Page 240 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
I held back a sigh, gritting my teeth. "I'll be sure to tell him you called, and I'm certain he will call you back right after the meeting."
"Don't fucking hang up," he growled. "I want to speak to your boss, right now. So get him on the line."
"He's in a mee--"
"I don't care if he's on the fucking can. Get him."
I stood up, taking the cordless phone from my ear and stomping towards the conference room. There was no dealing with Jansen. He didn't respect women, or subordinates. Probably both. Besides, putting him in his place was above my pay grade. Let Dad deal with his bullshit.
The conference room was empty, but the door to the safe was open. I headed towards the safe, covering the microphone on the handset as I approached my father. Walking into the safe, I discovered two ex-military men delighting over the racks of firearms like a group of ladies who lunch at a designer handbag sale.
Just another ordinary day at work. Welcome to my life.
CHAPTER 3
JACK
I was already satisfied with my decision to work for Douglas Smith. The man radiated a cool calm that I envied now more than ever. He'd outlined the work I'd be doing for the company, and the sort of clientele they dealt with. It sounded like a fairly routine security detail for those who could afford the best in the security business.
"We're excited that you're here," he'd said with a genuine grin on his weathered face. Then his expression turned serious. "It's not easy to make the transition back into the civilian world," he said, his voice low.
Smith had made that transition for himself, back when Matt was just starting high school and Emma was still in 6th grade. His wife had died while he'd been abroad, and he'd immediately requested a leave of absence. Smith couldn't leave his family alone by returning to active duty, nor did he want them cared for by someone else.
The family was grieving, and his children needed him. So Smith had done the right thing and put in for retirement. He'd gone from taking out bad guys to cooking breakfast for his children every morning. Talk about a tough transition.
His voice roughened. "We're here for you if you need us."
I thanked him. "I appreciate it. And I'm grateful for the job."
"You'll do well, I'm certain. And, unlike active duty, you get to sleep in your own bed every night."
It wouldn't be like the desert, but the new job would be enough to keep me on my toes. After the position rundown, Smith got a gleam in his eye. Saying he had something to show me, my new boss led me to a bookshelf that looked like the others in the room. This one, however, held a keypad hidden behind a volume of Sun Tzu's Art of War. He hit a few digits and the bookshelf swung open.
It wasn't a bookshelf. It was an armored and alarmed door that led to a gigantic walk-in gun safe. My eyes widened as I took in all the pieces, from assault rifles to handguns. Cases of ammo. Scopes. Clips. Kevlar vests. There was even a shelf of knives and brass knuckles. The holy grail of assault weaponry, at your fingertips.
I was giddier than a kid in a candy shop, and I could see that Smith shared my enthusiasm. He pointed out a few pieces he preferred, and we engaged in a lively debate about the merits of 9 millimeters versus .45s.
Without warning, Emma popped into the safe, holding a phone in her hand. Her face was strained, and I could tell she wasn't pleased with whomever was on the other line. Her hand covered the microphone, but she still spoke in a whisper. "He wants to talk to the boss and won't take no for an answer."
Smith seemed to pick up on it as well. He mouthed the word, "Dexter," and when Emma nodded, he scowled. With an uncharacteristic roll of his eyes, Smith apologized, muttering that he has to take the call. Emma passes him the phone, and he takes it, walking out of the safe.
And just like that, I'm left alone with the boss's daughter.
I still couldn't believe how Emma had matured. She'd grown into her gangly body in a way I never could have anticipated. She was perfectly formed, with tan, lithe limbs and skin that looked softer than velvet. She glanced around the room and then back to me, her eyes on the pistol I was holding loosely in my left hand.
With a playful look in her big hazel eyes, she grinned. "Having fun yet?"
I nodded, a bit embarrassed. If such a thing as a 'gun geek' existed, I was definitely one. Returning the handgun to its place, I buried my hands in my pockets.
"So," she said, as much to fill the silence as anything, I assumed, "getting settled in all right?"
It looked like we were going to make chit chat. When we were younger, I hadn't talked much to Emma. What did I have in common with a sophomore girl anyway? Now we were adults and different rules applied. We were coworkers now. I'd have to talk to her every day.
I didn't understand why my words dried up whenever she entered the room. What was it about grown-up Emma that made me feel like a stupid high school boy in front of his crush?
"Yeah," I said finally, feeling lame but knowing I couldn't let the silence stretch out between us for much longer without her thinking I had something wrong upstairs. Not that I didn't have something wrong upstairs, but I didn't need her to know that.
"Where are you staying?" She looked relieved that I'd remembered how to speak.
