Battle of the Bulge Page 7

  “No. You just blacked out and—”

  I start heading toward the exit. “All better. See? Catch you later, Sam!” I wave but don’t look back.

  I head toward the hotel lobby, grabbing my jacket from the coat check before going to the main driveway, where I spot Mitch getting in his limo. Two large men, who look extremely nervous with their swiveling heads, are keeping watch.

  I turn away, hoping Mitch doesn’t spot me. The last thing I want is more of this guy tonight.

  “Abi!” Mitch calls out.

  Great. I paste on a fake smile and wave to be polite before quickly going back to my phone to search for the Uber app.

  “Woman, get in the car,” he says.

  Woman. Woman? Woman! My name is Abigail Carter, and I just saved your ass, big man. So how about a little respect?

  “Uh, thanks, but I’m good.” Wanting to keep my promise to Sam—no more drama—I point at my phone so Mitch gets the gist.

  Suddenly, he’s sliding out of his limo, walking toward me. “Abi, I can’t leave you standing out here. It’s not safe. And if tonight wasn’t proof enough of how unsafe, I’ll remind you that the woman who just tried to stab me was one of many after the bounty on my head.”

  Bounty? “Why? What did you do?”

  He glares for a moment. “Who says I did anything?”

  “Well,” I shrug, “you are Mitch Hofer.”

  He doesn’t speak. Not with his mouth anyway. His eyes say that I should tread carefully. My brain says that’s a fresh invitation to fuck with him and…screw me! I can’t resist.

  “So what’d you do, huh?” I ask. “Did you paddle in some other man’s pool? Turn down a banana-hammock contest sponsored by the mob? Wait, I know. You—”

  “Get in the limo,” he rumbles.

  He doesn’t get to tell me what to do. “No, thanks.” I begin walking away. “I can take care of myself. And apparently, I can also take care of you. See you soon!”

  “Not if I can help it!” he yells back.

  Fine. Get me fired. What do I care? It’s only ten thousand dollars a month, my house, my college education, and my dream. Fuck. What am I doing? Once again, I’ve let Mitch get under my skin and allowed my pride to speak for me when I should be keeping my eye on what’s really important.

  “Wait! I’m sorry,” I yell, watching the limo pull away.

  Dammit, Abi. Why did you have to go from wallflower to ballbuster? I’ve spent my entire life biting my tongue, and now it’s like I’ve forgotten how.

  With cell in hand, I shoot off a text to Georgie, asking if we can hang out. I need to decompress. I need to talk through this crazy-ass night.

  Georgie: I’m at the Hoof N’ Brew with Elle and her friend Tass.

  I’ve never met Tass, but I’ve heard a lot about her, and a little bit of girl time is just what this bodyguard needs to clear her head. The truth is, Mitch’s opinion or actions shouldn’t matter so much, but clearly they do. I need to figure out why.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Hoof N’ Brew is the kind of bar most decent people steer clear of. It’s dirty, loud, and the hardworking patrons take their unwinding seriously. Which is exactly why it’s the kind of place a girl like Georgie can go and let loose. She belongs to one of the wealthiest families in the state, but is one of the most humble, genuine people I’ve ever met. Still, the press hounds her and the rest of her family day and night. I don’t know how Sam or any of them puts up with it. As for this hole-in-the-wall, nobody from Georgie’s high-society social circles would be caught dead here. Another small fact: her brother, Henry, owns the place.

  Henry, who is a defensive end for the Texans, bought it after his new wife, Elle, complained that there was nowhere they could go to do normal things—like watch some football at a bar with friends. So, as a gift to her, he bought this shit-kicker bar about twenty minutes from their penthouse in downtown Houston, intending to close it to the public on days when they want to hang with friends and feel like they’re out for some casual fun. But, after a few visits, Henry discovered that the rough-looking cowboy-biker bar was really more of a local watering hole, frequented by the sort of people who just like to kick back. Oh, and they hate outsiders. With a passion. So problem solved. The moment Henry bought the place and gave out a few rounds on the house, he and Elle were no longer outsiders. Now, when he’s not playing, they get to enjoy Sunday suds while feeling like regular people instead of tabloid chow. The bar patrons get to enjoy beer, often free on the days Henry shows up, with one of their favorite football players while they make sure the riffraff stays out. Riffraff being sports reporters, stalkers, and paparazzi.

