Page 3 of Cold Hearted Baren

“Ms. Schulz,” the paunchy, mustachioed officer begins, “your friend, an Emily Griffins, came down here shortly after you got here and vouched that you had only been at the protest to get her. Because of that, we will let you go. Ms. Griffins is outside, but seems to have no wallet or identification, so she cannot sign your release papers. Is there anyone else you can call?” He quirks an eyebrow at me.

I sigh because there is only one person in the world’s number I have memorized, and he’s the last person I want to call. Ever since my father passed away his best friend, David Armitage, has been in charge of my trust, making sure that I have all of the money and supplies I need, but our contact has been minimal at best, nonexistent at worst. It’s just my luck that the first time I need his help, it’s to bail me out of jail.

Left without another choice, I tell the officer I have someone to call, and he hands me a phone to dial. I swallow nervously, take a deep breath, and raise the phone to my ear, holding my breath as the line starts to ring.

Well, here goes nothing…

Chapter Two

David

With the anniversary of Harry’s death looming, this time of year is always difficult for me. It doesn’t help that my beloved assistant, Bianca, has just left me for a lesser-paying, lesser-hours position, but I understand that she needed to support her young son in a way that made her more available to him.

Nevertheless, I hate breaking in a new assistant, no matter how good they may seem. Just then, I hear a tentative knock at my door, followed by a soft “Excuse me, sir?”

I look up to see my new assistant, Fiona, hesitating in the doorway, a file clutched to her chest. Fiona doesn’t appear to be more than twenty-three, and I wonder if that’s the reason she seems so nervous—maybe this is her first day of her first “real job.”

“Please, come in, Fiona,” I say with a small smile, hoping to put her at ease. “Are you done compiling the report?”

Fiona takes a hesitant step forward, her gaze flickering between me and the file in her hands. “Um, yes, sir," she stammers with a small nod. “I-I've finished the report, but I wanted to go over it with you before…”

I nod, gesturing for her to approach my desk. “Excellent, let's have a look,” I reply, motioning for her to take a seat across from me. As she settles into the chair, I take the file from her hands and begin to review the contents.

Fiona watches me nervously, her fingers twisting in her lap as she awaits my feedback. Despite her initial apprehension, I can see the potential in her. With a little guidance, she could become as good as Bianca in no time.

“Good job, Fiona. Thank you,” I say, flashing her another quick smile. “I'm sorry for keeping you late. You can go home now. We'll continue tomorrow.”

Relief floods her features, and she seems to visibly relax. “Thank you, sir,” she says, rising to her feet. “Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, Fiona, and please, call me David,” I reply with a smile. She returns my smile and gives me a small nod before retreating.

Well, at least she’s one less thing to worry about.

Just as my thoughts begin to wander back to Harry, my phone begins to buzz on my desk. I typically don’t answer unknown numbers, but I am desperate for just about anything to stop my train of thought from heading back to my dead best friend.

“David Armitage,” I say, answering the call.

“Um, hi David,” a tentative female voice says on the other line. “It’s Tara… Tara Schulz,” she continues.

My heart leaps, I almost never hear from Tara since her father’s passing. I make sure to send her congratulatory cards for her accomplishments and make sure her housing and education are funded, but actual contact is rare.

“Hi, Tara, is everything okay?” I ask, coming to my senses and realizing that her calling me out of the blue, from an unknown number, is incredibly odd, and I begin to feel a slight sense of panic.

There’s a long pause before she answers. “Yeah… sort of. I got arrested at a protest for that new building going in by Lake Union,” she starts. I know the building she’s talking about, it’s a rival energy company who is erasing all the good they are doing by erecting a massive warehouse in one of Seattle’s few undeveloped lakeside plots. “It was a misunderstanding,” she continues, “but I need someone to come down here and sign my release papers. I was wondering if you could do that?” She sounds so nervous, like she’s not sure I would show up for her. Little does she know, I have been desperate to see someone who grieves Harry like I do. I would show up for her no matter what.

“Of course, I’ll be right there,” I reply, already walking out of my office. She tells me which station she is at before hanging up, and before I know it, I’m in my car racing through Seattle at rush hour to get to her.

Inside the precinct, I find a pleasant female officer who guides me through the process of signing the release papers. Then after, she asks me to sit in a chair by the corner while she goes fetch Tara. I thank her and lower myself onto one of the waiting chairs.

A few minutes later, the female officer comes back with Tara trailing behind her, head bowed contritely. I rise to my feet, ready to lecture her on the importance of staying out of trouble but then the officer steps aside, giving me a full view and my heart does an involuntary lurch at the sight of her.

Damn, she's certainly grown up since I last saw her.

She's no longer the teenage girl that I pictured in my head. She has grown into a drop-dead gorgeous woman with curves in all the right places.

She didn't even have to do too much to turn heads. Like now, she's dressed simply in jeans and a pretty blue blouse that perfectly complements her fair skin. Her long blonde hair cascades down her shoulders, framing her face like a golden halo. She raises her head and time seems to stop as her eyes meet mine. Those gorgeous, expressive green eyes instantly set my heart thrumming with nostalgia... and something else. Something deeper, something forbidden.

“Thanks so much for coming,” she says slowly, taking a hesitant step toward. “I- I'm so sorry for bothering you.”

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