Chapter Seven

Wyatt

Coffee cup in-hand, I walked through the offices at work, shaking off all the emotions I was carrying around today. When I was in the Army, it was different, simpler, really, to turn off my emotions and forget all about the fact that today was my wife's birthday. It wasn't that I wanted to forget the day she was born, just that it was almost too much for me to bear the memory of her and I hated the way it weighed me down.

I wasn't in the Army anymore, though, so I couldn't very well pretend as though the day wasn't here, so I had something special planned. First, however, I had a meeting and I had to be at my best. And Geoff had to be brought up to speed on what was going on. Not that I had much information myself, since it was all very hush, hush, but that was nothing new in our line of work.

Mere feet away from Geoff's desk, Andrés nearly bumped into me. "Oh, good, you're still here," he said, clearly having something on his mind.

I looked up after making sure the contents of my cup didn't spill over. "Just going to get Geoff. What's up?"

Hands shoved in his pockets, he leaned forward and grinned. "I've got intel."

I cocked a brow and waited for him to finish, watching as he looked more and more pleased as he spoke. "The client you're meeting with Jorge about is Laurel Petty, the international model and telenovela actress."

I ran a hand along my jawline and narrowed my brows. "How do you know that?"

He smirked. "I have contacts."

Unsure why it mattered who the woman was, I regarded him closely. He looked like a kid sneaking candy, like he was about to enter his own version of heaven. I stifled a laugh and cleared my throat instead, keeping a serious expression. "Andrés, do you like Laurel?"

Stepping back, he hung his mouth open. Clearly, I just got my answer. I had never seen him like this, it was almost laughable how excited he was about this woman he had never met before.

After a beat he answered, "Name one man who doesn't like Laurel." Then he began counting with his fingers as he named her attributes. "She's stunning and talented beyond measure. Did I mention, hot as hell?" He shook his head. "What's the matter with you, man? Laurel's the type of woman every man wants to be with and every woman wants to be."

I couldn't help it, this time I chuckled a bit. Out of all the clients we had worked with, many famous and beautiful, I'd never seen my partner get like this over a woman.

"Got yourself a little crush there, buddy? Do you want to take the meeting instead?"

Without wasting a second, he said, "No way. It's never good to meet someone you like. The fantasy pops and it's all a letdown. Besides, she's a diva. I can't handle that, not like you can."

I looked up and wondered what that meant. "A diva? You trying to tell me she's a bitch?"

Shuffling his feet, he considered my question. "No. At least I don't think so. Just a diva from what I've heard. Anyway, you told Jorge you'd be meeting with him, it's best we stick to the plan."

Before he could walk away, I had to know—"Did you learn anything else about my meeting today? Like what happened?"

He shook his head. "No. I got to run. Just wanted to tell you." And there he went, off like a shot.

I, however, didn't move. I was contemplating everything he said.

I couldn't deny I was very curious to know why we were meeting. It was unlikely we were just going to shoot the breeze. When we were called, especially by an agent or other representative for a public figure, there was always a reason and it usually had to do with something that had happened.

Ready to learn all the details, I rapped my knuckles on the metal frame of Geoff's cubicle. "Hey, buddy, how was your weekend?"

Looking up from his laptop, Geoff smiled. His hair was slicked back with gel and it smelled like a cologne bottle broke in his vicinity. "Good, thanks for asking, boss. How was yours?"

I thought about the past forty-eight hours. Errands, a family dinner where my life choices were being challenged, paperwork back at my place, surfing, coming into the office, and more errands. I wouldn't exactly call my weekend stellar. "Good," I answered. "I got a call to meet with an agent today and I'd like you to come with me. His client will be there, too, and it's likely we'll need you on the case."

His face lighting up, he took his hands off his keyboard. "Sounds good. What's it about?" he asked, like any good employee would. Facts were very important in what we did.

But I couldn't help him, so I shrugged my shoulders. "Not sure. We'll find out together. We leave in fifteen. Let's drive separate since you'll probably have to stay behind." He nodded and I looked at my watch. "I'll text you the address and meet you there."

I couldn't let the day go on without acknowledging Susan, so I walked out of our offices and got in my SUV. It was a short drive to the bakery by our office, so I was there and parking in an available spot within minutes. I took a deep breath, knowing I had to do this, not only for Susan, but for myself.

And I planned on celebrating her the way she should be celebrated.

Just because she was gone didn't mean the traditions we shared were. This was something I wanted to do.

Had to, really.