  I pull into the parking lot filled with dusty pickup trucks and Harleys. A few semis are parked toward the far end of the lot, just below the billboard with the Hoof N’ Brew logo—a bull giving a karate kick to a giant mug of frothy beer. The building itself is all dark wooden siding made to look like a barn, and a cheesy neon light flashes over the doorway. 21 and over.

  I pull open the solid door, and it creaks like a warm greeting from the bar itself. Come…in…

  I step inside, and the entire room freezes. The only sounds come from the three widescreen TVs in separate corners of the establishment—one near the big bar, one near the pool tables, and the other toward the packed seating area filled with small round tables and wooden chairs. There’s a mechanical bull in the center of the room that doesn’t work. The lighting is dark, the floor is covered in hay, and the room smells like popcorn.

  Oh, goodie. It’s cheese-corn night.

  “Abi!” Georgie raises her hand to flag my attention and likely signal to the other tribe members that I’m a welcome guest.

  I jerk my head, slip off my gloves, and head to her table. I immediately spot Elle, who also happens to be Georgie’s new supergenius sister-in-law. The brunette with a tiny frame, wearing thick glasses, has to be Tassie, Elle’s once college roommate.

  “So happy you came.” Georgie stands and gives me a giant hug.

  “Good evening, ladies,” I chirp happily. “Thanks for letting me crash your night out. You have no idea how much I need this.”

  “You and me both, sister,” Elle says. “This is my first time away from the baby.”

  I completely forgot. Elle gave birth to her and Henry’s first child, a little girl, on Christmas Day. I also heard that Elle’s mother, who’d been diagnosed with cancer, was officially declared to be in remission that same week. Georgie was really relieved because she adores Elle and she’d been through a lot with her mom’s illness. It was time for everyone to catch a break.

  “Congrats on the baby. What did you name her?” I ask Elle.

  “Marie, after Marie Curie, the first woman to win a Nobel Prize for her work in physics.” Elle offers a proud smile.

  Very fitting name for a girl who’s destined to be a superhuman given the combination of her parents’ physical and mental attributes.

  “Marie is an adorable name.” I slide off my coat, and the three ladies’ eyes almost pop out.

  I look down at my skimpy purple dress. “Sorry. I just came from work.” I plop down in the fourth wooden chair.

  The three keep staring. My answer didn’t explain enough apparently.

  “Oh. Sorry. I’m a bodyguard, and tonight I had to go to some party, only my,” I look at Georgie, “very nice boss didn’t tell me it was an upscale fundraiser versus a party with more of a trashy theme.”

  “Oh no.” Georgie winces, looking embarrassed on behalf of Sam. “Well, I know your boss—the sweet, kind, sexy man that he is—has been overwhelmed with his new company while raising his daughter, Joy.”

  Ugh. I often forget that Sam is a widower and single dad. The good thing is that he found Georgie, and she loves him as much as she loves Joy, who’s four now. Their wedding is planned for June on the family yacht so the press can’t sneak into the event. They’re keeping the location a secret until the last minute—I’m talking…morning of the wedding
. We’re all supposed to meet at some private airport, ready to go. I love how the event feels like a tribute to their relationship. They’re determined to do things their way, no matter what. It’s super romantic.

  “Sorry,” I say pathetically. “It’s been a long day—long month, too.”

  Georgie slides her hand across the table and gives mine a pat. “It’s okay. I know this new job hasn’t been easy. Sam is just happy you joined the team. He needs people he can trust so he can focus on managing the business side of things.”

  “Okay. I can’t hold it in any longer,” says the brunette with thick hipster glasses, wearing a Nerds are Tasty shirt. A picture of a box of blue Nerds is doing something inappropriate to a pink box. “I’m Tass. So nice to meet you.” She holds out her hand, and we shake.

