Page 10 of Her Honorable Hero

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Hope’s storyhad stirred Griff’s memories of meeting Miranda. As he pulled her close in bed and drifted off to sleep, his memories became his dreams that night. He even felt the gentle rocking of the train three years ago.

Griff Porter ran across the station, barely making it on board. He grinned as soon as he stepped onto the train. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world if he had arrived a couple of hours late to the Navy base at Coronado, but he sure as hell didn’t want to miss an opportunity to see Miranda Slade. This was their time together, and he’d made up his mind that this morning he’d be asking her out. She might not realize it, but she had been targeted by a SEAL, and that meant she belonged to him.

He sauntered down the car and quickly spotted her raven hair. He’d been pretty sure she’d be on this car since they’d been sitting together on this one for the last nine Mondays. As he came upon her, he saw that there was a newspaper lying on the seat beside her. When she saw him walking toward her, she picked it up and motioned toward the empty seat.

Score!

She was on the phone. That was normal, too. The woman did a lot of work when she was on the train. That was fine, he could wait.

Griff made himself as comfortable as he could in the seat. Even here in the business class section the seats didn’t easily accommodate his shoulders. He seemed to end up overflowing into her space a little bit. Miranda didn’t seem to mind as she flashed him a bright smile, then settled back into her phone call. Griff shamelessly listened in.

Miranda could have easily commanded forces in the Navy. Right now someone was getting their ass handed to them in D.C.

“Doug, this is the third time you have missed something for Energys. We don’t have time to set up an entire new process to do a quality control check behind you.”

He watched in fascination as she took quick notes on a sheaf of papers.

“I’m confused. I tracked the time you opened the e-mail. It was actually on Monday, not on Wednesday like you just said. So you actually had five days to go over the contracts. Are you telling me that wasn’t enough time?”

She was well and truly pissed. Apparently good ole Doug didn’t think she would tag her e-mail. Doug didn’t sound like the sharpest tool in the shed.

“Is that really the tack you want to take, Doug?” She asked in a soft voice. “Your final answer is that you didn’t get enough time to review the documents, is that it?”

The bastard was probably too stupid to realize he should be pissing his pants.

Griff pretended to scratch his face so he could cover his grin, but Miranda’s eyes shifted and caught him. Damn, she didn’t miss a trick.

“Thank you for your time Doug,” she said politely. Too damn politely in Griff’s opinion. Again, the bastard should be scared, with a capital ‘S’.

She hung up the phone, shaking her head in disgust as she rapidly dialed another number. It went to voicemail.

“Bob, this is Miranda. Doug’s off the Energys project. As of now. I’m not telling you how to handle one of your employees, but I’m going to send you all the information you’ll need to write him up if you’re so inclined. You’ll have it by the end of the day. In the meantime, I’m going to need someone else to support Energys. Someone who can actually perform the job.”

Griff watched with pleasure and amazement as she powered off her phone.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re disconnecting?”

“Doug’s going to bitch to Bob. Bob’s then going to call me and beg me to take Doug back. If I take the call, I might actually say that Bob needs to grow a pair.” Her blue eyes glittered, and Griff couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“I can’t believe the little weasel lied to me. And then he was stupid about it, thinking I wouldn’t check up on him. I’m more insulted that he thought I was too stupid to catch him, than I am that he lied.” Her pen tapped rapidly against the paper. “Anyway, I won’t handle it well when Bob doesn’t do his job, so it’s best that I don’t talk to the man until tomorrow.”

“But why turn off the phone? Can’t you just let his call go to voicemail when you see his number come up?”

Miranda patted out an imaginary wrinkle in her pencil skirt and looked back up at him. “I’m kind of OCD,” she sighed. “If the phone rings, I answer it. I’m just wired that way.”

“How many hours a week do you work?”

“Does working during the commute count? How about during dinner and through my lunch?”

“Yep, all of those hours count. So how many?” He watched as she once again brushed at her skirt, this time picking at some lint that wasn’t there.

It was time to make a move.

He picked up her delicate hand in his and held it. “Tell me,” he coaxed with the smile that he’d seen his dad use effectively on his mom for twenty-eight years.

“It’s because of the new client. So about fourteen or sixteen hours a day. But that’s when I’m here in San Diego.”