I stared at the door to the bakery and closed my eyes for a moment before opening them back up and raking my hand through my hair. "Might as well get it over with," I said to myself before pulling open the door and hearing the bells jingle with excitement, a sentiment I did not share. If anything, I was unhappy, but I learned long ago I had to bury that feeling, push it deep down so I could go on, function and be a useful member of society.

I strode up to the counter and pressed the top of the bell. A woman with pink hair popped out, her body behind a wall. "Be right with you!"

Looking around, I wondered what Susan would want this year. I only hoped I could choose wisely. It was the first time in a long time that I'd be keeping our little tradition, but being enlisted kind of meant many traditions went unacknowledged. This year, though, I was home and she deserved to know I was thinking about her.

Breaking into my thoughts, the pink-haired woman came back out, chewing bubble gum and smiling. "What can I get ya?" she asked, a cheery smile on her lips.

Resigned to hearing my options, I lifted my shoulders. "What's good?"

"Honey, I make everything myself, everything's good," she announced, laughing at her own words. "These days the white chocolate cookies are popular."

I shook my head in the negative. "I'm looking for a small cake." To feed two. Or one, really.

She pulled a pencil from behind her ear. "What's it for?"

"My wife's birthday."

"In that case, the chocolate cherry is always a good way to go. The ladies love it!" She beamed. If only she knew the truth, I had a feeling she wouldn't be smiling, but rather wondering how fast they could get me in a straight jacket.

I nodded. "Let's go with that," I decided quickly.

We'd never had a chocolate cherry cake. Susan always liked to pick a different cake every year. We'd go together every year to a different bakery and pick something up, then go home, light a candle and dig in. She never cared much for celebrating her birthday, but the cake, well, that she always loved. In our time together, she'd gone with a red velvet, banana cream, and the ever popular Funfetti. This felt like a good choice, though. A different choice. Certainly something Susan would've liked.

"I'll be by this afternoon after work, if that's all right?"

She lifted an eyebrow and waved a hand in front of her face, shaking her head. "I can whip up anything, especially small in less time than that. It'll be waiting for you when you get here," she said, running up my order.

Having paid, I looked at my watch. I had to go if I wanted to make it to my meeting on time. "Thank you," I said and walked out.

It was another short drive to the condominium where we were meeting, apparently where Laurel lived. I left my SUV with valet and decided to walk around, scope out the building a little. I'd never been there and it didn't hurt to have an idea of the property, especially if we'd be working for a client who lived there.

At exactly our meeting time, a gentleman strode in the building's lobby, lifting his sunglasses to his head. He was bald, had a goatee, and was wearing a caramel-colored suit that probably cost a fortune. Though, I imagined he made enough to keep up with his expensive wardrobe. I knew this was Jorge after having looked him up online.

Geoff was behind him, his hands in his pockets and his eyes looking down toward the floor. I met them halfway and watched as Geoff came to stand at my side before extending a hand to Jorge. "Mr. Suarez. Wyatt Ryder," I said. "This is Geoff, my associate."

"Nice to meet you both. Please, call me Jorge. My father is Mr. Suarez." I nodded. "Let's go upstairs," he suggested. "My client is waiting for us."

We followed him into the elevator. "And your client is," I prompted, hoping he'd confirm since up until now he hadn't given any indication.

"Laurel Petty," he supplied and I nodded my head. So Andrés was right, not that I doubted him.

We stepped off the elevator as the doors slid open and walked right into her penthouse. Waiting for us, she stood and walked over, a hand extended for us to shake. "Gentlemen, I'd heard you'd arrived. Thank you for coming. When Jorge told me about your firm, I knew this was the right step. I knew I couldn't not meet with you at the very least."

I nodded and took her hand in my own, introducing myself. "This is Geoff, my associate," I said, introducing him.

"It's very nice to meet you both," she said, smiling. "Please, sit down," she urged, ushering us over to where she was going back to sit herself.

After Laurel gave us a full briefing on everything that happened yesterday and how she found the note on her terrance, I knew one good thing came from this—I could tell Andrés he was wrong. Laurel was not a diva, the opposite, in fact. As I listened to her go on, she sounded more scared than anything, no different from the way any rational person would be feeling given the circumstances.

"Oh, and thank heavens for my personal assistant, she's honestly the best friend a girl could ask for. She stayed with me last night. Truthfully, there was no way I could've gotten through it without her."

I nodded my understanding. "And where's your P.A. now? Is she here?" I asked, looking around, wondering if she was in one of the rooms out of sight, doing whatever personal assistants to celebrities did.

She shook her head. "No. I sent her home, she wanted to change, but she should be back soon."