  “Nice to finally meet you, too,” I say. “I’ve heard you’re smarter than Elle. Is that true?”

  Elle, who’s a honey blonde, is wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of a cat that says “Mr. Nucleus II” across the top. “Tass is not smarter than me. I’ve got her by a whole twenty IQ points.”

  “True,” Tass says, “but I’ve got way more street smarts, and there’s no test to measure that other than an apocalypse.”

  “And if we were in one,” Elle argues, “I’d have a new self-sustaining, solar-powered colony up and running in half the time it would take you.”

  Georgie leans closer to talk to me while Tass and Elle trade statistics on which physical and mental traits would prove more advantageous to survival.

  “You’re so bad, Abi.” Georgie snickers, knowing I sparked the debate on purpose, just to amuse myself.

  “I know, but who can resist listening to this?” I love a good geek-off.

  “Ha!” Elle throws her hands in the air. “I win! You can’t feed a colony of ten thousand people if you live in the desert. The power required to pump groundwater would exceed the output of your solar panels.”

  “Hmph!” Tass crosses her arms and pushes back into her seat. “Fine. You win. But you have to admit that my idea of solar is far more feasible than traditional power methods if you’re looking to automate.”

  Automate during an apocalypse? I shrug at Georgie, who smiles and pours me a beer from the pitcher. “So, what brings you out to girls’ night? Besides the stimulating female company?”

  I take my mug, tip it back, and let the cold suds fizz down my throat. “Well,” I plunk the drink on the table, “I stopped an old woman from stabbing our client tonight.”

  “What?” Georgie’s back stiffens.

  I nod. “Yep.”

  “How come Sam didn’t tell me?” she asks.

  I’m guessing because he wouldn’t want her to worry. “I’m sure he will. Right now he’s tied up making sure the assassin is properly jailed.”

  “I can’t believe it,” says Georgie, pushing her wavy brown hair from her face. “How did you catch her?”

  I relay the facts about the mud, but leave out the reporter. It feels lame to tell them how easily I was duped by a hot Englishman.

  “That’s freaking amazing,” says Tass. “I’m such a wuss. I’d never be able to throw myself at a hit nana.”

  “It was luck, really,” I reply. “I’m not even supposed to get involved in any of the action. My training went as far as handling a gun, observation, and how to report suspicious people. Hand-to-hand is not my thing.”

  “But is it true you went hand-to-hand with Mitch Hofer, or was it dangly bit to muffin bit?” asks Elle, snorting into her mug of what looks like a soda.

  I swivel my head at Georgie. “Seriously? You told them?”

  “No…I just mentioned that you may have hooked up with Mitch the night of that party and you both looked adorable together.”

  “Georgie!” I protest, feeling genuinely pissed. “Why are you gossiping about my personal life?”

  Two rotund guys in cowboy boots and saggy jeans walk up and ask if we want to play darts with them.

  “Daryl! Thought you’d never ask!” Tass jumps up, likely sensing an argument about to break out between me and Georgie.

  “I’m in!” Elle gets up to join them, and the four head across the room near the pool tables.

  “Sorry.” Georgie leans in. “It’s just…I was trying to figure out why Mitch would treat you like he did. It’s not like Sam to take on a complete dickhead as a client. Protecting someone is serious stuff.”

  I give Georgie the death stare.

  “What?” she barks. “You can’t deny I have a point.”

  “I don’t know what Sam’s reasons are. All I know is that Mitch is not a nice man. At least, not to me.” He didn’t even thank me for saving his life. He just left the room. Afterwards, he ordered me into his limo. Not a thank-you in sight!

  “I thought the same thing about Sam at one point. And look how wrong I turned out to be.”

  “That was different,” I argue. “Sam was playing the role of mean boss so you wouldn’t catch on to who he really was.” Meaning, an undercover FBI agent. “Look. I’m over it. I don’t even like Mitch, so it doesn’t matter why he did what he did.”

  She leans in closer to whisper just loud enough so I can hear over the country music now playing on the jukebox. “But why do you think someone wants him dead?”

  I shrug. “Ask Sam.”

  “I did. He won’t tell me. Says it’s for my own good.”

