Page 3 of Always Been Mine

“I’ll schedule an appointment with your doctor,” Doug said, reading her mind. She later shooed him out of the room so she could take a shower. While she let the spray ofwater wake her up, she contemplated the damage to her reputation. So far, none of her clients had canceled their appointments. Her friends Travis Blake and Nate Reece, who ran a partner security firm, Blake Security Inc. (BSI), offered to beat Eric up and make it look like an accident. All her other friends simply teased her about this whole situation. She snorted inwardly. Her clients were probably afraid of canceling on an admiral’s daughter. Though she hated leaning on the clout of her father, she admitted it had its uses.

Beatrice didn’t know what her father, Admiral Benjamin Porter, exactly did for the CIA. Their relationship was an ebb and flow. Sometimes tumultuous where they clashed, sometimes cordial, sometimes cold. Turning off the water, Beatrice grabbed a towel and dried off.

There were times when he let his guard down and showed her some genuine warmth. Those occasions were rare. Beatrice wondered if he just wanted her to toughen up for whatever life plan he had in store for her. She wasn’t obtuse enough not to realize her father’s deft manipulation of her life had landed her as a security consultant.

Doug was already pounding away on his laptop in her home office. Beatrice lived in a penthouse apartment right on Pennsylvania Avenue. She realized as a consultant, she didn’t need to rent office space and just conducted her initial meetings in one of the many swanky restaurants inundating the nation’s capital.

“I’ve already typed up a brief for your lunch appointment with Senator Mendoza and his Chief of Staff.”

“And they only want security for their delegation to South America?”

“Yes. That’s their immediate requirement.”

“Have you done a background check? Any known threats to the senator?”

“He’s a member of the Intelligence and HomelandSecurity committees, so there are the usual threats. However, there is concern regarding his travel to Colombia.”

Beatrice sighed, trying to remember what she knew about that part of the world.

Senator Alex Mendoza was second-generation Colombian American. A success story. The son of poor immigrant parents, he impressed his teachers in school and won a scholarship to Harvard and graduated with the highest honors. He would facing a delicate challenge when the Immigration and Border Security bill hit the floor early next year.

“Cocaine jungles,” Beatrice said. “Russian-supplied guns arming private armies.” She inhaled her coffee. “Source of one of the best coffee beans in the world. Should be interesting. What else is on the agenda today?”

“We have that Mayflower Charity Ball tonight,” Doug piped in.

“Ah, yes,” Beatrice scoffed. “You’re still fine as my date?”

“Of course.”

“Great. Right now, I don’t want to go by myself, what with that little scandal with Eric. The last thing I want to look like is some pathetic woman scorned.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll look great as a couple.” Doug waggled his eyebrows.

Beatrice pouted. “Why can’t you just fall in love with me?”

Her assistant smiled wryly before leaning in and giving her a kiss on top of her head. “I do love you, sweetie.”

Beatrice exitedthe G Street level of the Metro Center stop and walked up to La Grenouille—a ritzy French restaurant in the heart of DC. She checked the time on her phone. It was almost noon, and she was sure the place was already buzzing with lobbyists dressed in Armani suits. It was the first week of November, so everyone was pushing their agenda beforeCongress adjourned for the Christmas break. Heads turned her way as she neared the restaurant. She was used to the attention that her willowy, designer-clad figure attracted. She’d been approached several times by top modeling agencies, but sashaying down a catwalk held no appeal for her. No. She relished playing hardball in a business dominated by men. She thrived on the challenge. However, Beatrice was not her confident self today; she cringed at the attention. Were they looking at her as a beautiful woman, or the woman who walked in on her cheating rock star ex-boyfriend? The details didn’t even come from her. Her only response to the media was “no comment.” All the information came from the groupie who she caught with Eric.

Unbidden feelings of another rejection came to mind, one that happened one stormy night, three years ago. Beatrice shuddered as bile churned in her gut. Thankfully, she didn’t even love Eric. He was good in bed, although nowhere near as—

Damn it, Beatrice Porter. Snap out of it.

Irritated with herself, she heaved and pushed the brass bar of the wood-framed, glass revolving doors of the restaurant.

“Ah, Ms. Porter, your party just arrived,” the maître d’ greeted her. “We have you seated at your regular table.”

“Excellent.” Beatrice smiled, shrugged off her cream peacoat, and handed it to a member of the waitstaff while another led her further into the dining area toward one of the secluded corners. The nutty aroma of browned butter wafted through her nose, and the earlier turmoil in her stomach receded.

A distinguished gentleman, clearly of South American descent, rose from the table and smiled at her. Senator Alex Mendoza’s shrewd dark eyes crinkled at the corners, and a dimple appeared. “Beatrice, it’s been a while.”

“Senator.”

“How have you been? How’s the Admiral?”

“I’m fine. Dad is doing well, too.” The truth was, she had not seen or spoken to her father since the scandal broke out. Knowing him, it was his silent disapproval. Thoughts of her father didn’t linger in Beatrice’s mind for her eyes landed on the senator’s companion.Well, hello, handsome.

The senator gestured to the man beside him. “Zach Jamison, my new Chief of Staff,”

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