KIMBERLY KREY
The Honorable Warrior: Navy SEAL Romance
Copyright © 2018 by Kimberly Krey
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
To those who serve to protect — and to their loved ones too—
I sincerely thank you!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Free Book
About the Author
Contents
Also by Kimberly Krey
Chapter 1
Blayze fixed his eyes on the copper casket. Spots of sunlight streamed through the branches of a nearby tree, an array of fluttering leaves creating a kaleidoscope e ect over the surface. A solid rose-gold bar matched the clasps that sealed her final resting place. Mom had picked it out herself, paid for everything in advance. Which he guessed is how things went when the funeral director lived right next door. Even if she’d been a young fifty-eight years old.
Of all the ways to lose someone… Blayze shook his head from the irony of it all. You live to protect your family and country and then this—something he couldn’t have prevented no matter how many years he’d served as a Navy SEAL.
Stage four.
Why couldn’t they have caught it sooner? Given her a chance to fight. Mom was strong. So incredibly strong… The sound of Sutton Smith’s voice in Blayze’s head reminded him—to a sobering degree—that he wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone before his or her time. At least his mother had lived a fairly full life. Married, had kids. Two sons and one daughter who was sure to have a harder time
getting over Mom’s death than he and Chanze. The two were bonded in a way Blayze had never known. But Sutton… that man had lost a son in battle, the ultimate sacrifice, and still he stayed strong.
Memories of Blayze’s Navy SEAL days flooded his mind. Not only had Sutton lost a son that ill-fated day, but Blayze had lost a military brother something he still hadn’t been able to reconcile.
“Mr. Brockton?”
Blayze sni ed and straightened up. The female voice wasn’t familiar to him, a fact made more evident by the Spanish accent coating his name. He tore his gaze o the upturned dirt at the casket’s base and drifted it up to a slender woman in heels and a navy-blue dress suit.
“My name is Sophia Vasco. I had the great privilege of hosting a charity gala in San Bernardino with your mother last year.”
Blayze gave her a polite nod, but already his defenses were up. He’d met plenty of the women his mother rubbed shoulders with. While Linda Brockton was known for her balanced feminist platform, others had proven to be less… gracious where males were concerned.
Sophia tilted her head, squinting against the sun as she continued. “Linda was an incredible inspiration to me, and it was a privilege to work with her.” The name Linda meant beautiful; Blayze had known that since he was a boy, but he’d never heard the name sound as lovely as it did in Sophia’s accent.
He met her gaze. Gorgeous deep brown eyes filled with confidence, composure, and sympathy. He gulped. “Thank you.”
“She’ll be missed by many, but none so much as her own children, I’m sure.” A soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips, transforming her face in a blink. Cheekbones lifting,
teeth glistening as a spot of sun lit her up like an angel. “Your mother spoke so fondly of you. Said she was the proudest SEALs mama there ever was. Hooyah. ” The woman surprised him by lifting a small fist in the air. Perhaps she wasn’t as polished as she came o . He cracked a smile.
“That’s nice to hear, Sophia. I appreciate you coming.” He freed his right hand from his pocket and reached out to shake hers. She paused at the gesture, glancing at his hand before shaking it. Silky smooth, but firm all the same.
“You’re welcome.” She turned from him then, taking long, aimless strides over the grass while lifting her chin to the breeze.
Perhaps he’d been o -putting. Blayze had the tendency to be impersonal. But if any day called for allotted grace, this was it.
Dad and Barbara stood comforting his sister, Jazmin, and her two small kids. Blayze’s brother, Chanze, waited along the outskirts nudging grass blades with the toe of his shoe. Moments from now, Blayze would attend a luncheon at the church and visit with his siblings and a few of Mom’s close friends. Then he’d be free to meet up with his more recent band of brothers—the group surrounding Sutton in the shade. Cannon stood silently next to Sutton, observing the other guys. Corbin, who’d wound through the graveyard on a Harley, was sporting a new tattoo. Looked like River and Zane were asking him about it. That, or razzing him over going under the needle yet again. You never could tell with this group.
There wasn’t much Blayze missed about being on active duty, and he had no desire to go back. But one thing he’d always thank God for was the bond he’d made among the members of Team 7. Already he was looking forward to catching up with them.
