Chapter One #2
I wave goodbye to Wren and walk away, leaving them to it.
At the edge of the bar, I come to a stop, and Luke pauses beside me. I turn to face him. His gaze skims the crowd around us, then comes back to me. He straightens, linking his hands behind his back.
I make a guess. “You have a military background?”
“Yes. Ex-New Zealand Defence Force, ma’am.”
“Army?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where did you serve?”
“Alongside Allied Forces in Afghanistan.”
“How long have you been out of the army?”
He pauses, then says, “Four months, ma’am.”
It’s not long. I wonder why he left? I’d like to ask, but I don’t want to be rude. Although I’ve snapped at him, I’m annoyed at Marcus, not at him per se.
“So you’re used to taking orders, right?” I say instead.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So if I order you to leave me alone?”
“I’m afraid I only take orders from my commanding officer.”
“Marcus.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He’s hardly your commanding officer,” I scoff.
Then I realize something—when he first approached me, he told me I don’t answer to you, I answer to Marcus.
He made that very clear to me. “You called him Marcus,” I say slowly.
“Not Mr. Ashford.” He doesn’t reply, and I continue, “Do you know him? I mean, personally?”
He hesitates again, then says, “We went to high school together.”
It’s then I realize why he seems vaguely familiar. “You came to the beach that year,” I say, “during the hot summer.”
His lips curve up. “Yeah.”
“You went surfing, with Marcus and the boys.”
“Yeah.” He says it distractedly, his gaze moving to the side as if he’s looking at someone. I glance over my shoulder, but don’t see anything, and when I look back at him, he’s returned his gaze to me.
I remember him now. He must have joined us maybe half a dozen times that year.
He was tall, dark, and impressive, even back then.
Sixteen-year-old me found it difficult to drag my gaze away from his muscular body.
He was damned good on the board, too, and I also remember him playing rugby on the beach with the others, tackling other guys and sending them into the sand head first more than once.
He didn’t even glance my way, though. I remember it as a summer filled with yearning. I’d been tempted to pluck up the courage to ask Marcus if he’d introduce us, but something had told me he’d do his big-brother thing and put me in my place, exactly the same way as he’s doing now.
“So you’re old friends,” I say softly, “and because of that he assumes you’ll do what he says.
” I move closer to him so I can speak in a low, menacing voice, and poke him in the chest. “Well, I’ll tell you now, mister, he can think again.
This is twenty-first century New Zealand.
Women have equal rights here, and I will not be bullied into having a bodyguard when I don’t want one. Do you hear me?”
His brown eyes meet mine through the holes of his mask. They’re incredibly dark, almost black. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. I would’ve assumed I’d shocked him with my courageous speech, but he doesn’t look shocked. Instead, he looks a mixture of exasperated and amused.
Finally, he replies in a similar low voice.
“With all due respect, ma’am, although I appreciate what you’re saying, I reiterate that I work for Marcus, not for you.
He’s the one who hired me, and he’s made it very clear that I’m to stay within six feet of you at all times. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
I inhale, outraged. “You realize this means we’re at DEFCON 5?”
“We don’t use the DEFCON system in New Zealand, ma’am, and besides, I think you mean DEFCON 1, if you’re implying this situation mirrors the outbreak of nuclear war.”
He’s fucking teasing me now. I’m so angry, I could spit.
“You’re going to regret this post with every cell in your body,” I advise.
“I’m one step ahead of you.”
“Good. I hope I drive you nuts.”
“Like I said, one step ahead of you.”
“Ma’am,” I prompt sarcastically.
“Ma’am,” he repeats, eyes gleaming.
“Why?” I snap. “Why would you take a job working for a woman who already hates your guts, and she doesn’t even know you yet?”
“Because I need the money, ma’am.”
“I’ll give you a million dollars to fuck off right now.”
He gives a short laugh and slides his hands into his trouser pockets. “Sorry, no deal.”
I’m not going to be able to force him to go. It’s Marcus I should be angry with, and my father, not Luke.
Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.
“Seriously,” I say, “please stop calling me ma’am. It’ll drive me crazy. My name’s Aurelia.”
He doesn’t answer.
“So you’re leaving now,” I say sulkily.
He nods again. “I believe you’re spending the next few days at your parents’ home, so you’ll have no need for a CPO while you’re there. Monday’s a public holiday, too, so I’ll start work on Tuesday the twenty-eighth. You go to the gym in your apartment building at six a.m., right?”
“Yes,” I say grudgingly, annoyed that he knows.
“I’ll start doing my workouts there with you.”
“Going to come and have your nails done with me, too?” When he doesn’t reply, irritation flares. “You know the other security officers couldn’t keep tabs on me, right?”
“They weren’t in my league, ma’am.”
“Ohhh… so you think you’re a cut above the competition, do you?”
“I do.”
“And modest with it. I’m remarkably good at giving guys the slip. It’ll be an interesting challenge.”
His jaw knots, but he doesn’t reply.
Annoyed that he’s not taking the bait, I add, “If you make two weeks, I’ll be very surprised.”
He fixes me with a hard stare. “Ma’am…” He says the word forcefully, making it clear he’s not going to do as I say.
“I’ve been hired to keep you safe, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do, until Marcus says I’m no longer needed.
I’m sure I’ll piss you off on a daily basis, but it won’t make any difference.
Now, I’ll leave you to enjoy the evening, and I’ll see you on Tuesday morning. Have a great Christmas.”
I stand there with an open mouth, watching as he turns and walks toward the main doors. His long speech has taken my breath away. He spoke with authority and determination, and I have no doubt he meant every word he said.
I shut my mouth with a snap. Well, he might think he’s a superior being, but he doesn’t know me. I refuse to take this lying down. I’m not going to let anyone tell me how to live my life.
This poor guy has finally met his match.