"Does she have any insights as far as you know?" She shook her head again, so I decided to take this time to explain how our services worked and what we'd do for her. I'd learned very early on that we had to be clear and manage expectations. Sometimes we couldn't do more than just be present and protect them from the here and now, if there was even anything to protect them from. When I was done going over everything, I asked, "Does all that sound reasonable?" When she didn't answer, only swallowed and looked over at Jorge, I added, "We're prepared to start immediately if you're both agreeable."

"I'm definitely agreeable," Laurel announced. "If it means I won't be alone anymore, then I'm on board."

"Based on everything I've heard here today, I cannot say with certainty there's a threat," I explained, looking directly at Laurel. I needed her to understand me. Jorge might have brought us in, but Laurel was our client now. "However, if there is one, my team will know what to do. I'd also like to meet with the building's security, check out the perimeter, do a sweep of the place. Wherever you go, we'll go."

"For how long?" Jorge asked.

I turned to face him. "For however long we're needed. We'll also have to work with the authorities to look into the note," I said turning to Geoff. "Can you help facilitate that while I'm around walking the building?"

Laurel looked nervous, her feet shifting, her eyes downcast.

"What?" I asked. "Is that a problem?"

"She's worried about the press," Jorge said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

She sighed. "I just don't want this to be a whole big thing. My contract with the station requires I fly under the radar and this kind of thing could jeopardize that," she explained. "Do you need to involve them?"

I nodded. This was nothing new from a celebrity. They all wanted attention, but only good attention. "If you want us to utilize their resources, yes, but if you're concerned, I can loop my partner in and see if he can use his contacts. They're very good at being discreet."

"Thank you, that'd be much better," she said, looking at Jorge. "Right?"

He nodded. "Yes, thank you. Now about the building, I noticed you were scoping it out before I joined you."

I tilted my head and cocked a brow. How did he see that?

He laughed. "I was parked out front before valet took my car and I was watching you."

"Maybe you should be in security," I joked, pleasantly surprised that he would take the time to look around and notice me.

"A man has to be sure of who he works with, I'm sure you know that. Anyway, did you see anything that we should discuss with security?" he asked. "Laurel's safety is of the utmost importance here."

I slipped my hands in my pockets and made eye contact with Geoff. I wanted to make sure he was listening. If he'd be working this case, he should know a few things. More so, these were things he had to start picking up on. I started, "You may be on the penthouse, but that doesn't prevent someone from getting in."

"How is that possible?" Laurel cried out, plucking a tissue from a box on the coffee table. She'd obviously been having a very difficult time lately.

Geoff stepped up. He looked at me and I nodded my head, allowing him to go on. "Nothing prevents someone from entering the elevator. There are some things we can do like make sure building security and the elevator attendant requires an entry code or an RFID badge to unlock the button to your suite."

I nodded my agreement, immensely proud of Geoff for thinking on his feet and showing off his smarts. Decidedly leaving them to finish talking, I was about to excuse myself so I could start doing my job when the elevator doors opened and in swept a blonde in a hurry.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she panted, her head down, carrying several bags of things. Her voice was familiar, but by looking at the top of her head, I couldn't pinpoint her.

Laurel rushed over. "That's okay, I'm so glad you made it before everyone left." She began helping relieve her of some of her bags.

Lifting her head, the woman blew back her hair and looked up, a smile forming as she took us all in. "What did I miss?" she asked, that deep voice striking a chord in me again. Then she made eye contact with me and bit down on her lip.

I sucked in a breath of air. Those lips. I'd know them anywhere.

Her eyes widened and then her mouth fell open. She only stared at me, her eyes narrowing now. "It can't be you," she breathed, the rest of the room having gone silent.

I tried so hard to keep my eyes on hers, but they fell downward to where she was licking her lips and I instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over me. I shouldn't have been thinking the things I was thinking right now. Not today. Not for another woman.

I cleared my throat and finally replied, "Funny. I was just thinking the same thing."

Laurel's eyes flitted between her friend and me before cutting in. "Dee, what gives? Do you two know each other?"

I cocked my head to the side at the name—Dee. I thought her name was Brandy. "Dee?" I inquired.

She nodded before smiling, it reaching her eyes. "It's a nickname. Laurel calls me Dee. You know, short for Brandy," she explained, her eyes fixed on me as if we were the only two people in the room and her friend hadn't just asked her a question. As if her friend hadn't called us here for a very valid reason pertaining to her safety and security.

Still stunned, I didn't know what to say. Here was this woman I had one glorious night with and never thought I'd see again. And on today of all days—Susan's birthday. My heart was suddenly beating erratically.