For now, it was time to say a final goodbye. A few steps took Blayze closer to the casket where he reached out and plucked a coral rose from the arrangement on top. He brought it to his nose, inhaled the sweet scent with his eyes shut tight. A breeze picked up, and he could picture Mom there with him. Dressed in her faded blue jeans, that yellow garden apron cinched around her waist while a smudge of dirt marked her flushed cheek.
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for staying when Dad left.
And thank you for teaching me to be strong.
Blayze pressed the rose to his lips before lowering it to the dirt.
“It’s a bitter loss.” Sutton came from behind. “Burying a loved one. I’m sorry.”
Blayze turned in time to accept the man’s embrace and accompanying back pat. Bitter indeed. Blayze thought back on a time when, in a rare moment of vulnerability, Sutton had admitted to seeing days so dark he didn’t want to live. But instead of giving in to it, Doug’s father had assembled his son’s retired SEAL team, the Warrior Project, and hired them out for private protection positions to help those in a deadly pinch. He’d wave the Bat Signal, and the best man for the job would step in line.
The timing had been just right for Blayze, having been honorably discharged and ready for something new when the initial job o er came. The private missions paid well—very well—and came with a whole lot of perks.
Cannon stepped in behind Sutton, tossing an arm around Blayze as well.
“Thank you,” Blayze said to each of the men. “And thanks for saying a few words, Cannon. Was awesome, man.” The former Navy Chaplain turned SEAL always had a
way of shedding light on the darkest places. And he’d done that very thing today.
“It was my privilege,” Cannon said with a nod. He shot Sutton a look that made Blayze glance between the two.
“What am I missing?” Blayze asked.
Cannon shook his head. “Nothing. Sutton will wait and talk to you at the club tonight.”
But it looked like Sutton had other plans. The man always did make his own rules. He planted his feet in place, arms folded over his chest. “I talked to you about accepting a private protection job here in California,” he said under his breath.
Cannon shook his head. “Couldn’t have just waited…”
“The woman in question is Ms. Vasco. She introduced herself to you a moment ago.”
A bit of heat stirred low in his belly. “Okay,” Blayze said.
“Her father wants you for the job, but you’ll have to start soon.”
Blayze considered that. Since Mom’s prognosis, he’d been jumping from one item of business to the next. The funeral was the final thing on his list, and the last thing he needed was time on his hands. “How soon?”
Sutton shot Cannon a look before settling his eyes back on Blayze. “Tomorrow.”
Blayze nodded. Sutton never was one to beat around the bush.
“If you want me to help out for a day or two…” Cannon started, but Blayze shook his head.
“No. Thanks though, man.” He turned to Sutton. “It’s about time I get back to work. Tomorrow’s perfect.”
“That’s my man,” Sutton said. “Heart of a warrior.”
Cannon and Blayze nodded before returning the phrase. “Heart of a warrior.”
Chapter 2
“So, what do you think of him?”
Sophia heard her father’s question, but it took a moment to process it. Her gaze was stuck on an angel statue along the grassy hillside. Ivory marble with gray veins, the contrast muted by the deeply tinted windows of the luxury town car.
“Sophia?” he prodded.
“Sorry, Papi. ” She turned to look at him, her eyes adjusting to the cool lighting within the back seat. “I don’t really know what I thought of him.”
“From what Sutton says, Mr. Brockton is perfect.” His expression changed into one he wore during his speeches. One that oozed passion before he even spoke a word. “The man’s a retired SEAL, mi bonita, do you not know what that means?”
Sophia thought back on the short conversation she’d had with Blayze Brockton. Her face flushed with intense heat at the mere recollection. He’d made her feel like an idiot, shouting the Hooyah cheer and sticking her fist in the air while he stood there staring. He could have at least given her some sort of courtesy reply.
Her father eyed Roman retired detective turned driver and close family friend pointedly before giving her that how-could-you-embarrass-me look. “The man was at his madre’s funeral, Sophia.”
Sophia turned her face toward the window. A row of palm trees swayed against the blue sky. “You’re right.” Shame kicked in hard. It wasn’t fair to judge him based on that one meeting.
