Page 11 of Submitting to the SEAL's Protection

Rita grinned. “It is, sir,” she assured the man. “I’ve run into some issues with the city, and money that I allocated for furnishings has been spent to ensure the safety of the home itself. Specifically, we’ve had to cut some household appliances out of the budget.”

“And you’re wondering if we would make a donation to fill the gap?” Rita held her breath and listened as the man sighed. “I should really say no, but we’ve got some extra inventory that I know we aren’t going to sell, even with a discount.” He muttered something that she couldn’t quite make out, and then: “I’ve got a washer and dryer set and a fridge that I could donate.”

“Sir, that is amazing—”

“They’re not the latest models,” he said, running over her gratitude. “I don’t want anyone under the delusion that we’re being super altruistic—and then be disappointed and run to the news outlets with complaints when they see that the pieces are not the latest and greatest.”

“We are happy to take any donation that you’re willing to offer,” she assured. “So long as it is in working order.”

“The machines are brand new,” he promised, “but they aren’t the ‘smart’ models most people are looking for nowadays.”

She assured him that that was more than fine, then wrote down his contact information as well as arranging for a delivery date. “We’ll make sure to send you the paperwork for your taxes this year.”

After several more calls—including one particular triumph that scored her a set of laptops that she would get to surprise the family with—Rita decided to call it a day. The test results wouldn’t be in on time for anything productive to happen today. As she headed out to her car, Rita reached for her phone. She had left a message for the nonprofit’s big boss, Travis Wallerman, earlier that day with an update, and she hoped that he might have gotten back to her with some fundraising ideas. Travis had spent most of his adult life working for nonprofits before starting his own, and he had one of the longest contact lists out there. If he couldn’t come up with any ideas, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

She listened to her messages, and first began to play: “Hey, Rita, it’s Travis—”Thank God, she thought. “I’m going to send a reporter from the local newspaper out in a few days to do an interview with the team. Getting some publicity out there should help generate some local interest. Also, if you’re think you’re up for it, we can start planning a cocktail party with a silent auction. That may net us some funds for future projects too.” She saved his voicemail to her phone; she could start working on an invite list for the cocktail party tomorrow.

Rita nearly put her phone away then, eager to get home. She was grabbing dinner with Keanie, who wanted all the juicy gossip on her “new boo thing,” and then she had plans to meet up with Jared. Closing the jobsite for the time being meant that she hadn’t seen him in a few days, and she had gotten a text from him this morning with a command to be at his house at 10:00 that night with plans to stay over. It was arrogant and presumptuous, and she would be a liar if she said it didn’t turn her on just as much as everything else he did. She only remembered that there even was a second voicemail just as it started to play. “You fucking bitch. You’re going to pay.”

The voice on the other end of the line held such anger that her hands began to shake automatically in response. She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. There was no way that it was Tuck, right? He didn’t know her new number—didn’t have any of her contact info. When Rita had moved across the country to get away from him, she’d also taken the precaution of changing not just her phone number but also her phone carrier. She’d wanted a fresh account that he had never been on. That would ensure he couldn’t sweet-talk some naïve customer service employee into sharing her information since he had, at one time, been listed as her next of kin.

But, then again, if it wasn’t Tuck, who else would call and leave such a vitriolic voicemail? And if it was Tuck… Her stomach swirled uneasily at the thought of him coming back into her life in any way. Finding her number wasn’t a guarantee that he would find her address, but she couldn’t quite manage to push that fear away. She almost called Jared…but decided that it was likely nothing. She was going to see him tonight; she could tell him then.It’s time forthatconversation, she thought.

* * *

Rita was starting to question her friendship with Keanie. They’d agreed to drinks, nothing more—but for some reason, she was now attending a Rascal Flatts concert. She hadn’t realized her roommate was such a rabid country music fan until they’d been living together a few months and she’d come home from work early to find Keanie dancing around the apartment and belting out a song by Miranda Lambert about broken hearts and cutting your bangs. Keanie was supposed to meet up with her boyfriend, Chad, to see the show—he had bought the tickets for her birthday—but he’d hurt his back lifting something far too heavy at the gym. She had begged Rita to come; she didn’t want to go alone or try to sell the extra ticket last minute.

Unlike her roommate, Rita wasn’t a fan of country music. She found it a touch sappy for her taste. But she could deny the younger woman nothing. After sending a very reluctant raincheck to Jared, she could do nothing but agree. Donning her cowboy hat, a gift from a grateful Chad, Rita looked at herself in the mirror.This is going to be a long night, she thought as she grabbed her car keys and purse.

Luckily for her, the evening started with dinner. She hadn’t taken a lunch earlier, and she could not have lasted the length of the concert without giving in and buying something greasy and regretful from one of the concert vendors. She met Keanie at an Italian place near the concert venue. As the women were seated for dinner, Keanie ordered mango mojitos for the both of them. Rita looked at her, quirking her eyebrow up in question. “What happened to lemon drops?” Those had been Keanie’s drink of choice for at least the past eight months. Rita had been looking forward to the sour-sweet drink.

“I tried these a few weeks ago and loved them…I just hope they’re as good here as they were at the Teppan House.” Keanie looked around the restaurant. “I think you’ll like this place; it’s usually my go-to before concerts. Sometimes you’ll get lucky and run into a performer. It’s a good time to get a picture,” she explained as she scanned the restaurant, looking disappointed at the lack of celebrities. “But that’s usually after the show. Maybe we can come here after the concert for dessert.”

Rita shrugged. “Chad asked that I make sure you have fun since he can’t, so coffee and dessert later sounds good to me.”

Clapping her hands gleefully, Keanie set the menu aside while they waited for their drinks. “The man is a saint,” she cooed, and then propped her chin on her hands. “So how was work today?”

“Not much got done,” Rita admitted. “We’re still waiting on those clearances, so it was just me at the jobsite.”

“That’s creepy.”

Rita wanted to disagree, but then she thought back to that angry voicemail on her phone. It might have been a little less scary if she hadn’t been all alone when she’d listened to it. She opened her mouth to tell Keanie about the threat, but then the waiter showed up with their drinks on a tray. Keanie took hers and gave it a quick sip. “Oh, yeah,” she crooned. “Mighty tasty.”

Laughing, Rita once again pushed down that feeling of dread and sipped her own drink. “Not bad,” she concluded. It wasn’t something that she would order herself, but it wasn’t horrible.

“Not bad?” Keanie clicked her tongue. “Girl, you need to get out and have some fun.” As Rita choked on her drink, Keanie narrowed her eyes at her. “Unless you already are.” At the guilty expression on Rita’s face, Keanie turned her full focus toward her. “Spill it.”

“Um, well, you know that guy…” Rita started.

“The one from the dressing room?” interrupted Keanie. “You saw him again? Where? When? Why didn’t you tell me?” While Rita had told her roommate about Jared after their first intimate encounter, she’d been keeping it to herself since their affair had happened again…and then again. She might not be avoiding Jared anymore, so long as she could help it, but talking about the whole thing seemed to be acknowledging that it might just be something real.

She played with one of her curls. “He…sort of works for me.”

Keanie’s eyes went wide. “What?”

Rita nodded. “Yeah, my volunteer coordinator brought him on as the general contractor on our current project. He’s actually really good, and the organization is talking about hiring him to handle the GC duties for all our projects going forward.”

Keanie waved her hand at her friend. “Yeah, yeah,” she said “What. Else?” Rita felt her cheeks fill with heat. Rita tried to stammer out an explanation, but Keanie interrupted her. “Iknewyou looked different. You’ve been all glowy and stuff.”

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