Chapter 4
KRISTA
Istood in the middle of the hotel suite with my phone in hand, staring at the chaos spread across the king-sized bed.
Designer clothes still had tags attached.
Shoes in boxes I hadn’t even opened. A jewelry case filled with pieces I would never consider buying myself.
There was an assortment of skincare products that looked like they belonged in a spa.
The suite itself was ridiculous. Huge windows overlooking Athens with a marble bathroom bigger than my entire bedroom back home. And a balcony I’d stood on for twenty minutes last night just trying to process that this was my life for the next three weeks.
The Blackwell family was very generous. They were serious about covering all my expenses and then some. There was only one person I wanted to share it with. I hit the video call button.
Dad’s face filled the screen. He was already dressed in his usual morning uniform of a faded Army T-shirt and cargo shorts. The Florida sun was streaming through the window behind him, catching the silver in his close-cropped hair. He would forever wear the high-and-tight.
“There’s my girl,” he said, grinning. “How’s Greece treating you?”
“You need to see this.” I flipped the camera around and gave him a slow pan of the suite. “This is where they’re putting me up.”
He whistled low. “Well, my goodness. That’s some fancy digs, young lady.”
“Right?” I walked toward the bed. “And wait, it gets better. They sent me a whole wardrobe.” I picked up a silk blouse that probably cost what I used to make in a week during my first deployment. “Look at this thing. I don’t even know how to wash it.”
“Don’t you dare put that in a washing machine,” Dad said, laughing. “Your mother would come back from the grave to smack you upside the head.”
I held up the blouse against my chest. “Do I look like someone who wears silk?”
“You look like someone who’s going to ruin that silk within twenty-four hours.”
“Probably.” I tossed it back on the bed and grabbed a pair of heels. “And these. Dad, these are Louboutin’s.”
“Loubi-whats?”
“Exactly.” I turned one over to show him the red sole. “They have red bottoms. That means they’re expensive.”
“How expensive?”
“I Googled it. Don’t ask.”
He laughed, that deep belly laugh I’d grown up with. The sound of it made my chest ache in a good way. I missed him. Missed our Sunday morning coffee talks when I was stateside.
“Show me what else they got you,” he said. “This is better than morning TV.”
I set the phone down, propping it against a pillow so he could see, then started holding up items one by one. A cocktail dress. Another dress. Three more dresses all from the Blackwell line. Dress suits. Stuff I would never buy for myself.
“They really think you’re going to wear all that?” Dad asked.
“I think they’re hoping I’ll blend in with the rich people.”
“You’ve never blended in a day in your life, kid.”
“Thanks for that.” I moved to the dresser and picked up one of the smaller boxes.
Inside was a bottle of perfume, the glass cut in an intricate pattern that caught the light.
I pulled it out and held it up to the camera.
“And this. Look at this thing. It’s perfume, Dad.
It probably costs more than my car payment. ”
I unscrewed the cap and took a tentative sniff. “Oh my God, it actually smells good. Like really good. Damn it.”
“What’s it smell like?”
“Like I robbed a rich lady.” I set it down and picked up another bottle. “And there’s more. Look, there’s like six different bottles here. Who needs six perfumes?”
“Women who have more money than sense,” Dad said. “Or women who marry men with more money than sense.”
“I’m neither of those things.”
“No, you’re not. You’re the kid who used to come home from school covered in mud because you were playing tackle football with the boys.”
“In my defense, I was better than most of them.”
“You were better than all of them.” Pride colored his voice. “Your grandfather would’ve loved to see you in uniform. You made us both proud.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I picked up another bottle and held it to the camera. “This is face cream. Face cream, Dad. It’s three hundred dollars.”
“Whose face is it made of?”
I set it down and laughed, knowing he was playing. I picked up a smaller jar. “And this one is eye cream. Separate cream just for eyes. Because apparently regular cream isn’t good enough for the skin around my eyeballs.”
Dad was laughing again, shaking his head. “I raised you in combat boots and cargo pants. Look at you now.”
“I’m still wearing combat boots when they’re not looking.”
“That’s my girl.”
I kept rummaging through the collection, holding up items I couldn’t even identify. Some kind of serum. A jade roller that I’d initially thought was a tiny rolling pin. Sheet masks that made me look like a serial killer when I tried one last night.
Then I spotted something tucked behind the others. A simple white and blue tube. I picked it up and my chest tightened.
I knew the lotion.
I stared at it before holding it up to the camera.
Dad went still. I watched the joyful smile turn sad.
“Your mother’s favorite,” he said quietly.
“Yeah.” My voice was gravelly. I quickly cleared my throat.
“I bought her that every Christmas. Put it in her stocking. She went through a tube a month, always had dry hands.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’d put it on before bed and the whole room would smell like it. I can still smell it sometimes, when I close my eyes.”
I turned the tube over in my hands.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” Dad said.
“A sign of what?”
“That you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” He leaned closer to the camera. “Your mother would’ve loved seeing you like this. All grown up, successful, getting flown to Greece for some fancy job. She would’ve been so damn proud.”
The lump in my throat made it hard to swallow. “I wish she could see it.”
“She can, kid. I believe that.” He cleared his throat, straightening up. “Now stop getting all emotional on me. We’re Hedleys. We don’t cry over hand lotion.”
“You’re right. We cry over sports and bagpipes like normal people.”
“Exactly.” He grinned. “So, when do you meet this playboy you’re babysitting?”
