Chapter 26

Brynley

My first week of training?

Obnoxiously easy.

Made even more obnoxious by the delivery of a red rose and wordsearch booklet – with the phrase “I miss you” circled in it – around my lunch break each day.

Both items met the breakroom garbage.

And both items helped get me recognized as well as branded pretty quickly as the chick from the billionaire photo which made week two of training obnoxiously uncomfortable.

Because now instead of just being the new girl with great tits, I’m the new girl with a billionaire boyfriend – despite being broken up – who probably paid for her tits.

And he didn’t!

They’re a hundred percent real!

Which is not something I can just yell at the top of my lungs due to sexual harassment clauses in the handbook.

The handbook I actually read.

Like a good employee.

Like someone who is taking this change in career seriously.

Even if the idea of squeezing myself into a tight dress, tighter shoes, and making innuendos for what I make in a week here, in a day there, sounds much more appealing.

Thank fuck for savings, I guess.

Sneering at the latest scribbled trite phrase on the card, I rip off the half with the words, chuck it in the trash, and use the sharpie I keep hooked onto my shirt to write in all capital letters “FREE TREATS”. Afterward, I station the box of two dozen cotton candy sandwich cookies – one for every day he’s been without me – in the center of the breakroom table and give it the finger.

I refuse to enjoy anything he sends.

And double fuck him for trying to use my favorite restaurant against me.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that to cookies,” a male voice suddenly states, pulling my attention over my shoulder. “You know…unless you’re making food porn.”

I meet his bright green eyes with my blue and playfully poke, “Way to let your sex life secret slip.”

The tan, dirty blond-haired male, lightly laughs and innocently points to the treats. “Can I get one?”

Stepping out of the way is attached to a dramatic hand ushering, “Take as many as you fucking want.”

“Not hungry?”

“Not interested.”

“Gift?”

“Curse.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Ex.”

“Trying to win you back?”

“Yup.”

“Is it working?”

An adjustment to my shoulder bag is the only response I give.

Is it working?

No.

But it’s not not working.

I appreciate that he’s making some sort of effort to show he’s sorry.

It’s just not enough.

Or the right type.

Yes, giving my mom her job back – the thing he should’ve never taken away to begin with – was a good start and offering her and Clark a piece of property on an empty plot of no man’s land to build their dream home on was a great follow up while agreeing to pay whatever the cost in its entirety to have it constructed along with furnished was definitely a fantastic finish.

She had already forgiven him by the time he came to his senses, well before he made an effort to express his remorse.

If we’re being totally honest, I’m not sure she was ever anything more than a little upset at him for throwing that way to ruin a franchise style tantrum.

I – on the other fin – am still very pissed about all the shit I was accused of, and pretty flowers and my favorite game and extra sugar are not going to distract me from how deep his bites got.

The damage they managed to do.

This wasn’t an accidental Caribbean reef shark encounter where I provoked him, and he defensively bit back.

No.

This was a total Oceanic Whitetip incident.

Aggressive and unpredicted.

I was a helpless diver who thought she was in safe waters.

I won’t be making that mistake again.

Especially not with him.

Post picking up a cookie, pretty boy – who I swear has the same build as my favorite Lawson brother – extends his free hand in my direction. “Calen.” Our palms connecting precedes him adding, “Calen Connelly.”

“Brynley Winters.”

“The new tour chick, right?” The instant our grips respectively fall, he flashes me a wider grin. “The one that had to remind Heidi’s assistant – I never remember her name – about the fact that hammerhead’s have a blind spot at the front of their nose, which was why the little guy was having trouble eating.”

Irritation can’t be kept out of my tone, “How the fuck do you not know that in her department?”

Another light laugh hits my ears. “You’re also the one who explained to that group of elementary school kids about hammerheads developing a tolerance to stingray barbs, describing hammerheads as having superpowers in the ocean, which then led to those same kids wiping out that toy section in the gift shop.”

