Page 19 of Protect Thy Enemy

Iofficially lost count of the days, but Holden Grant’s smug face still lives rent-free in my head.

“You keep telling yourself that.”His words replay on an endless loop, a mix of criticism and disdain that burrows under my skin. Never mind that I executed that simulation flawlessly. Or at least I thought I did. It wasn’t enough. Nothing ever seems to be enough for him.

So here I am, two hours before my normal alarm, sparring with my old friend and trainer, West, in a desperate attempt to burn off the frustration that’s been bubbling at the surface since I started this new job.

He throws a right hook, and I dodge, my body moving on instinct. I counter with a low kick that lands squarely against his side, earning a grunt.

“Jesus, woman,” he wheezes, stepping back and holding up his hands. “What’s gotten into you this morning? Youtryingto kill me?”

“Just trying to get my head straight,” I reply, shifting my weight and circling him. My fists clench as the memory of Grant’s scowl flickers in my mind. “Rough day at work yesterday.”

West raises an eyebrow. “Rough, huh? You beat up a coworker again?”

“He grabbed my ass. That waswarranted.” I scowl, slightly offended as I recalled the incident from two years ago. “But no, though I wish I could. Supervisor is giving me trouble, that’s all.”

West smirks, stepping back to shake out his arms. “Supervisor, huh? Let me guess, he thinks he’s God’s gift to the agency?”

I huff, crossing my arms. “Something like that. He acts like I can’t do anything right, like I’m the annoying gum stuck under his shoe.”

West tilts his head, studying me. “Sounds like a prick.”

“Prick is putting it lightly,” I mutter.

He throws a jab, and I block it easily, deflecting his follow-up with a sharp pivot. “So what’s his deal?” West asks, pressing forward with a combination of punches I dodge on instinct.

“Grant? His deal is that he’s an insufferable perfectionist who doesn’t know how to give a compliment if his life depended on it.” The words spill out before I can stop them, and my next kick is a little harder than necessary.

West catches it, his grin widening. “Hold on. Grant, as in Holden Grant?”

I blink. “You know him?”

“Not personally, but everyone’s heard of him. He’s got a reputation.” Of course, I don’t know why I’m surprised his sunny personality is known outside the White House.

Our very own hometown Grinch.

“For being an arrogant jackass?”

West laughs, shaking his head. “No, for being good. Like, stupidly good. The kind of good that makes people nervous. Three-time Valor Award recipient.”

I know that already. I may or may not have googled him a couple of times. Okay, maybe a hundred. His background is extensive. I was searching for an advantage, but I’ve never seen someone with a profile such as his.

Every time I thought I'd read everything, more just popped up. A new article, a new medal he won. A new president’s hand he was shaking. Those piercing blue eyes followed me to every web page I opened.

Thankfully, shame has no home here because I kept looking. It was nearly past midnight when I called it a night.

However, there was something about all of it that made me curious. Agent Grant still looks to be in his prime, so why was he teaching instead of doing? I know how the old saying goes: those who can’t do, teach, but he still looks to be very capable of doing.

Not to mention, he has the patience of a two-year-old, so I’m not sure teaching is his strong suit.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, he’s also the kind of good that makes people want to punch him in the face.”

West holds up his hands, palms out. “Easy there, tiger. Don’t take it out on me.”

I take a step back, exhaling sharply. “Sorry. He just…he gets under my skin, you know?”

I don’t know why. Maybe it’s that look in his eyes, like he can see my deepest, darkest secrets.

West’s smirk softens into something more thoughtful. “You sure it’s just irritation? Because the way you’re talking, it sounds like there’s more to it.”

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