Page 9 of Ms. Fortune

“What’s your hurry, honey?” He puts the hand I just shook onto my arm and squeezes. Tightly. Too tightly. “I wanted to talk to you about what happens next at Mischief Motors now that Victor is gone, and perhaps offer you a proposition. A business proposition, that is.” He smirks as if he’s made some sort of funny joke. I am not amused in the slightest.

I glare down at his hand on me, then up at him. The audacity of this man to lay a finger on me is more shocking than anything else. I pry his hand off my arm, still holding his gaze.

“Mr. Calnetta, as I’m sure you can appreciate, I don’t think today is the day to discuss our mutual business interests.”

The next thing I know, there’s a gentleman next to me in a suit, placing a hand under an elbow and turning me slightly.

“Ms. Blake, you’re needed in the other room.” He nods at Mr. Calnetta, pushes me away from him, and leads me into my office. Shutting the door, he says, “I’m sorry, Ms. Blake, but Mr. Carmichael asked me to keep an eye on you, and it appeared that the man you were speaking with was being aggressive. I didn’t want to make a scene, so I figured getting you away from him would be the best course of action. I hope you don’t mind my interference.”

I don’t even have a second to register what just happened. Aggressive? Yeah, I guess that was one way to put it. Too forward is more like it, but I’ve handled jerks like him before. While I’m glad I’m now away from Mr. Calnetta, I could have taken care of myself perfectly well.

“Who are you?” He’s a middle-aged man with dark skin, a bald head, a graying beard, and an all-business air about him. He hasn’t given me a name or told me anything about who he is or why he’s here, pushing me into my office. “And what are you doing here? Why are you watching me? Brandon said what…?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m Randall Keyes. I’m on the security team for Mr. Carmichael. He asked me to watch over you today.” He gives me what he must think is a smile but comes off more like a toothy scowl. I don’t know what to make of him or this whole situation.

I examine him more closely. He has a definite military demeanor. Now that I look, he’s obviously carrying a gun in a shoulder holster under his suit jacket.

“Did Mr. Carmichael happen to tell you why you are supposed to babysit me today?” I am bristling at the idea of being ‘watched’ by anyone, especially by someone ordered to do it by Brandon. This man is just doing his job, so complaining to him would be rude and useless.

He pushes his shoulders back, and I note that he’s still blocking the doorway. If I wanted to leave this office right now, I’d need to go through him. I’m not sure what kind of resistance he would put up, if any.

“No, ma’am, he did not.”

“I see.” There is a window from the office into the inner garage, but the blinds covering it are shut, so I couldn’t look out if I wanted to. “If I were to walk past you right now and out the door, would you let me?” I’m starting to feel claustrophobic at the idea of being held here against my will. My heart is beginning to speed up with anxiety. I’m not sure if this is worse than having to deal with lecherous Mr. Calnetta or not.

“You’re free to go as you please, Ms. Blake. I was merely removing you from the other situation.” He steps aside, clearing my route to the door.

I let out my breath slowly, glad that I at least have the choice. I didn’t even ask for an ID or something to prove he is who he says he is. The gun he’s carrying is ID enough for me at the moment. I’m letting my instinct guide me on this one, and I get the feeling he’s telling me the truth.

Now that I’m away from the crowd in the garage, the quiet of the office hits me. This is the first quiet moment I’ve had all day, revealing how tired I am. I can almost hear the headache coming on. Before that happens, I need to deal with Brandon.

“Is it possible for you to get your boss in here for a little chat?” I’m keeping my expression neutral, but I think Randall senses my irritation, and he looks a little nervous. I’m not sure who he’s worried about, Brandon or me. Maybe both.

“I’ll see what I can do. Excuse me.” He steps out of the office, but his voice carries through the door. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but he’s brief and is back in a few moments. “He’ll be here shortly.”

“Thank you, Randall. I appreciate that.” I wave to the door behind him. “I’m sorry, would you mind…?”

He almost bows to me. “Of course. I’ll be right outside if you need me.” And poof, he’s gone. Apparently, guarding the door to my office. It’s the oddest sensation I’ve ever felt. Like I’m in a cage and have the key, but if I use it, I’ll be in some kind of danger.

There’s a slight knock on my office door, and then Brandon walks in, swiftly closing the door behind him. I had put my head down on my arms on my desk for a moment while I waited and almost fell asleep. His rushing in startles me, and it must show on my face.

“I’m sorry; I should have waited for you to call me in.” He always seems to be apologizing. But then, he always seems to have something to apologize for.

“It’s fine,” I mutter, resting my elbows on my desk with my face in my hands, trying to gather myself. My internal batteries are drained, and I barely have the energy to have this conversation, but it needs to happen. “Please have a seat, Brandon.” I wave at the chairs across from me for him to sit.

He’s a little nonplussed I’m directing him around my office, but he’d better get used to it. He’s on my turf now, not in some fancy boardroom where he calls all the shots. We play by my rules here. He takes a seat, and when I finally look at him, my stomach does a flip, and a flutter quickens in my chest that wants to disobey everything I’m telling myself to do in response to him – like, ignore the fact that he’s hotter than Hades.

“Randall mentioned an incident out in the garage. Are you okay?” His voice is soft and low. If I let myself, I might believe he sounds genuinely concerned. I study him closer, my tired eyes examining his, trying to figure out what his game is. As handsome as he is, I can’t bring myself to trust him for some reason.

“Why did you have Randall babysitting me?” I rest my chin on my fist, narrowing my eyes at him. “Did I somehow give you a reason to believe I can’t take care of myself?”

I am not a woman to be ‘taken care of,’ nor would I ever want to be. I have the feeling Brandon is used to getting his way when it comes to women, and that includes keeping tabs on them through his security team. Just the thought of it bristles my sensibilities.

Surprised at my displeased tone, he sits a little straighter in his seat. He’s probably not used to people questioning his actions.

“I beg your pardon?” He has the good grace to at least feign confusion. “I didn’t have Randall babysit you. I asked him to monitor the surroundings for irregularities. That’s all.”

I purse my lips and frown. I don’t like liars, no matter how little the lie may be.

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