Page 423 of Still Here

Which begs the question; why do I want to work in security with all the meatheads? It started as a sheer stubbornness; I should be able to if I want to. Once I went on a few jobs, I found I really enjoyed seeing into people’s lives. And after protecting a few who might not have lived, or at least been unharmed, if I weren't there, I realized I liked the power in protecting people who can’t protect themselves.

And the money doesn’t hurt. C.I. is one of the few organizations that doesn’t bother to pay men more. Mainly because of the whole women in procurement thing. If they don’t pay us, we’ll just take it anyway.

Once again I congratulate myself for being born into a criminal organization where theft, blackmail, and nepotism are expected, if not encouraged.

When I check the chalkboard for my assignment, I groan. Another boring day with the wife of an ascending gangster who doesn’t trust her with any of his men. Maybe he should think about getting some different men. Or a different wife.

Congratulating myself for my decision to never fall into the marriage trap, I gear up and walk out to the motor pool, and, because no one is around, I take my dad’s personal sedan. It’s the little things.

Chapter Four

I’ve coaxed Elizabeth to play hooky and hang out with me at the shop quite a few times over the last few weeks and we’ve enjoyed a few more drives. She’s skittish about either of us going to each other’s house. I’d worry about that, but I know she’s alone there. I think she’s afraid to lose her focus, so she’s keeping me in the fun zone. And it is definitely fun, even if I have yet to bury my cock to the hilt and fuck her until she begs for mercy.

Every time we hang out, I learn something new about the statuesque blonde. While I’ve always known she’s the woman for me, the more time that goes by, the surer I am I’m the man for her, too. I appreciate every single part of her; even the ones the other men can’t handle.

Today she has a black cloud over her head, and her normally keen gaze is dull. Her shoulders are a little drooped, and her hair even hangs limply down her back.

Concerned, I put my wrench down and use the clean towel I keep near because she won’t let me touch her fancy clothes with greasy hands. I cup her face between my palms and kiss the tip of her nose and croon, “What’s going on, baby? Are those boys being mean to you again?”

“Fuck off,” she growls. “You know I can kick their asses.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Please don’t hurt me.”

The black look she shoots me is nearly physical but I absorb it because her irritation has perked her up again. I spread my arms and she walks into my embrace, then tips her face downward so her forehead rests against my chest. I realize she isn’t even wearing tall shoes; she really is in a funk. Smoothing her hair down her back I glance around to be sure no one sees her being vulnerable.

“Seriously, babe. What’s got you down?”

“The Director,” she says with sneer, “put Larry in charge while George is in New York for the Concierge Summit.”

Before I can sympathize, she pulls away and says, “Forget it. I need to use the restroom.”

She walks into the office at the same time one of her teammates ducks under the partially-raised garage door. “Hey, Owen. Have you seen Lizzie? Watch out; I think she’s on the rag or something. You’re a brave man, I gotta tell you.”

He slaps my shoulder cheerfully, scans the room one more time, then ducks under the door, probably not even hearing my yelled, “Watch your fucking mouth.”

Shaking my head, I turn to see Elizabeth standing there looking outside with wide eyes. I immediately wish I’d punched him in the face, but he was already moving out of the bay when my brain caught up with his words. Disappointed eyes turn toward me, feeling like a punch in my gut. Then she stands up straighter and her voice is normal when she asks if I’d like to join her for lunch. I check her face carefully, but her expression warns me not to say anything about the exchange.

Sighing, I say, “Of course,” and we go to grab a burger and play a game.

I watch her, I think sneakily, until she finally says, “Owen. I’m fine. Do you think that was the worst thing I’ve heard lately? Or even today?”

Thunderclouds gather over my head, and when she sees my scowl I know she wishes she could walk it back. “Please, Owen. Just drop it. If they think I need you to stick up for me, it will be even worse.”

I clench my jaw because I’d really prefer to go pound the assholes into the concrete, but I finally nod and resume chewing my bite of food. She looks relieved and the rest of our break seems normal enough. I force myself to let it go, even though it feels wrong, because she’d never forgive me if I interfered. As it turns out, I might as well have.

She isn’t angry when she calmly tells me over the phone the next day that she needs to go back to being just friends. We were never just friends in the first place, I think but don’t say. When I don’t respond, her voice takes a pleading note.

“Please Owen. I really, really like you. But it would be so easy to fall into your quicksand, and then I’ll be my mom. Home pushing out kids and burning dinner.”

“I would never—”

“Sorry. I know that wasn’t fair. But I do know I'll never make security chief if I don’t put away the part of myself that you like, for good.

“I don’t just like you,” I say, but before I can finish that thought, she interrupts me, voice breaking.

“Stop there, Owen. Please.”

The dial tone fills my head after she hangs up.

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