I’m in for a long weekend.
Yanis
Damn.
By the time I get back from my meeting with a new contact at a vineyard out near Palisade, Bree’s Jeep is gone. I’d hoped to catch her before she left, maybe give her a ride to the airport and smooth things over with her.
As usual, when it comes to Bree my judgment is clouded. I knew this assignment would push her well out of her comfort zone. I also knew she’d balk, and if I’m honest with myself, that was part of the reason I was blunt with her. I wanted to see that fire. Wanted to know if it was still there, hidden underneath years of being the calm and levelheaded member of this company, keeping the rest of us in check.
Bree has made herself invisible, in more ways than one, since I first laid eyes on that fiery ball of energy about fifteen or so years ago. My God, she was something else. All opinion, all passion, and so damn happy just to be alive, you couldn’t help but be drawn to her.
And I had been, like a moth to her flame.
Until I snuffed it out.
“Hey, Boss.”
Lena is still behind her desk.
“Shouldn’t you be heading out?”
“I will be, right after I finish this report for Bree.”
“Talking about Bree, did she get off on time?”
Lena does one of those slow head turns, and when her eyes hit me, they’re sparkling. Damn woman always has her antennae up. Little escapes her, which can be a pain in my ass, but it’s also what makes her invaluable to this office. She keeps us all in check and on schedule.
“Why, yes. Last minute, of course, but I had Radar check to see if she made her flight and she checked in.”
“Good.”
I start walking away when I hear her behind me.
“She didn’t seem happy about going, though.”
“Tough,” I say without turning around, and I hear her soft giggle as I make my way to my office.
The bullpen is empty, both my brother and Hutch already home with their women. Even Radar’s office is empty. Until recently, he’d almost always be the last to leave, but since he hooked up with Hillary that’s changed.
Fucking guys.
Guess I’m happy they’re happy, but this domestic bliss shit seems to be infectious, and I’ll be damned if I get caught up in the epidemic. Someone’s got to keep their wits about them.
I distract myself with work and barely even acknowledge Lena when she sticks her head in the door to announce she’s leaving. My discussion with the owner of the new vineyard still fresh in my mind, I start putting a proposal together to protect against the recent wave of vandalism their business has seen since opening. It works for a while, but then my thoughts start drifting.
To Bree.
Jesus, we were both young. Young and cocky as all get out. I’d just started up PASS the year before and Bree had been my first hire. She’d freelanced for GFI Investigations, a company run by Gus Flemming I signed on with after leaving the force. Not only did she come highly recommended by Gus, but I had opportunity to see her in action a few times and had been impressed.
She hadn’t disappointed—in any way—and it hadn’t been until…
No.
Not doing that now. No trips down memory lane. Not with an entire weekend open before me without one or another crisis to occupy my time and my mind.
Instead, I pick up my phone and dial while I shut down my computer and turn off my desk lamp.
“Been a while,” she answers.
“Megan. Busy?”
She chuckles warmly.
“No, actually. Perfect timing. Just got an offer accepted that’ll net me six figures, so I have cause for celebration. What did you have in mind?”
I walk through the office and turn off lights before stepping outside, my keys in hand.
“I haven’t eaten. Fancy a late bite somewhere?”
“Sure. Where?”
“Ale House? I’ll pick you up in ten?”
“Can’t wait.”
I hang up and get behind the wheel of my Yukon.
Fuck, what am I doing?
Megan Denny is the real estate agent, who helped me find a property less than ten minutes from the office a couple of years ago, where I’ve since built my house. I bumped into her again at a function a little over a year ago and spent an enjoyable night. That turned into an occasional hookup. I really can’t call it much more than that. We scratched each other’s itch.
No ties, that was understood. At least I thought it was until I recommended her to Radar when he was looking for a place. That was a mistake on my part because she took that to mean I wanted to take whatever it was we had to a different level. I didn’t.
She’s a nice woman. Good company over an occasional meal, a good time in bed—hers and never mine—but nothing more than that. She started calling more frequently and I started answering less. I haven’t actually seen her in a couple of months.
Calling her was a knee-jerk reaction, because of the direction my thoughts were taking.
They call that jumping out of the frying pan into the fire.
As I pull up to Megan’s place, I already know this night is not going to end the way she thinks it will.
And that’s on me.
Chapter Two
Bree
I’m starving.
Over the past twenty-four hours I’ve had the same amount of food I normally eat in one sitting. All to fit in this blasted dress.
“The plan is for me to keep breathing, right?” I complain as Roz laces the corset tighter yet.
“Only enough to keep you alive,” she fires back, already tiring of my grievances, and there have been a few.
For one, my hair—which is voluminous all on its own without my signature ponytail—is teased into the next zip code by Trish. She’s the near-emaciated-looking hair and makeup artist, who showed up an hour before Roz to work on my transformation.
Dear God, I feel like my face is caked in plaster and I’m terrified if I smile, cracks will form. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I don’t look anything like myself. My gray eyes are hidden by the deep brown contacts I was told to wear. Trish even tightened my jawline with some kind of skin tape hidden behind my ears and under my hair, and what she called contouring made my nose look thinner and my cheeks hollow.
Now my tits are straining out of the top of my dress. One wrong move and we could have a repeat of Janet Jackson’s Super Bowl performance right on the red carpet in front of the cameras.
I’d asked Sue earlier if there’d be food at this shindig, hoping that once I was strapped into this dress I might sneak in an appetizer or two, but at this point, I’m not so sure I could fit in a peanut. I promise myself as soon as this is over, I’m going to gorge myself on the biggest, greasiest cheeseburger I can find.
The one saving grace is the boots. They’re gorgeous and surprisingly comfortable. Although that could be because the rest of me is suffering more.
“I love the boots,” I share, mainly to say something positive after being a bear for the past two hours.
“If you can manage not to touch your face or hair all night, you can have them,” Sue bargains. The hand I was lifting to scratch an itch on my nose stays suspended in midair.