  “All I know is that some old lady showed up to the fundraiser, ready to gut Mitch like a fish.”

  “Maybe he knocked up her granddaughter or something.”

  No. It feels much bigger than that. Otherwise, why would those reporters be working so hard for information? On the other hand, “Well, Mitch is a global celebrity who can’t seem to keep it in his pants,” except with me, “so maybe you’re right.”

  “Either way, be careful, Abi. I hate the idea of anything happening to you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Maybe. “Plus, I kind of like the idea of being someone’s protector.”

  “You always were like my personal bodyguard at school.”

  Yeah. I guess I was. I hated being in the spotlight or drawing attention to myself, but when anyone picked on Georgie, I automatically became this other person. The first time it happened, it was with this boy, Jimmy Wilson. He tripped Georgie in the cafeteria as she walked by with her tray of mac n’ cheese. She went flying and so did her lunch. While the room of seventh graders laughed, I turned into a raging bull. I grabbed Jimmy by the collar, yanked him off the bench where he sat with his posse, and slapped him so hard he had a red mark on his cheek for two whole days. When the teacher on duty asked what happened, he didn’t dare open his mouth. Georgie claimed she’d tripped. I think because she knew that getting thrown to the floor and bitch-slapped by a girl was more humiliating for poor little Jimmie than a trip to the principal’s office. Either way, that was the day Georgie and I became best friends instead of just two people who hung out at school because we shared the same social name tag: Nerds.

  I look at Georgie and smile. “I guess I always have had the protector gene.”

  “It’s more than that, Abi. You feel personally responsible for the people you care about. Really, for anyone in need or neglected. It’s why I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” I try my best not to tear up. It’s been an emotional day, and I hate crying in public.

  “So I have good news! I’m going to Miami with you guys next weekend.”

  “What?” I lurch forward in my chair. “It’s not safe.”

  She waves a dismissive hand through the air. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  “Of course I’m worried. What if some crazy sniper shows up and—”

  “I’m not going anywhere near Mitch or the events he’s attending. I’ll be safe and sound back at my swanky hotel a mile away from you guys.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But nothing, Abi. I’m a big girl. And I really need this break. The last time I went anywhe
re, it was to a naked yoga cult as my father’s hostage. Exotic, yes. Vacay, no. Plus, this is my last chance to have noisy, hot boyfriend-slash-fiancé sex with Sam before we get married.”

  Ick. I hate thinking about Sam, my boss, and her humping away. “What about Joy? You can’t leave her.” I have to find some reason for Georgie to stay home.

  “We’re locking her in the pantry. She’ll be fine.” Georgie huffs. “Abi! Come on. You know she’ll be with Erin, Sam’s sister in-law. Stop worrying and bask in the awesome fact that you and I will get to hit a few clubs, do some shopping, and let loose.”

  “I’ll be working.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Only during the day. Your nights will be free.” She crosses her arms in rebuttal.

  “Except when I’m on duty because Mitch decides to hit a party.”

  She throws back, “Then we’ll hang when you’re off the next morning. Breakfast. A run on the beach. Stop arguing, or I’ll start thinking you don’t want to spend time with me.”

  “Insanity! I just have a bad feeling about whatever is going on with Mitch.”

  “You think Sam would let me go to Miami if he felt I’d be in harm’s way?”

  “No. But you could’ve used your feminine trickeries on him. Offered him a blow job or something so he’d let you go with us.”

  “Abi!”

  I eye her critically.

  She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Yes. I did! But then you’re insinuating that he values a good sucky-sucky over my life, and I promise you I’m not that good at it.”

  “Sucky-sucky?”

  Georgie blushes. “I don’t like the word blow job. Okay? I mean, really. Is there any blowing involved at all? And if you’re really into a guy, it’s not a job. It’s fun.”

  “Sucky-sucky sounds like a term from some weird foreign porn.” I try not to crack up. “Couldn’t you use a more mature phrase like smoking the pole or knob gobbling?”

  “Stop making fun of me.” She stifles a grin. “Or I’ll kick you in the woman balls.”

  I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m done.”