pick up on it as well. He mouthed the word, "Dexter," and when Emma nodded, he scowled. With an uncharacteristic roll of his eyes, Smith apologized, muttering that he has to take the call. Emma passes him the phone, and he takes it, walking out of the safe.
And just like that, I'm left alone with the boss's daughter.
I still couldn't believe how Emma had matured. She'd grown into her gangly body in a way I never could have anticipated. She was perfectly formed, with tan, lithe limbs and skin that looked softer than velvet. She glanced around the room and then back to me, her eyes on the pistol I was holding loosely in my left hand.
With a playful look in her big hazel eyes, she grinned. "Having fun yet?"
I nodded, a bit embarrassed. If such a thing as a 'gun geek' existed, I was definitely one. Returning the handgun to its place, I buried my hands in my pockets.
"So," she said, as much to fill the silence as anything, I assumed, "getting settled in all right?"
It looked like we were going to make chit chat. When we were younger, I hadn't talked much to Emma. What did I have in common with a sophomore girl anyway? Now we were adults and different rules applied. We were coworkers now. I'd have to talk to her every day.
I didn't understand why my words dried up whenever she entered the room. What was it about grown-up Emma that made me feel like a stupid high school boy in front of his crush?
"Yeah," I said finally, feeling lame but knowing I couldn't let the silence stretch out between us for much longer without her thinking I had something wrong upstairs. Not that I didn't have something wrong upstairs, but I didn't need her to know that.
"Where are you staying?" She looked relieved that I'd remembered how to speak.
"I moved into a condo on the outskirts of the historic district." I could see by the attentive look on her face that she was expecting more. "It's nice."
"Nice?" She laughed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against a shelf. "Tell me more."
Of course she was going to insist on continuing this farce of a conversation. "It isn't far from the waterfront. Two bedrooms, two baths. Quartz countertops and a tiled shower."
What the fuck else could I tell her? That the apartment was mostly empty? That my bed didn't have a frame? That my living room consisted of two canvas chairs and a lamp resting on the floor? That my kitchen had exactly one plate, one bowl, one glass, and one set of silverware?
"Hardwood floors," I finished lamely.
"It definitely sounds nice." I could tell from the light dancing in her eyes that she was teasing me. It reminded me of the way she and Matt had sparred so many years ago. She'd always had a quick tongue.
Don't think of her tongue. Don't imagine it sliding over your body. Don't think about her whispering what she wanted him to do to her before licking her lips with that tongue.
I swallowed, then pressed on. "There's a fitness room with a stair climber."
When she covered her mouth with her hand to try to hide her giggles, I realized how ridiculous I sounded, and it was like something shifted inside me. Some tightness released, and I broke into a grin.
"Did I mention the community room? I can request it for social events, as long as they don't go past ten pm."
"Stop," she said, and bent at the waist, holding her sides. "You're killing me."
I laughed then, a good laugh. A genuine one. It felt better than expected.
"You weren't always this funny," she said when she finally stopped giggling and caught her breath.
He shrugged a shoulder. "War does hone one's sense of humor."
She chuckled. "So does working with your father and older brother."
"I bet," he said. Her father was undoubtedly the authoritarian type, and Matt was a handful, no matter how you sliced it. "And apparently clients like this Dexter guy."
Emma let out a heavy sigh. "You have no idea," she said, then her eyes pierced his. "But you will."
"That sounds like a threat," I said.
Emma smiled. "It's a promise. Private security isn't Uncle Sam's family jamboree. Instead of guys with stars on their shoulders telling you what to do, you have jerks with patent leather shoes and gold watches giving you orders. At least the generals worked their way up the chain of command."
I considered her words. In Delta Force, there had always been the belief that we were working for the greater good. Protecting those who couldn't protect themselves. Keeping the world safe.
I'd assumed Shadow Security would feel the same. But, as Emma pointed out, the greater good had been replaced by rich guys with money to burn on trained warriors to watch their bespoke-suited behinds. Just another element of my new life that needed adjusting.
Emma noticed that I'd gone quiet again and stepped in to keep the conversation moving. "How have you been spending your time since leaving the service? Any new hobbies?"
Should I confess the truth: I spent most of my time working out, or reading books on my small balcony? They qualified as hobbies, but they didn't paint a cheery picture of my life post-military.
"Just the same hobbies I've always had," I said lightly. "Working out. Running. Reading."
"Solitary pursuits, I see."
I was taken aback by her perceptiveness. I didn't deny it. I spent most of my time alone.
Emma eyed me for a moment, then nodded, as if deciding something. "Right. Well tonight, you're coming over to the Smith house for dinner."
"Dinner?" Had she seen through me that quickly? I started to brush off the invitation, but she wasn't having it.
"You're coming over, or I'm telling my Dad that you turned the offer down."
"Playing hardball, huh?"
She smiled. "Come on, Jack. You could use a home-cooked meal. It'll be fun."
I was pretty sure it'd be the opposite of that, but I couldn't afford to offend the boss on my first day.
"Fine," I said, and felt a curious sensation in my chest when she clapped her hands with a grin.
"Great. See you at seven."
I watched her walk away and felt a heat rush over my skin. God, she's sexy.
And that's exactly why I didn't want to accept the invitation. It was going to be hard enough watching Emma walk around the office all day. Now he'd have to spend the whole night drooling over her too.
A long night of torture.
At least I get a hot meal out of it.