“It’s possible you’re in danger, chiquita. Real danger. You refuse to cancel your speaking engagements which I support,” he said, holding up a finger. “But only so long as you accept protection. Now, I didn’t have to let you meet the guy before I hired him. I was doing that to be nice ”
“Nice?” Sophia hadn’t meant to shriek but she could hardly contain it. “Sorry, Roman,” she said before turning back to her father. “Of course, I should be able to have a say. You want the guy to be my shadow until further notice.”
“You’re impossible,” he growled. Nicolas Vasco wasn’t known to take things lightly. In his years as a prosecutor he’d cracked down on crime with a heavy hand. Later, as an elected District Attorney, he’d maintained his tough reputation. “Listen, I trust Sutton Smith. And if he says Blayze Brockton is the best man for the job, then by dang that’s exactly who I’m going to get.”
Sophia knew she was being di cult. The frustrating thing was, it was hard to know how seriously to take the situation. The situation being three ominous packages, delivered two weeks apart. The first two had been so… random she hadn’t known what to make of them. But then came that third package. The one that came to her door three days ago, right on schedule.
This time, Papá insisted she wait and let Roman open it. Wrapped in shiny green paper, complete with ribbon curls and a fancy bow, it resembled the others.
Sophia had stared at the package while Roman tore it open, a sick feeling growing in her gut. Papa had always suspected foul play in Mama’s accident. The rollover that took her life two-and-a-half years ago.
Roman snatched the reflective glasses o his face, his expression like a stone. Angry. Hard. Cold. Sophia had never seen him like that. His wife, Ti any, who’d come for moral support, scooted closer in and hovered over the open top, the look of horror pulling at her soft features.
Sophia and her father stayed put, each nestled into single sofa chairs. He reached for her hand, squeezed it while Roman, a pair of rubber gloves in place, lifted a toy model of her mother’s car from the box. A note dangled from the car: I thought it would be enough. But it’s not.
If there was one thing Sophia despised, it was living in fear. Better that she accept protection than make herself sick with worry. Checking over her shoulder. Counting down the days until the campaign was over. Something she should enjoy, not dread.
Sophia would be disturbed no matter what circumstances surrounded the delivery of a package like that. But the timing made her suspect that someone was trying to silence her. One look at her planner showed more public appearances than there were days of the month. It was campaign time for Nicolas Vasco again, and this year Sophia would fill her mom’s shoes in speaking at the upcoming rallies, galas, and conventions.
“Sophia?” Her father leaned into her periphery and waved a hand.
Sophia snapped out of her daze, leaned over the space between them, and pulled him in for a hug. “I’m sorry, Papi. ” She kissed his freshly shaven cheek. “Blayze Brockton it is.”
“That’s my girl.” No one knew how to shift from zero to nine hundred like he did. All the passion of a true Spaniard, he’d always say. He might get worked up easily, but the man knew how to calm down quickly too. As if to prove that point, he reached an arm back, hoisted a bottle of champagne from the cooler. He tipped his head toward her. “Let’s say we put this to rest with a toast.”
Sophia lifted a brow. “A toast to what?”
He poured the smallest amount of champagne into each glass and handed one to her. “To your safety, mi bonita. May you remain unharmed while you go about your madre’s work, God rest her sweet soul.”
Sophia grinned, clanked her gold-rimmed glass against his, and tipped it back. Bubbles danced on her tongue as she looked out the window once more. The poor guy had just buried his mom, and already he had a new job to bother with. A vision of those blue eyes floated to mind. Mr. Brockton was probably nice enough. He was handsome too, there was no denying it. Not with the kind of politician good looks her father boasted. Polished and clean-shaven. A wide grin at his lips. Mr. Brockton had more of that rugged look going on. Strong, muscular angles to go with that brooding expression. And a deep scar at the center of one brow. Which all made sense, considering he was a retired SEAL. It had to take more than grit and strength to achieve such a thing—a determination that superseded thoughts of self and comfort. Sophia admired that.
Still, with a day like today, she couldn’t help but think back on her mom’s funeral. Sophia didn’t have to imagine the pain Blayze was going through; she’d lived it. Saying goodbye to the woman who birthed you, nursed you, loved and protected you. In Sophia’s case, it was also the woman who’d taught her to make the best Natillas de Leche in San Bernardino County. The woman who danced wildly to fiesta
music with her as it blasted throughout the house. The role model who’d educated Congress on the unique needs of immigrant families. But she hadn’t stopped there. In the spirit of a true humanitarian, her mother followed her father on the campaign trail, preaching the importance of balanced justice. Her passion had inspired Papa in his focus as District Attorney, which made her the perfect candidate to speak on his behalf during campaigning last time around.
