excited about the prospect of hearing from him every single day after work, and when I do, it’s like I’ve just come in first place in a race. It’s euphoric. And it’s scary.
When I read the text, my confusion ratchets up again.
Hey beautiful. I know I should just take the credit but…I didn’t send you flowers. Yet!
He didn’t send them? Then who on earth did?
My gaze is flipping between my phone and the flowers when Kyle comes back into view, holding a water jug that he’s cut the top off of. He smiles apologetically. “This will have to do, yeah?”
I nod numbly. When my phone dings again I startle before glancing at the text.
Should I be jealous? So who DID send you flowers??
I shake my head to clear it, and then I type back a quick response.
No clue. They’re pretty though.
I put my phone down on my desk, place all of the roses in the jug, and settle in to get some work done. My dad’s schedule is kind of a mess, so I’m putting all of his appointments and conference calls into an Excel spreadsheet and exporting it to a cloud so that he can access them from any device or computer at any time. I shake my head as I work, in disbelief that this hasn’t been done before.
Over the past week I’ve realized that although my father is the best at what he does—running a private security business, effectively acquiring and successfully completing government contracts, and protecting people—his office skills are seriously sucky. I’ve made it my personal mission to help him with that and make this office a smoothly running operation, just as efficient as his field missions are.
I’m working so hard that lunchtime comes and goes. My father, Kyle, Dare, and the other members of the team have been locked in the office all morning, going over the particulars for a new project they’re working on. I haven’t been briefed on the details yet because they’re still hammering them out. But next week, my father will let me know what they’ll be doing for the project, because he’ll need me to input data into his computer system and make travel arrangements for the team as needed.
Early in the afternoon, I’m finished with my administrative tasks. The list I set out to accomplish by the end of the week is done, and it’s a freeing feeling. I didn’t expect to like this job, but it actually suits my skill set. I’m good at organizing things, with keeping details in order.
I’m good at this. The thought brings a smile to my face. I sit back in my chair, realizing my stomach is grumbling. I head to the lounge to grab the sandwich I’d stuck in the refrigerator this morning and bring it back to my desk. I don’t want to be away in case someone comes in for a consultation.
The door opens, bringing in fresh, salty air, a seaside breeze, and Berkeley Holtz.
“Berk!” I exclaim, standing as she lets the door swing closed behind her.
“Hey, Greta!”
We meet in the middle of the room, pulling each other into a tight, squeezing hug. Berkeley and I grew pretty close while she lived with Mea and me, and now she lives with Dare. The fact that she’s not around all the time, thought, makes my feelings for Grisham a bit easier. Even though my head tells me that he and Berkeley never actually dated, my heart sometimes protests that I’m breaking some kind of girl code.
“What are you doing here? Your man’s in a meeting.”
She flips a chunk of her long, curly blond hair over her shoulder. “I know. I brought him a smoothie.” She indicates the drink in her hand. “He always needs a pick-me-up at this time of the day, and he didn’t have time to make one this morning.”
She suddenly turns crimson, and I give her a slow, knowing smile.
“He didn’t have time ? Were you keeping him busy ?”
She swats at my hand, giggling as she heads toward the lounge. “Oh, shush.”
I sit down to continue eating, and when Berkeley returns she perches on the side of my desk.
“So, how’s the new job
When I read the text, my confusion ratchets up again.
Hey beautiful. I know I should just take the credit but…I didn’t send you flowers. Yet!
He didn’t send them? Then who on earth did?
My gaze is flipping between my phone and the flowers when Kyle comes back into view, holding a water jug that he’s cut the top off of. He smiles apologetically. “This will have to do, yeah?”
I nod numbly. When my phone dings again I startle before glancing at the text.
Should I be jealous? So who DID send you flowers??
I shake my head to clear it, and then I type back a quick response.
No clue. They’re pretty though.
I put my phone down on my desk, place all of the roses in the jug, and settle in to get some work done. My dad’s schedule is kind of a mess, so I’m putting all of his appointments and conference calls into an Excel spreadsheet and exporting it to a cloud so that he can access them from any device or computer at any time. I shake my head as I work, in disbelief that this hasn’t been done before.
Over the past week I’ve realized that although my father is the best at what he does—running a private security business, effectively acquiring and successfully completing government contracts, and protecting people—his office skills are seriously sucky. I’ve made it my personal mission to help him with that and make this office a smoothly running operation, just as efficient as his field missions are.
I’m working so hard that lunchtime comes and goes. My father, Kyle, Dare, and the other members of the team have been locked in the office all morning, going over the particulars for a new project they’re working on. I haven’t been briefed on the details yet because they’re still hammering them out. But next week, my father will let me know what they’ll be doing for the project, because he’ll need me to input data into his computer system and make travel arrangements for the team as needed.
Early in the afternoon, I’m finished with my administrative tasks. The list I set out to accomplish by the end of the week is done, and it’s a freeing feeling. I didn’t expect to like this job, but it actually suits my skill set. I’m good at organizing things, with keeping details in order.
I’m good at this. The thought brings a smile to my face. I sit back in my chair, realizing my stomach is grumbling. I head to the lounge to grab the sandwich I’d stuck in the refrigerator this morning and bring it back to my desk. I don’t want to be away in case someone comes in for a consultation.
The door opens, bringing in fresh, salty air, a seaside breeze, and Berkeley Holtz.
“Berk!” I exclaim, standing as she lets the door swing closed behind her.
“Hey, Greta!”
We meet in the middle of the room, pulling each other into a tight, squeezing hug. Berkeley and I grew pretty close while she lived with Mea and me, and now she lives with Dare. The fact that she’s not around all the time, thought, makes my feelings for Grisham a bit easier. Even though my head tells me that he and Berkeley never actually dated, my heart sometimes protests that I’m breaking some kind of girl code.
“What are you doing here? Your man’s in a meeting.”
She flips a chunk of her long, curly blond hair over her shoulder. “I know. I brought him a smoothie.” She indicates the drink in her hand. “He always needs a pick-me-up at this time of the day, and he didn’t have time to make one this morning.”
She suddenly turns crimson, and I give her a slow, knowing smile.
“He didn’t have time ? Were you keeping him busy ?”
She swats at my hand, giggling as she heads toward the lounge. “Oh, shush.”
I sit down to continue eating, and when Berkeley returns she perches on the side of my desk.
“So, how’s the new job