Chapter Two
Cade
Walking toward the stairs leading to our security building, I ignore the mob gathered on the street. This corner is terrible for business. I shake my head. Not that I have problems ignoring the bullshit. I didn’t sign up to take part in the neighborhood watch program.
The sound of the sirens grows louder as yelling voices mutter back and forth. My gaze shifts to the street, but I can’t even avoid the train wreck this time.
Shit. Is that Lola? The woman in question is flat on her ass in the middle of the street–one heel is lying abandoned beside her, and her hair sticks out in all directions. The red of her shoe faces the building. Damn it. That’s her.I’d recognize those shoes anywhere. They’ve wreaked havoc on my dreams for the last week, and no one else would be dumb enough to wear them in this neighborhood.
An older, purple-haired woman dressed in her Sunday suit, in the color of pink cotton candy, dangles her purse behind her. Fuck. My teeth grind together. I told Truman that hiring her was a bad idea, and now look at this mess.
She’s too young. Too attractive. Okay. I didn’t share that newsflash, but anyone who looks at her and doesn’t acknowledge it is lying to themselves. No one will take her seriously. She has no experience in the security field–unless we suddenly need an expert shopper to pick out our company polo shirts.
And if this fiasco indicates her street smarts, she doesn’t have any. Then there’s the small problem of her face being plastered all over the tabloids. She’s a socialite with daddy issues and the last person Truman should’ve hired.
Damn it. It’s not my business. She’s not my business. This is Truman’s shitshow.
I take a step toward the stairs when the police cruiser turns onto the street, sirens wailing and lights flashing. I take one last glance over my shoulder as Lola straightens her once black skirt that’s now covered in dust.
“God, she’s fucking trouble,” I mutter.
My eyes travel lower to her legs and linger there. They happen to be two of her best assets, leading to the sweet swell of the curve of her backside. That ass of hers has been front and center of those fucked up dreams I’ve been having. Which is ridiculous because she might have a mouth that looks like it’s made for sex, but she’s not my type. I prefer my women to be submissive and prepared to do my bidding.
I jog up the steps as sweat trickles down my back. The morning sun beats down on my black T-shirt, making it feel hotter than it is. I stuff my pickup truck keys into the front pocket of my BDUs and swipe my ID through the scanner.
A shudder rips down my back as I open the door. Shit. Truman asked me to keep an open mind. If he finds out I let Lola deal with whatever crap she’s found herself in without coming to her rescue, he’ll be pissed off. Not to mention, the news crews will be here any minute, and they’ll have a field day once they find out who she is.
“Truman, old man, you owe me one.” It’s time to do some serious damage control and get her out of here.
***
Lola
From the corner of my eye, I sense movement. I raise my hand above my eyes and block the piercing glare of the sun as it slips through between the buildings. Cade. Perfect. My humiliation is now complete. Mr. January approaches the scene with a furrowed brow and anger glinting in his eyes. Peachy.
The few times I’ve seen him haven’t done justice to the harshness of the man striding toward me. My stomach rolls, and I scramble to my feet, backing away from the woman who’s still dangerously close to swatting me with her purse again.
You don’t have to impress him. I steal my back and straighten my upper torso. He’s not important.
“Ms. Sutherland, please step aside.” Cade points to a spot behind him on the sidewalk.
“What?” I sputter. “I have everything under control.” Okay, nothing is under control. But I’m not about to have a man take care of my problems. I’ve gotten myself into this mess. I can get myself out of it.
As the police car rolls to a stop, the sirens trail off, with only the lights continuing to flash. The few observers remaining stand to the side, waiting for the police to conduct their investigation. If I had to guess, they’re hoping to see me shoved into the back of a police car while wearing handcuffs.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll step out of the way and let me handle this.”
What in the fuck?
“Who do you think you are?” I tip my chin up and glare at him in disgust. And by ‘up,’ I mean with my one high heel still secured to my foot, I’m lopsided, and he towers over me by a good eight inches.
“Do you want your name in the paper or your face on the 9 o’clock news tonight? You’ll be lucky if we don’t find a video of this on social media.” He leans forward and speaks where only I can hear him. “What’re you going to do if they connect you with your father?”
“Fine,” I grind out between clenched teeth. If my dad finds out what I’m doing, he’ll have my brothers on the next flight to Kansas City to haul me back home. “You’re right. Let me explain.” My gaze streaks over the carnage, taking it in as it would appear to him. It has clusterfuck written all over it. “It’s not what it looks like. I saw this woman on the ground and this teen grabbing her purse. How was I supposed to know it was her grandson?”
