Broken Course (2 page)

"Erica, can I call you back?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. You can get off the phone, but you’re coming to the shower."

"Okay. Send me the info. I’ll be there," I reply just to appease her. "Bye, babe." I hang up and head toward the flustered woman.

The closer I get, the sexier she becomes, and suddenly, I’m approaching her for a totally different reason.

"Excuse me, miss. Do you need some help?" I ask when I get close.

"God, yes! I’m late for an interview and I have no idea where the hell I am. The cab driver dropped me off here, but I think this is the wrong place. Oh, and my phone died, because
really
—that’s the kind of day I'm having. You don’t happen to know where State Street is, do you?" she rushes out then blows her hair out of her eyes with a huff.

"Yeah. That’s, like, two streets back. You’re not far. Come on. I’ll walk you there."

"Oh, thank you so much." She sighs with relief.

I extend a hand toward her. "Hi. My name’s Leo James."

"Nice to meet you. I’m Sarah Erickson."

"Do you need to call and let them know you are running late?" I ask, offering her my phone.

"I wouldn’t even know who to ask for. My friend’s dad pulled some strings to get me this interview. He didn’t even tell me who I’m meeting with." She shrugs, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I’m sure they’ll understand. What kind of work do you do?"

"Uh, I’m not really sure about that either." She smiles uncomfortably and glances at me out of the corner of her eye.

"So, this is, like, a surprise interview?" I laugh, causing her smile to spread across her face. I nearly stumble at the sight.

"Something like that." When she winks, I swear I almost choke on my own tongue.

Fuck, this woman is gorgeous. Her slender figure is covered by a black skirt that hugs the curve of her ass and a white blouse unbuttoned just enough to show a tasteful amount of skin. She’s tall in her black heels, but I still have her by an inch or two. Her blond hair hangs down her back and her blue eyes sparkle in the midday sun.

I clear my throat and barely manage to stop my wandering eyes. "Where are you from? That definitely isn’t a Chicago accent I hear."

She looks over and laughs. "No, definitely not. What gave me away? I haven’t even said y’all yet."

"No, you haven’t. Although I’m sure it will be worth the wait to hear it again." I smile back at her.

She holds my gaze for a minute before biting her bottom lip and looking away. It’s not a shy reaction. It appears as though she’s just trying to cover her own flirtatious grin.

"I’m from Savannah, Georgia. Born and raised. But I’ve lived here for years now. How much farther?" she asks, stealing an impatient peek at her watch.

"Just another block or so," I respond as we stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.

"There is no way I’m going to get this job. I’m, like, fifteen minutes late already."

"So you really have no idea what kind of job you’re interviewing for?" I ask when an awkward silence fills the air around us.

"Nah, I do. It’s a very glamorous receptionist position at the newspaper, but that’s about all I do know. "

"Well, that’s bound to be interesting at least."

"Right. Answering phones and filing paperwork all day is my dream job," she says sarcastically before clarifying. "Don’t get me wrong though. I’m really excited about having a job again. What do you do?"

"I own a security agency," I answer, and for some reason, it seems to surprise her.

She looks at me with her head tilted. "Like installing security alarms?"

"No, more like personal protection type stuff. Here." I reach into my back pocket and pull one of my business cards out of my wallet.

"Guardian Protection Agency," she reads aloud, continuing her quick steps down the sidewalk. "You’re a bodyguard?"

"I don’t do much of the actual street work anymore. I run more of the business side of things and train the new guys, but yeah, I guess bodyguard is the easiest explanation."

"Wow. That actually does sound interesting. You’re making me feel completely inadequate with my receptionist position now. You know, the one I won’t be getting because I’m officially almost twenty minutes late now. Shit." She cusses to herself as I chuckle.

"Well, you’re in luck, because we’re here." I motion to the large door of the Chicago Tribune. Stepping forward, I open it for her.

"Oh, thank God." She smooths out her skirt and runs a hand through her hair before walking inside.

"Miss Erickson?" an older woman snaps, making it quite clear that my blonde thankfully isn’t married.

"Yes, uh, that’s me," Sarah responds hesitantly, and I can’t blame her for her trepidation. Even with just two words, this woman has made it clear that she’s pissed.

"You’re late. I’m sorry but the job is no longer—"

I jump to interrupt her before she has a chance to dismiss Sarah completely. "I’m sorry. It’s my fault that Miss Erickson is late. Mrs. …?" I lift an eyebrow, fishing for her name.

"Fernandez," she finishes for me, obviously trying to figure out who the hell I am and why she should care.

"
Ah, hablas español
?"
(Ah, you speak Spanish?)

"
Sí
," she answers, still perplexed.

"
De donde eres?"(Where are you from?)

"Puerto Rico."