I checked my watch. “Fifty-three minutes.”
“You nervous?”
“Please. I’ve run operations in hostile territory. I think I can handle one spoiled rich boy.”
“That’s what worries me. You get bored easily. Bored Krista is dangerous Krista.”
“I’m not going to hurt him.”
“I didn’t say hurt. I said dangerous.” He gave me a look that said he knew me better than I knew myself. “Just remember, you’re there to do a job. Not to prove anything.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Because I know you. And I know that look in your eye. The one that says you’re already planning how to put this guy through his paces.”
I tried to look innocent. Failed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, you don’t.” He shook his head, still smiling. “Just try not to break him too badly. His family’s paying you a lot of money.”
“I’ll be gentle.”
“You’ve never been gentle in your life.”
“First time for everything.”
We talked for another few minutes, him filling me in on the drama at the retirement community before I had to let him go.
“Love you, kid,” Dad said before we hung up. “Make me proud.”
“Always do.”
The screen went dark and I was alone again.
I picked up the hand lotion and squirted some into my hand. I rubbed it in and then brought it to my nose to inhale.
“Mom,” I murmured.
It was floral, but not too sweet. Elegant. I closed my eyes and was immediately flooded with a memory of her reading me a bedtime story.
I shook it off. I didn’t have time to be melancholy. I looked at the bed with the many gorgeous outfits and decided not to bother. I was only meeting him. We weren’t doing anything official.
I stood in the hotel lobby, checking my watch for the third time in five minutes. He was late. Of course he was late.
I’d positioned myself near the cafe entrance with a clear view of both the main doors and the elevator banks. Old habits. Always know your exits, always control the sightlines.
The lobby was crawling with beautiful people.
Models and influencers and just pretty faces in general, everyone looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine.
Meanwhile, I was wearing cargo pants with enough pockets to carry half my tactical gear and a simple black tank top that was already sticking to my skin in the Athens heat.
The elevator chimed. The doors opened. And there he was.
Dash Blackwell looked exactly like he had at the wedding, irritatingly attractive. Dark hair perfectly tousled, designer sunglasses pushed up on his head, linen pants and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. He looked like he’d just stepped off a yacht.
He wasn’t alone. Two women flanked him, both tall and willowy with high cheekbones and flawless skin. Obviously models with legs that reached their ears. Perfect, shapely legs.
I watched them cross the lobby. Dash hadn’t seen me yet. Or maybe he had and was making me wait on purpose. Did he know it was me?
No.
I couldn’t wait to see his face when he realized I was the consultant tasked with chasing him around Greece. Adrian had warned me Dash was not happy about the idea of a consultant on his job.
They headed straight for the cafe.
I gave him thirty seconds, then followed.
By the time I reached their table, Dash was already charming the waiter, ordering champagne and orange juice. Mimosas. At ten in the morning. Why was I not surprised?
“Mr. Blackwell,” I said.
He looked up, and I saw the exact moment recognition hit.
“You,” he said.
“Me.”
“Are you following me?” It was almost funny that he looked alarmed.
“Yes, I’m being paid to follow you.”
It took him a few seconds to put it together. “Oh shit… you?”
“Still me.”
He recovered quickly, that playboy smile sliding into place like armor.
The two models looked at me with mild curiosity.
I could feel their assessment, the quick up-and-down glance that took in my simple clothes, my lack of makeup, my hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail.
They dismissed me as insignificant. I was used to it.
“Krista Hedley,” I said, extending my hand. “Your logistics consultant.”
He stared at my hand before he finally shook it. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Not a big fan of kidding when I’m on the job.”
“You’re the military chick? You’re my babysitter?”
“I prefer logistics specialist. But if that’s how you want to think of me, then yes.”
“This is Stacy and Natasha,” Dash said, gesturing lazily at the women. “They’re part of the Athens shoot.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“You smell amazing,” Stacy said, leaning toward me. “What is that? Chanel? Dior?”
Heat crept up my neck. “Oh. Uh, no. It’s just whatever lotion was in the hotel room.”
Why did I lie?
The waiter arrived with the mimosas. Dash took one and raised it slightly in my direction. “Join us.”
“I don’t drink on the job.”
“Of course you don’t.” He took a long sip, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I’m here to make sure your campaign runs smoothly,” I said.
“No thanks.”
“Not your choice and you know it.”
I saw frustration cross his face. He was working hard to keep up the unruffled appearance, but I saw the tension. We stared at each other. I refused to look away first.
Finally, he smiled. Not the playboy smile. Something else. Something that made my stomach do a weird flip.
“This is going to be fun,” he said.
“This is going to be professional.”
“Can’t it be both?”
“No.”
He laughed. “You know what? I believe you. You’re going to be absolutely no fun at all.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Ladies, can you excuse us?” he asked. “I need to consult with my consultant. Why don’t you head up to my suite? I’ll join you there soon.”
I took a seat across from him and studied his face. He looked tired. Stubble on his jaw. Dark circles under his eyes. He was much more put together at the wedding.
With his entourage gone, he quit playing the role of a playboy.
“You don’t have to be so fucking serious,” he growled.
“I’ve got this handled. My brothers are being dramatic.
I can handle the job. You can enjoy your paid vacation in Greece and leave me the hell alone.
I’ll handle the logistics of the campaign.
You can tell Adrian I’m a good boy. Tell him you’re keeping me in check. ”
I arched an eyebrow and then smiled. “Yeah. That’s not going to happen.”