Sophia shook her head. “I miss her,” she said in a whisper.
“I know, Sophia,” her father said from the other side of the car. “I miss her too. I’m so grateful that we had you. You keep her alive for me, you know?” The statement gave life to her father’s anxiety; he didn’t want to lose her too.
“Well, then,” Sophia said, lifting her near-empty glass once more. “Here’s to making Mom proud.”
“Yes,” her father said, “Here’s to that.
She took the last sip from her glass, hoping she’d put on enough of a happy face. The truth was, she had her apprehensions. On one hand, she wondered if her father was making more of the packages than he ought to. In addition, she worried that—men being men—Papa, Roman, and Mr. Brockton would be tempted to keep things from Sophia. Let’s not bother her with this. Be sure not to tell Sophia that. The very idea was enough to make her shift with irritation in her seat.
“Now,” her father said. “Let’s go see how things are going back on the campaign trail, shall we?” His eyes went brighter than his smile, and she’d be lying if she said his energy wasn’t contagious. Of course, he’d get reelected for District Attorney, even with the sti competition. Nicolas Vasco was the best man for his job. She only hoped, as she considered the weeks ahead, that Blayze Brockton would be too.
Chapter 3
Blayze shook his head as he thumbed through the information Sutton passed onto him late last night. Digital pictures and/or descriptions of the packages Sophia had received. Blayze applauded Mr. Vasco for his e orts to snu the coward out early. Most people didn’t have the resources, financially, anyway. Turned out Nicolas Vasco and his daughter owned considerable real estate throughout California. With the management company they’d put in place, Sophia and her father put in minimal hours with maximum returns.
In the pale morning light, a mug of black co ee before him, Blayze scrutinized the contents of the first package. It had shown up on her doorstep. Wrapped in shiny white paper, the small box held a giant, pink cupcake with flu y frosting over an inch high. She hadn’t dared eat it, not knowing whom it was from, but while inspecting the baked good Sophia had noticed a motel keycard tucked into the center.
She had played it o as a joke, figuring someone was toying with her. Happy Birthday—Have a night’s stay at the Maraddo, the most rundown motel in all of San Bernardino.
The second hadn’t been as easy to ignore. The bright blue package contained a set of handcu s with a note: Let’s play a game. Mind if I bring my gun?
The District Attorney had made a name for himself among the people of San Bernardino, and he wasn’t short on support, but Vasco was gunning for his second run in the DA’s o ce and after seeking advice from a trusted legal board thought it best to keep things hidden from the press for a time. Media attention often gave the o ender an appetite for the spotlight. Something they wanted to avoid.
Mind if I bring my gun… “Mind if I bring my fist?” Blayze grumbled. He despised cowards. He’d dealt with all types of terrorists throughout his deployment, but he had a particular distaste for the cowardly ways of those who kept themselves hidden in the shadows, tormenting their victims before they even struck.
The last package she’d received was even more chilling. The note attached said the hostile was taking credit for her mother’s accident, and that he was ready to wreak more deadly havoc. Obviously, Sophia was the target this time, which meant someone either wanted Nicolas Vasco to su er, or he wanted him to lose the campaign. The former seemed most likely; there were all sorts of ways to mess up someone’s campaign.
A buzz sounded at his phone—a number he didn’t recognize.
He lifted the small device to his ear. “Brockton, here.”
“Hi, this is Sophia Vasco,” came that alluring accent on the other end of the line. Blayze straightened up, flattening a hand on his paperwork, and tried to calm his racing-for-no good-reason heart.
“Hey,” he blurted. “How are you?”
“Fine. Hope you don’t mind that I called you so early.”
He glanced at his watch, already knowing it was just past 6:00 a.m. “No problem.”
“Listen, I called you directly because I don’t think Sutton Smith or my father should be in charge of how things go between you and I.”
“I agree,” Blayze said with a nod.
“I’m not a child, after all.”
Blayze remained quiet after that one; of course, she wasn’t a child.
“Anyway, I want to establish something.”
“Okay.”