“Yes, I’m sure anyone would make the same mistake.” Cade’s voice drips with sarcasm.
“It wasn’t my fault. The kid tried to grab her purse, and she jerked it away. It made sense that he was trying to steal it.”
During my interview, Mr. Truman preached that I should keep a low profile, and now, I’m going to get fired after five days on the job. That might be a world record. Of course, that would be the world record I’d beat. Why couldn’t I go for making the world’s largest Popsicle or something inane like that?
“Let me take care of it.” His steely gaze finally leaves mine.
The police officer chats with the injured woman, “I promise, young man. If I need medical attention, I’ll seek it. I’m feeling fine.”
Cade stands to the side, waiting for them to finish. When the officer moves on to the driver to gather his side of the story, Cade approaches her. I shift from one foot to the other.
My arms swing outward as I stumble. Dumbass, you have a broken shoe. My face surges with heat as I catch my balance.
“Ma’am.” He lays his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I gag over the sugary tone that oozes from his mouth like gooey frosting dripping off the edge of a cake. The hard lines vanish from his face, making him appear younger. I’d initially pegged him to be close to forty, but I’m guessing he’s nearer to thirty.
“It was only a bump. I’m fine, but my grandson, on the other hand, might not be so lucky. No thanks to that busybody over there.” She purses her lips together, accentuating the deep crevices around her mouth, and points toward me. “She attacked my grandson.”
“I apologize. I forgot to introduce myself.” He sticks out his hand. “My name is Cade Hughes. And you are?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hughes. My name is Mrs. Collins, Marie Collins, and this is my grandson, Jeremy.”
After shaking her hand, he turns toward the young man, who now looks like the apple of his grandmother’s eye. His hood is pulled back, and his pants are secure at his waist. “Son, are you hurt? Is anything broken?”
The boy puffs out his chest. “Ain’t no girl gonna hurt me. She ain’t no bigger than a gnat. I didn’t want to hurt her. If she weren’t a girl, I’d of kicked her ass.”
I lurch forward. “Now, listen here.”
Cade twists his head around and glowers. His cheekbones twitch as he grinds his teeth together.
Shut up, Lola. Maybe now isn’t the time to become a skilled backtalker. Proving I’m right is not going to help in this situation. Let him smooth things over, and go on about your day.
Marie cuffs Jeremy on the back. “Ain’t isn’t a word.”
“Sorry, Grandma.” He stares at his shoes.
“Sir, I’m sorry she knocked you down. You were right not to retaliate. You should be proud of yourself for not hitting a lady.”
“She ain’t no lady.” Jeremy smirks in my direction. He jerks his head around to face his grandmother and flushes. “Sorry, Grandma. Isn’t. She isn’t a lady.”
My hands ball into fists. I went to a private school where they pounded in manners morning, noon, and night. I know how to cross my legs. How to bend down to avoid showing my panties. And how to look at the outline of a man’s penis without anyone noticing.
Fine. That last part, they didn’t teach in the classroom.
“Unfortunately, she thought you were trying to swipe your grandmother’s purse. Obviously, she was misguided and should’ve realized you weren’t the type to rob someone.” Cade places his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and leans closer like they’re confidants.
The first conversation I’ve ever had with Mr. January is going to forever be–this one. Rumors have swirled that he thinks Mr. Truman made a mistake in hiring me. Now, he’s going to wave his red flag–high and proud. Termination, here we come.
Cade stares into Jeremy’s eyes as sincerity rolls off him in waves. “However, we can agree that as foolish as she was in mistaking you for a criminal, her heart was in the right place. If your grandmother had truly needed assistance, you would’ve appreciated her help.”
The boy nods. “You’re right. I guess she did a good deed, didn’t she, Gram?” He places his arm around his grandmother’s shoulders.
Marie beams at her grandson and then at Cade. “Young man, I guess you’re right, but I wish you were here instead. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders and wouldn’t make such bad judgment calls.”
What a crock. Like Cade needs a bigger ego. I’m not sure how he fits his head through the door as it is.
“Well, thank you, Ma’am. I’m glad I could be of help.” He smiles, and my heart skips a beat. And another. I’ve never seen him smile. He was dangerous to my libido as it was, without knowing he had dimples.
In a matter of moments, he’s channeled a drill sergeant, a good ole Southern boy, and finally, a drop-dead gorgeous heartthrob. It should be illegal. He should be illegal. No one should have rock-hard abs and dimples. God shouldn’t be cruel to mere mortals.
As much as I hate it, I must thank him for keeping me out of the headlines and from the back of a squad car. And beg him not to tell Mr. Truman about the incident.