Page 9 of Like a Hurricane

“I can see the system was deactivated at twelve fifteen,” The woman says impatiently, “and reset at three.”

“I know this,” I snap, “I didn’t deactivate it.”

“Please hold.”

“Are you serious right –” I’m cut off by static infused hold music. “Fuck.”

With the phone pressed to my ear, I head through to my room, throwing myself down onto the stool in front of my vanity so I can at least look fully presentable for dads meeting. Hitting the loudspeaker button, I lay my cell on the table and begin to apply my makeup, my nerves shot while that damn hold music threatens to make my ears bleed.

I’m halfway through applying my liner when the woman crackles back through the speaker, “Miss Lauder?”

“I’m here.”

“It appears there was a technical glitch that effected a select number of customers last night.”

“A technical glitch?” I repeat, the knots in my stomach unraveling slightly.

“Yes, ma’am, we are sorry for the inconvenience, but we can assure you our technicians fixed the problem as soon as they were alerted.” Her robotic voice grates on my patience.

“And you didn’t think it necessary to let me know? I thought someone accessed my home.”

“We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Right. Okay.” I say, forcing a breath out my lungs and telling myself to calm the fuck down. It wasn’t this woman’s fault, even if her service left much to be desired. The main thing here was that no one had broken in last night. Perhaps it was just paranoia that woke me and a dream that made me think I was being watched. It happens. I sleep like shit most of the time, have done so since I was kid –thank you, trauma– so it wouldn’t be impossible. “Thanks for your help.”

“Of course, ma’am,” She says, “And thank you for choosing Garrison & Son security. Have a great day.”

There is no time to even say goodbye since the woman hangs up before I can even get my mouth open.

It was fine, I tell myself. No one was in here.

I finish getting ready and shove my feet into my shoes, plucking up the keys to my car before I exit and lock up.

I have perfected the art of walking in stilettos in all kinds of weather, rain, ice, snow but the damn cold would kill me one day. It has been snowing for the last twenty-four hours and while the roads had been kept mostly clear, the same couldn’t be said about the sidewalks. I blast the heat the moment I get the engine on and hit the button to start my favorite playlist before I pull away. The hotel was only twenty minutes from me, so I make it there with plenty of time to spare. Parking in my designated spot under the hotel, I take the elevator to the lobby, sighing with the warmth that chases away the winter chill.

“Miss Lauder,” Diana, one of my father’s oldest employees smiles kindly at me and I lift a hand in greeting, only to freeze in my tracks.

The man from my father’s office and the sidewalk outside the restaurant, is standing in the lobby. He leans casually against one of the marble pillars that stand proudly from floor to high ceiling, legs crossed at the ankles, hands buried in his pockets. Oozing casual indifference and tempting mystery.

I didn’t know who he was or what business he had with my dad but there was somethingoffabout him.

He was as devastating as he was that first day I saw him, all dark and enigmatic like. His mouth kicks up into a half smile when he sees me staring and he dips his chin as if in greeting, his eyes wandering down the length of me in a slow, deliberate perusal before coming back up.

I swallow.

What was it about him that screamed red flags? The boyish, playboy charm he seems to let off? Or was it the underlying threat I knew he possessed? There was just something about him that I didn’t quite like.

And I certainly didn’t like how he just kept popping up. Had my dad hired me a bodyguard without telling me? That was the only explanation I could think of.

The man starts towards me, and I spin on my shiny nude heel to get away from him. His chuckle sends the hair rising on my arm, “Miss Lauder.” He greets, matching my quick pace towards the conference room.

“Who are you?” I ask, “And why do you seem to show up out of nowhere?”

“Everett Avery,” His hand on my wrist jerks me to a stop, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Well Everett, you’re fired.”

His brow notches up in amusement, “From what exactly?”

---