It was hard to picture the woman he’d seen at the funeral. Sure, the accent was the same, but this was a whole new approach. No soft words of sympathy. She was all about business, and she wanted to be heard.
“Now,” she continued, “I only agreed to accept protection for the remainder of this campaign, which runs through the rest of October and wraps up November 5th . So that’s approximately two-and-a-half weeks.
“I’ll be traveling throughout the county, working long and late hours, and I’ll be separated from the majority of the campaign team in the process.”
Blayze kept quiet, only nodded in encouragement, though she couldn’t actually see it.
“We’ll stay the first night in my home. I have the guest room ready for you. From there we’ll stay in hotels, a penthouse—same kitchen and living space—with our own bedrooms.”
“Sounds good.”
“And whatever happens,” she said, voice stern. “I don’t want anything hidden from me. If you, Roman, or my father come across anything, I want to be notified as soon as possible, okay?”
He grinned, unleashing his calm, negotiator voice. “Absolutely. I’d never dream of holding something of relevance from you.”
“And one last thing. I don’t like missing events. If at all possible, I’d like to attend every speaking engagement on the schedule, and there are a lot.”
“Okay,” he encouraged, sensing a greater point ahead.
“The thing is, the packages have been coming every two weeks. And if the pattern continues, I’ll be getting one this Friday.”
“That’s right.” This wasn’t news to Blayze; he had an entire map sketched out of what they might expect in the weeks ahead.
“’Course, who knows where they’d deliver it since I’ll be traveling... Anyway,” she said sharply. “If I do get one on Thursday, it might be a whopper. And I might even want to back down, which I can’t imagine happening. But even if I step away from a few of them, there’s one event—well, there are kind of two—but there’s at least one that I absolutely refuse to miss, and that’s the evening before the voting booths open, November 4th. It’s our last chance to really raise awareness among voters who don’t think about it until it nears. And since this isn’t a presidential year, the local networks will be broadcasting live.”
Since talking to Sutton earlier, Blayze had looked into the role of a district attorney. It was no wonder people were voted in rather than assigned. Turned out, DAs held a whole lot of power in the judicial system.
“Okay, so you don’t want to miss any of the engagements,” Blayze repeated, “but if something comes up and we have to make cuts, the event on November 4th is o the table.”
“No, it’s on the table.”
Blayze smiled, wondering if she were just being coy. “Removing it o the table is o the table then.”
She chuckled, the sound warming his insides in a blink. “That’s correct.” Even those two short words sounded so uniquely… like her; the accent suited her and if he were honest—toyed with him in a way he couldn’t grasp.
The line stayed quiet for a blink. And though he wasn’t in the same room as Ms. Vasco, Blayze could nearly feel the shift in her energy. Similar to that of a freshly deflated balloon. Tension drained. Defenses down. Calm taking over.
“Ms. Vasco,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for making yourself clear.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I think we’re going to get along great.” Hope might have been a more accurate word, but he needed to keep his best foot forward.
“I’m sure we will,” she said.
“Oh, and aren’t you forgetting something?” Blayze regretted asking the second it slipped out of his lips.
“Uh… not that I can think of,” she said.
He shrugged. Why did he suddenly feel like teasing her? “Just thought you might throw out another hooyah cheer. You’re pretty good at that.” He smiled, enjoying the warmth stirring in his belly as he awaited her response.
“Well, aren’t you turning into a lengua largo. ”
His brow scrunched. “A what?”
“Lengua largo, long tongue. It’s like a Chatty Kathy, you know?”
No one had accused him of that before.
“See you tomorrow, Blayze.” A click sounded. Blayze hit the end call button and sank back into his chair. Had she called him by his first name before? He didn’t think so. She definitely hadn’t said it in that snide, playful tone,
that was sure. “A lengua largo?” He shook his head as a vision of the intriguing woman came to mind. Kind brown eyes on that flawless face. Blayze might have fought overseas, but she carried herself like a woman armed for an entirely di erent war. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it intimidating.
What had Cannon said about her at the club that night? “…she seems like a very lovely lady.” The man always spoke like a gentleman. And what he’d said was true— Sophia Vasco seemed like the perfect woman, at a glance anyway. The type who might, unlike Emily, actually support a man when he went overseas. A thought that lit sparks low in his belly. Sparks that hadn’t been there for quite some time. Still, no need to think about her in such a way. In just a few hours, Blayze’s job would begin. He might need to stay physically close in order to protect her, but if he knew what was good for him, Blayze would keep his a ections at a safe distance.
