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FIVE
“We’ll need you to blend in, of course,” the bride across from Chandler said as she flashed him the sickly sweet smile of the terminally in love. It made him more than a little nauseous. Not that he’d show that, though. She and her soon-to-be husband were paying big bucks to have his agency provide security for their splashy wedding. Customer service was a part of the job Chandler was still getting used to, but he could fake it fairly well most of the time. It just took a lot of smiling and a whole lot of biting his tongue. A whole lot. She continued. “So, we’re going to pay to rent you a pink tuxedo to match the other groomsmen.”
Chandler’s smile froze in place. Yeah. No way in hell that was ever happening.
“Well, we can handle those details as the ceremony gets closer.”
And by then, you’ll be so consumed with nerves and excitement and a million other details needing your attention that you’ll forget all about what I’m wearing. Hopefully. Because if not, I’m going to find someone else on the team to take the assignment.
But no, he couldn’t do that. A true leader would never ask one of the people under his command to do something he wasn’t willing to do himself. That was one lesson he’d learned in the Navy that still applied to civilian life. It had just never involved pink tuxedos before. Yeah, he was really going to be banking a lot of hope on the idea that the bride would forget about this requirement by the time the happy day rolled around.
Chandler suppressed a sigh as he stared down at their file on his desk again. These clients were local celebrities, both from wealthy, well-to-do families who were blowing half their trust funds on a big social media extravaganza of a wedding. Silly, if you asked Chandler. Better to save their money for something more important.
But no one had asked him, and since some of those funds were being shelled out to pay for his services, he couldn’t complain too much. It was a good day’s haul, finance wise, and doing the job and doing it right could lead to more business down the line, either from the pair themselves or from their equally wealthy and high-profile friends.
He needed to keep them happy, so he flashed his brightest smile and nodded appropriately at their suggestions, though he was only half-listening. Chandler’s attention drifted to the windows on the side wall of his private office. Bright sunshine shone in—it was a gorgeous day. The kind of day that made a man want to go outside and get something accomplished.
He could be out researching a suspect or following up on a lead, the physical work that got his blood pumping and made him feel like he was doing something with his life. Something that mattered. Life as a Navy SEAL certainly hadn’t been a bed of roses, but he’d always felt like what he did made a difference. It was harder to feel that way now. He’d traded in that life for endless conversations about cakes and party favors and whether his security team’s presence could be somehow made to blend in with the pink and ivory colors the bride had chosen for the ceremony.
“Do you dance, Mr. Ruthven?” the groom asked after kissing the back of his bride’s hand.
“Only under threat of death,” Chandler replied before he caught himself, chuckling to dull the edge of the words. “Just kidding. I haven’t really had much opportunity to dance since high school. Not many dance floors in the SEALs.”
“Right.” The groom gave his beloved a besotted grin, then glanced back at Chandler. “We’re having a DJ at the reception to play all our favorite disco hits.”
“We just love the 70s,” the bride chimed in.
“And in order to remain discreet and look like just another groomsman, you’ll have to learn the hustle with the rest of the wedding party. We’ll pay for the lessons, of course,” the groom said.
What Chandler would really love was a lobotomy, but he bit his tongue yet again. He tasted a bit of blood this time—proof this meeting had gone on long enough. “Okay. I think I’ve got enough information to go on for now.”
He didn’t. What he’d really been hoping to get was logistics of the venues so he could suggest the correct security configuration. But the couple had forgotten to bring along the plans and would be emailing them over later. With nothing else useful to discuss, it was time to end this meeting and salvage what he could of his afternoon. “Thanks so much for stopping by, and once I get those schematics from you later today, I’ll begin working up plans. My assistant will be in touch to set up another meeting to discuss those with you both and finalize everything.”
After showing them out, Chandler returned to his office and sat behind his desk again, wondering what the hell he was actually doing with his life. While he was glad he’d been able to step in when his parents needed him, it still felt like he was part of some elaborate “take your kid to work” situation—not least because he actually had worked at the agency when he was growing up, as a part-time job.
When Dad had first retired from the Navy and started the agency, Chandler had been just eleven years old—not really old enough to be much help. But Dad had still brought him around sometimes, giving him extra spending money if he’d help out by making copies or doing filing. As he got older, it became more of a steady gig—and his responsibilities grew. He knew his dad always hoped he’d step up and take over the business someday…but it wasn’t supposed to happen yet. He was supposed to have more time to be a SEAL. His dad had put in a full twenty years of service before retiring, and Chandler’d had the same plan, too.
He missed military life more than he ever expected. Six months. Six months he’d been running this place, and while most days it kept him busy and offered a good, steady paycheck, he longed for the thrills and excitement of his SEAL missions. Honestly, if he had to print out one more report or use one more paper clip, he thought he might hurt someone, most likely himself.
He sighed and went out to the break room to get himself a drink. It was the office part, really, that got to him the most. He loved being out in the field, investigating things, or even installing security systems. Hands on was his thing. Of course, life in the military had taught him better than to think he could always have things his way. You didn’t do the job for the fun of it—you did it because it needed to be done. You did it because people were counting on you. That was still the case now, even in civilian life. Only now, people were counting on him to learn the hustle. Jesus Christ.
He grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and cracked open the lid, taking a long gulp. The main problem he had was he wanted to feel useful and valuable, like he had when he was a SEAL. But prancing around some hoity-toity society wedding in a pink tux protecting people who probably weren’t in any danger anyway—because based on what the couple had told him, they were doing this more for show than anything to literally keep up with the Kardashians—just seemed like a waste of everyone’s time and resources.
Chandler went back to his office and had just taken a seat when his cell phone buzzed on his desk. Shoulders slumped, he tapped the screen, expecting to see another inane client needing bogus security when an unexpected name popped up.
Eden Dawson.
His heart rate kicked up a notch, and he sank back into his seat. Huh. This was interesting.
“Ruthven Security, Chandler speaking.”
“Chandler, it’s Eden,” she said, her voice sounding a bit hollow and shaky. His SEAL instincts went on immediate alert. “I need to talk to you.”
He sat forward, frowning, no longer bored at all. “What’s wrong?” Had there been another attack? Was she hurt?
“Nothing.” She sighed, an exhausted sound. “I mean, nothing dangerous or anything. I went to give a deposition today, going over my testimony for the murder trial and it…didn’t go well.”
“Oh. Crap. Sorry.” The knot of tension between his shoulder blades eased. “Still haven’t remembered anything?”
