Page 17 of Keeping Guard
“If you want to live the rest of your life miserable, then yeah, not at all. But I don’t think you do, even if you won’t admit that to yourself.”
An image of a black-haired, blue-eyed girl shimmered in his mind. Maybe if he could kill off his demons, he could see if something was there. But he deserved to be miserable, so miserable he would stay.
“I made an appointment for you to talk to a therapist.”
Noah scowled at his friend. “Not happening.”
“Yeah, it is, and that’s an order from your commander.”
“To hell with this.” He tossed the end of Lucky’s leash at Jack. “I’m outta here.”
So he’d be AWOL. The hell if he cared.
Chapter Seven
After Noah left, Peyton unpacked her suitcases, then she got to work making a life plan. She had enough money in her savings to last seven or eight months, so that gave her breathing room to find a job. It had to be something to do with beer, preferably brewing it. Asheville was known for its microbreweries, so unless her father decided to blackball her with all of his colleagues, that should be doable.
Second on her list was to find a man who made her tingle. Sadly, that didn’t sound all that doable. Every time she tried to imagine who that man might be, she saw Noah. That left her with mixed feelings about him. He’d shown her that it was possible for her to tingle, but then he’d walked out the door, taking her newfound tingles with him. If she couldn’t find another tingle-making man, she was going to regret ever meeting Noah...what was his last name, anyway?
Other than learning that he rescued runaway brides, was a SEAL, had a dog he hadn’t named and wouldn’t explain why he lived in a temporary apartment, she knew nothing about him.
That wasn’t exactly true. She knew he was a champion of damsels in distress. She also knew he had demons, ones that had him pacing the floor all hours of the night. He would do so much better if he was staying in her guestroom. Her loft had a good two thousand more square feet to roam. And if that wasn’t enough, he could walk the streets of downtown. She would never do that in the middle of the night, but any bad person deciding Noah was easy pickings would be in for a surprise, and not a good one.
She also knew that as much as he tried to deny he wanted anything to do with Lucky, that wasn’t true, even if he didn’t realize it. She’d seen him several times rest his hand on Lucky’s head, and she thought he felt some kind of calmness from the touch. It gave her a warm marshmallowly feeling that he let her name his dog.
Gah! Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? It was aggravating. But those abs! How was she supposed to forget what Noah—whatever his last name was—looked like without a shirt? And that kiss? She touched her bottom lip. Would needing another one fall under desperate enough to call him?
“Get your mind back on the important thing,” she told herself. Like finding a job. She’d never had to job hunt and wasn’t sure how to go about it. Should she just pop in at the various breweries, ask if they needed a beer brewer? Or maybe she should write up a résumé.
If they asked for references, what should she do? Her father sure wasn’t going to give her one. Eddie would, but that would make her father furious, so she’d never ask that from him.
Her phone rang, her father’s name coming up on the screen. She was going to talk to him at some point, but she wasn’t ready yet. Half a minute later, her phone beeped, signaling that she had a message.
She wished she could delete it without listening, but what if he was calling because he realized she wouldn’t be happy married to Dalton? “Fat chance of that,” she muttered, but she brought up voice mail to hear what he had to say.
“Call me, Peyton. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but Dalton’s heartbroken.” She snorted. “Whatever made you do what you did can be fixed.”
“Can not!” she yelled at the phone, disconnecting without listening to the rest of his message. Now she was mad. Did her father even care about her, about what made her happy? Had he ever? The answer was no, and she’d never understood why she couldn’t please him, but she was over trying. In fact, she was so furious that she had things to say to him right now.
As Peyton walked through the lobby toward her father’s office, and as her black heels tapped over the wooden floor, she rubbed her hands down the black pencil skirt, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. She’d dressed in what she considered her power suit, a skirt, white blouse, and a black jacket.
Do not let him intimidate you into doing what he wants, she admonished herself as she approached her father’s office.
Lydia, his assistant, smiled at seeing her. “There you are. He’s expecting you.”
“I don’t know why. I didn’t tell him I was coming in.”
“He said to expect you.”
“Really, he said that?”
At Lydia’s nod, her steps faltered. Was she doing exactly what he expected? She almost turned around and walked out, but no. Just no. If she did that, she’d never have the courage to face him again. It was now or never.
She lifted her hand and knocked on her father’s office door. She had to be strong, and that was just what she was going to be.
“Enter,” he said.
After taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Her father studied her as she walked in. Because she spent a good portion of her days in the brewery, she normally wore jeans and a blouse unless she had a client meeting. Gerald Sutton was an observant man, and she knew he noticed her clothes and understood the reason for her power suit.