Chapter 4
Sophia listened as Isabella, her father’s campaign manager, recited the most important things on today’s agenda. Her father’s campaign team stood packed into the large lobby, filtering through portable tables, water coolers, and a row of printers. Sophia, crammed between a bulletin board and a tower of stacked chairs, placed one neat checkmark beside each appearance that included her. A few universities, a number of press conferences, and a charity banquet to name a few.
A burst of excitement coursed through her as she looked proudly over the list of appearances; she and Papa were going all out this year—divide and conquer at its best. She was ready for it. Last time around, when her mom had been his campaign partner, people had shown nearly as much interest in Camila Vasco as they had her father. Showing a common interest in goals was important, and Sophia was proud to fill her mother’s shoes, assuring voters there was still that strong, female support in his life after Camila’s passing. Sophia had to take leave from her job at the immigration o ce, but it’d be worth it if her father could hold on to that District Attorney’s chair.
With all the madness going on around her, Sophia was surprised to catch sight of the door just as Blayze Brockton entered. In this part of California, sandy blond hair wasn’t an uncommon sight. But there was nothing else about Blayze Brockton she’d call common. Papa had told him not to bother wearing a suit, as it might make him stand out. Looked like he’d stand out no matter what he wore; the massive size of him alone was intimidating.
The other men in the room shifted as he strode by. Straightening their posture or broadening their chest span in some unnatural looking stretch. Jane, one of the college interns, fanned her face, her eyes never leaving him as he weaved behind the water cooler to stand in a corner. Even Isabella, bless her, stammered over whatever she’d been saying.
Blayze had no idea where Sophia was in the crowd. Maybe she’d slip out of her heels and remain hidden for a few minutes more.
Blayze gave a distinct head nod to a cluster of gawking female interns. Just as Sophia began to wonder when he’d locate her, he turned, shooting a pointed look at Sophia like she had a bullseye pasted on her face. A face that was quickly turning as red as a bullseye under his gaze.
For a moment, it felt like a stare-down. Gorgeous blue eyes presenting a challenge of sorts. The corner of his mouth quirked the slightest bit. Sophia’s did too. It seemed as long as she held his gaze he’d do the same. At last she tore her eyes from him and forced her attention back to her notes, but through the lined pages and carefully spelled out words, all she could see was him. That strong, masculine jaw. Those stormy blue eyes. And that spark of amusement lingering somewhere on his sculpted lips. The heavens would have to help her now—she was distracted just having him in the same room.
As her father took the mic, thanking everyone in advance for their hard work and e orts, Sophia looked up to catch a wry smile from even him. As if he knew the e ect Blayze had had on her.
The idea pricked at her pride. Sure, she hadn’t dated a whole lot over the years, but it wasn’t like she was starved for a ection.
“As you can all see on the monitors,” her father said, “we still have a generous lead—”
“But that’s no reason to get lazy,” Isabella blurted over him. She took the microphone from his hand. “Things can shift on a dime, and we really want to keep our District Attorney behind that desk, right everyone?”
“Right,” Sophia cheered. She caught eyes with Blayze once more as she lowered her exuberantly raised fist, a wave of déjà vu pouring in.
“Ms. Vasco,” a young voice came. “Do you have anything you’d like us to help you with today?”
Sophia snapped out of her stupor in time to realize the crowd had dispersed. She glanced to the young girl who’d addressed her. The intern who’d been gawking at Blayze.
“Hi, Jane.” She double-checked the blonde’s nametag. “I know there’s something I needed. Let me see…” Sophia scanned over her notes as a few others huddled around her.
“I want to help too if you have enough work to go around,” Matteo said.
“Shut up, punk. I was here first,” came the redhead beside Jane. A tall, gawky kid named Frank. Frank was one of the easy ones to remember, since he always drew a likeness of Frankenstein’s profile at the squared corner of his nametag, stitches and all.
Sophia chuckled, gaze darting to the spot where Blayze had been standing.
Gone, hmm. Not that she needed to know where he’d gone because she wasn’t the one keeping track of him. It was supposed to go the other way around.