It’s impossible not to arrogantly smirk.

That was Monday.

And the reason my “two-week training” was ended early.

I clearly didn’t need any more supervision.

Calen has a bite of the cookie in his possession. “You really know you’re shit.”

“I know enough.” He chuckles once more prompting me to inquire, “What about you? Where do you work?”

“R&R.”

“Research and rescue?!”

“Where you clearly wanna be.”

There’s no point in hiding the evidence to that statement. “ A hundred percent. ”

“You swim?”

He begins to head for the door with me attached to his side. “Like a shortfin Mako.”

“Ever worked in the field before?”

“No,” reluctantly leaves my lips, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t. ”

“You know shit about other marine life besides sharks?”

“What I don’t know I can learn.”

His hummed amusement appears prior to him having another bite of the treat. “Well, Maya just found out she’s pregnant, so Raquel, head of the department, is going to be on the hunt for her replacement asap.” I open the door for our exit. “I can put in a good word. Possibly get you off the shore and into the deep blue. I like your vibe.”

“You surf.”

“Strictly soul.”

“Someone who surfs for fun and purity, not necessarily chicks and glory.”

“We all surf for chicks.” He playfully winks as we round the corner into the main lobby.

Like I’m expecting, J.T. is leaned against the closest wall, scrolling on his phone, patiently waiting for my arrival. The second he catches sight of me standing what is obvious he deems as “too close” to Calen, he stands completely upward.

Harshly clears his throat.

And kicks his chin a little higher like a pufferfish desperate to appear more threatening than he really is.

Rather than be intimidated, Calen simply tips his head in J.T.’s direction. “The ex?”

“The puppet.”

An unhappy glower is instantly given to me. “Always a pleasure to see you too, Catwoman.”

“Why does your tie look like you just came from The Scarecrow’s funeral?”

“It’s polka dotted!”

“It’s fucking toxin yellow.”

“Calen,” he abruptly interjects with a friendly open palm before I can intervene.

“ Reese. ” The handshake is firm. Intimidating. “You work together?”

“Hopefully soon,” escapes my lips on a waggling of the eyebrows.

“Hopefully,” Calen echoes between bites. “I’ll catch you around, Brynley.”

“ Bryn. ”

He lets the corners of his lips curl upward on his last chomp. “ Bryn. ”

J.T. impatiently waits until Calen is completely out of sight to snip, “Trolling for Batman’s replacement, already?”

I hit him with an unimpressed look and fold my arms firmly across my yellow uniform covered chest. “ What are the rules for hanging out, Puppet Boy? ”

Guilt almost immediately covers his hazel gaze. “No talking about Wes.”

“Correct.”

“But-”

“Don’t make me cancel this custody agreement.” Humor gracefully hops into my tone. “ Especially not tonight. I finally convinced Vanessa to watch Star Trek with us.”

He pauses whatever it is he was originally going to say to inquire, “And she’s really not single?”

“Really not.”

“This really isn’t one of those ‘I don’t want you to date my friends and possibly fuck up our friendship’ moments?”

“Nope.” An amused head tilt is given. “This is totally one of those, she’s practically married to a Fed who looks like a blond Simon Peck.”

“Weird.”

“Extremely.”

Small chuckles bouncing between us are followed by a return to his original train of thought, “Can I just…ask… one Wes question?”

“If you pay for pizza.”

“Done.”

“ And wings.”

“Of course.”

“ And beer. ”

“Deal.” My mouth moves to attach more terms when he points a stern finger in my direction. “Add anymore to the order and I get a second question.”

An impish smirk slips into place. “Ask.”

“What’s it gonna take for you to give him a second chance?”

“ I fought for him, J.T. ” I thoughtlessly remind, hurt creeping into my vocal cords against my own volition. “I fought for him on his territory. He wants me? He really wants me?” The shrug that escapes is small. Practically nonexistent. “ Then he needs to come and fight for me on my mine. ”