Page 10 of Embrace Me Forever

I snicker, grabbing another croissant. “Well, I guess it’s time to put my chauffeur hat on.” And maybe throw on my Armani suit.

We start to disperse, Clayton sticking by my side while Rob dashes off to another meeting.

“You okay?” Clayton nudges me.

“Of course. Finally, a gig,” I reply.

“It doesn’t exactly light your fire, though, does it?”

“Whatever you and Rob need, I’ve got it covered. Think of me as your personal bodyguard. I’m not out there taking bullets, but keeping you guys out of trouble is close enough.”

The thought has crossed my mind more than once. Sometimes, taking a bullet seems simpler than unraveling people’s secrets.

Clayton laughs, elbowing me, “Just between us? Being a bodyguard doesn’t pay nearly as well as being a PI.”

“Good to know.”

Rob and Clayton discovered me when I literally took a bullet for an investment guru when he spoke at an economicconference. I wasn’t on his detail. I was just an attendee, still not sure why I was there. Perhaps it was because I was unemployed, broke, and depressed. Yet, I somehow found a reason to keep living, even after Flo was killed while waiting for me to return from an assignment she had begged me not to take.

That controversial speaker at the conference was an asshole, infamous for his abrasive demeanor and poor treatment of others. But he had a family—a pregnant wife and a young son. When I saw the gunman, I moved without thinking and shielded him. At that moment, my blood had turned colorless, as though it didn’t matter how much of it I lost.

I recovered, of course, and all I received in return was a get-well-soon card and an autographed copy of his book. But I earned something far more valuable: the attention of Rob and Clayton, who were also at the conference. The two brothers took me in when I was a wreck—mentally and financially—seeing something in me I couldn’t see in myself. Now, leading a solo life, the Hartley family is who I live for.

“Clay, I’m thinking,” I say, halting our steps. “Why don’t I pay a visit to Obsidian Moon today? The Valley isn’t far from here. Just a friendly background check, nothing more.”

Clayton ponders for a moment. “Okay. Do whatever you think is best. I’ll let Rob know.” He understands my nature. I’m a sniffer dog at heart, and the idea of not digging into this new arrival has me on edge. Maybe Georgia-May Williams is the challenge I’ve been craving.

There’s no denying it. I can’t wait to meet her.

3

GEORGIA-MAY

As the plane touches down at LAX, my heart pounds so hard I swear the passengers next to me can hear it. I gather my things, shoving my laptop into my worn leather bag. Sweat dampens the back of my blouse, my nerves flaring out of control.

The proposal I sent to Hartley Marine is a paradox. My calculations and concept are rock-solid, but I can’t ignore the fact that my persona in that document is paper-thin. In a perfect world, I’d be a high-flying CEO of a multi-million-dollar company, operating from a cutting-edge office and leading a legion of staff. But the Hartley brothers are sharp, seasoned pros who can see through any exaggeration.

Building on the reverse psychology I discussed with my sister, I wove it into my proposal. I made it clear that I want their attention for my work and that I’m a lone operator. No hiding that.

The fact that they even invited me for a meeting means one thing. I’ve got their attention. Why exactly, I don’t know yet. But my charade only needs to hold until I get the money. I’m banking on the fact that what I’m asking for is a drop in theocean compared to the billions they earn. They might just give me a chance.

Coco needs her surgery before the end of the week, or I’ll lose her.

As one of the last passengers, I step out of the airbridge and into the terminal. The overlapping conversations around me and the constant announcements over the PA system do nothing to soothe my rising anxiety. I weave through the throng of travelers, my eyes darting around for the exit.

“Ms. Williams?” A deep, confident voice cuts through the din.

I whirl, startled by the sight of a man addressing me with a tentative smile as if he fears he might lose me in the crowd. He doesn’t carry a sign, nor does he resemble a typical airport greeter.

“Ms. Williams?” he repeats.

Oh, Jesus…those eyes. I’ve never met a man whose eyes match mine—gray, neither deeper nor lighter. Yet it’s not a reflection of myself I see, but something steely, potent, dangerous. Traits I don’t believe I possess. They abandon the usual wide-eyed charm for a sharpness that tugs my thoughts from business tohim.

“Yes, that’s me,” I manage to say, my voice sounding steadier than I feel. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you earlier. I wasn’t expecting anyone to pick me up.”

“It’s quite all right. I’m Simon Blake.” He extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Blake,” I say, shaking his hand—or rather, letting him make my hand disappear in his. Look at that giant, veiny mitt. And God, he’s so warm, I almost apologize for my popsicle fingers.

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