"
Pasé un verano en la isla. Es hermosa. Me encantaría volver algún día, pero me da miedo que mientras este allí no quisiera volver a casa mas nunca.
" (
I spent a summer on the island. It's beautiful. I'd love to go back someday, but I'm afraid I'd never want to come home again.
) I wink and she narrows her eyes. "My name is Leo James, and I own Guardian Protection Agency." I drag yet another card from my wallet. "You see, I’ve been trying to recruit Miss Erickson for a position working for me, but she keeps refusing. When I saw her outside today, I had to give it one last shot to persuade her. However, sadly for myself, she politely declined. It seems she is very excited about the prospect of a position here at the Tribune. It’s my loss. But please don’t penalize her for my persistence. You would be lucky to have her." I finish with a charming smile.

She flicks my card in her fingers. "Guardian, huh? You run security for Slate Andrews, right?" She changes the topic, and it forces the smile to fade from my lips.

"I do," I answer with more attitude than necessary.

"Is it true his new bride is pregnant? Our sports section would have a field day breaking that story."

"I never comment on clients, Mrs. Fernandez. I’m sorry. There will be no breaking story," I almost growl.

She shrugs. "You can’t blame me for taking
one last shot
," she says, throwing my words right back at me.

"Of course not." I plaster on a patronizing smile.

"Well, Miss Erickson, seeing as you are in such high demand, even if you did keep me waiting for almost half an hour, I’d love to speak with you more." The bitchy woman drags her gaze away from me to focus on Sarah, who is nervously smoothing her skirt behind me.

"Yes, and I’m sorry again for being late," Sarah stumbles out.

"Follow me." She walks down the long hall.

A wide-eyed Sarah turns to face me and silently mouths, "Thank you."

I smile and wink before pointing to my card she’s still holding. "Call me," I mouth back to her while making the universal phone signal with my hand. She quickly nods and heads down the hall.

"I GOT the job!" I hear her scream over the phone as I sit at the computer in my office. It hasn’t even been an hour since I left Sarah at her job interview, but I haven’t stopped thinking about her yet. "I mean, hey… This is Sarah Erickson from, you know…earlier," she says uncomfortably.

I laugh at her reminder. "Yes, I remember. So I’m assuming the interview with the Wicked Witch went well after I left." I recline back in my chair, pushing my feet out in front of me.

"Well, the first five minutes were questions about how I knew
you.
But after that, she seemed to warm up a little bit. She offered me shit for pay, but hey, whatever. I am gainfully employed."

"Congratulations. I think you should let me take you out to dinner this weekend to celebrate." I smile to myself at the prospect of seeing her again, but the line goes silent. "Sarah?"

"Oh, um…I… Well," she stutters.

"Wow. Don’t sound too enthusiastic," I laugh.

"No. I mean. Yeah, okay. Dinner sounds good," she says quietly, but I can still hear the uncertainty in her voice.

I should offer to pick her up, but her hesitance tells me that she would be wary of such a conventional date. "You want to meet me at Shades on Friday night?"

"Yeah. Shades. Seven?" she asks nervously.

"Sounds like a plan."

"Okay, well, I’ll let you go, Leo. Thanks again for today."

"Sure. No problem. I’m glad things worked out. I’ll see you on Friday."

"See you then. Bye." She hangs up.

And even though it’s Wednesday, the weekend just became entirely too far away.

"I CAN'T DO it," I say, staring in the mirror and running my fingers through my long, blond hair.

"Sarah, stop. You look amazing," my little sister, Emma, says as she tugs my top down to reveal more cleavage.

"What if he's a serial killer? I've only met him once." I shimmy my top back up to cover my chest.

"He's not a serial killer," she tries to reassure me but pulls my top back down. "You have great boobs. Show a little skin."

I glance down at my chest. She's not wrong. I do have nice boobs, but I'm not sure that is what I want to show off on a first date with a man I barely know. Second date, maybe. Third, definitely.
What the fuck am I thinking?

"I should just cancel. This is going to be a disaster." I walk over to my phone and grab it off the nightstand. I open my texts and prepare to send Leo a message with some lame excuse of why I can’t make it.

A few days ago, I met Mr. Tall, Dark, And Sexy (forget handsome), Leo James, on a busy sidewalk in the middle of Chicago. I was in panic mode and he walked right up and saved the day. Before that, it had been a shit day—one of those that you just wish you could tear from the notebook and start all over with a fresh page. Only, in my book, there are no more fresh pages—I’m writing in the margins these days.

To say my life has been dramatic for the last seven years would be an understatement roughly the size of the Titanic. My life is a mess. I spent the last two years in either a court-mandated rehabilitation center or some form of therapy after trying to kill myself four times. Oh, and let’s not forget that I tried to shoot my ex-husband. Yep, I’m every man’s dream woman. Yet another reason I can’t go on this date with Leo.

"Don’t you dare!" Emma shouts, trying to snatch the phone from my hands just as it chirps with an incoming message.

Leo: I’ve got some bad news. I can’t make it tonight. Work emergency. Rain check?

I slowly sit down on the couch and stare at the words on the screen. It’s odd—only seconds ago I would have given anything to get out of going on this date. However, now, the disappointment of no longer even having the option is heavy.