“Ah, here it is,” she blurted as she located the item on her list. “I need three-thousand letters sent out by snail mail, not email, which means lots of envelope stu ng. Sounds like the perfect job for a wannabe district attorney, right?”
“Well, if we want the job one day, we’ve got to know the campaigning side of it too,” Jane said.
Sophia smiled. “Absolutely, Jane. What’s your email address? I’ll send you the PDF and you can have these guys help you out.” She motioned to the others.
“Perfect!” The girl listed o her email address. Once she was through, Frank blurted his out as well.
“In case you need it,” he joked.
Sophia gave Jane a nod. “I’ll send that out in the next ten minutes. Thanks for your help, guys.” She wasn’t a stranger to the immature behavior displayed by some of the male interns, but that didn’t mean she was a fan of it either. The fact was, she expected college-aged men to act like men. Especially if they were going through law school with hopes of one day becoming a DA.
She highly doubted the two stooges would act nearly as goofy and desperate to help if she weren’t the opposite sex.
The distinct sound of a man clearing his throat caused Sophia to spin on one heel. And there he was. Dressed in gray Dockers and a shirt too close to black to be gray. Yet there was a hint of ash speckled throughout the fabric, reflecting the stormy blue color in his eyes.
“Hi,” she said, attempting a nod as indiscernible as the one he’d given her earlier.
His eyes swept over the room before landing back on her. “I’d like to go over your plans for the week.”
Sophia thought about that for a microsecond, recalling the few hundred things she wanted to cross o her list before lunch. “I’ve got a ton of things that need to be done in the next few hours,” she said. “Mind if we do it over a bite to eat?”
Blayze shook his head. “Not at all.”
There. That wasn’t so bad. Now maybe she could have her headspace back so she could get some work done.
“So,” he said as he glanced down at her list once more. “Where we headed?”
We? How would she ever get used to this? “My o ce,” she said, and then led the way.
The woman didn’t like him. That much was clear. Which was stupid because she didn’t even know him. Stop sulking, Blayze, and focus on your job. He sank into a collapsible chair by the window in what he guessed was Sophia’s temporary o ce.
“You can sit in one of the more comfortable chairs if you’d like.”
He shook his head. “No thanks.” He pulled a small notebook and pen from his pocket and made a list of a few of the people who’d stood out to him at the campaign meeting. Those he didn’t have a name for he mentioned by description. A quick flip of the page had him looking at the list of things he wanted to ask Sophia, something they might not have time for over a simple bite to eat.
His mind drifted back to some of the other Warrior Project jobs he’d taken on for Sutton since receiving that party invite to his mansion, which turned out to be more than a mingling of high society and retired SEALs.
Some jobs required more detective work than others, something Sutton had taken into account, commissioning a
team of private investigators as well. But every protection job Blayze accepted had required a lot of brains to go with the brawn. Especially the hostage situations where he’d been called on to perform last-minute negotiations. Something he specialized in out in the field as well. It was di erent from battling with weapons. Negotiations had more to do with getting in someone’s head.
“Mr. Brockton?”
Blayze spun in his chair to see Nicolas Vasco in the doorway of Sophia’s o ce. “Mind if I speak to you for a moment?”
Blayze looked at Sophia in time to see her shoot a warning look to her dad. “Not at all,” he said. “Though, Sophia has asked that we not discuss things without her present. You don’t mind if we remain here, do you?”
Nicolas moved his focus from Blayze to Sophia. “It’s just about a few things.”
“Papi, do you really think it’s necessary?” Sophia asked. The air got thick quick. Obviously, this was a source of tension between them. Blayze kept quiet as Mr. Vasco’s nostrils flared. “Si, bonita. Now, do you want us to talk in here, or would you like me to take this into my o ce?”
Sophia dropped her pen, flattened her hand on a stack of papers, and nodded. “Here.”
Mr. Vasco allowed for a triumphant grin and pointed to the couch across from Sophia’s desk. “Please, Mr. Brockton. Let’s sit.”
Blayze took a seat as Nicolas sank into the spot beside him. Though the District Attorney had spent most of his career as a prosecutor, the man had that politician look to him. Clean-shaven, poised, and polished around the edges. Blayze half-expected to hear a high-pitched chime as he flashed his wide, sparkling grin.
