Rick picked up the magazine again and sat back on the sofa, not that any would-be attacker would be as relaxed as he was. Still, he wanted to give Judy a chance.
He thumbed through the pages . . . waiting.
“Go!”
Rick was up, over the coffee table, and had his arm around Judy’s waist, her backside pressed against him before she managed four steps. She struggled in his arms, attempted to elbow his ribs. His steel grip kept her from landing any punches as he pushed her against the wall, immobilizing her. “Your towel would have already fallen, babe,” he whispered.
She relaxed in his arms and he loosened his grip. “Your foreplay needs some work, Rick.”
He laughed and drew in the floral scent of her shampoo before letting her go.
“Well that was entertaining,” Meg said from her perch.
Judy moved out of his reach and smoothed a hand over her torso. Lucky hand!
“Wouldn’t be a bad idea for the two of you to take some self-defense classes,” he told them.
“I doubt we’d stand a chance against a Marine, regardless.”
Rick lost his smile for a moment, not liking the thought of Judy at the mercy of one of his old mates.
“Still not a bad idea.”
Meg pushed off the chair. “How about we just lock the doors and use the right keys?”
“What about when you’re not home?”
“Wow, Rick . . . don’t take the job as hospitality ambassador for the city.”
“It’s a shitty world, Utah. No reason not to be prepared.”
Judy placed her hands on her hips. “I think Meg and I will be just fine, thank you very much. Now if you don’t mind, we were getting ready to go out.”
“Out?” Where?
“Yeah, and before you ask . . . no, you’re not invited.”
It killed him not to ask, but he accepted her dis and moved toward the front door. “Lock the doors and use your key fobs, ladies.”
Judy gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
Rick narrowed his eyes and walked out of the house. Behind him, he heard the lock click into place.
His motorcycle had a small compartment where he kept a few toys. He found a small tracking device, removed his cell phone from his pocket, and synced the two together.
He moved to Judy’s car, opened the driver’s-side door, and tossed her jean jacket in the front seat. Then he placed his hand on the underside of the steering column and stuck the device where no one would see it.
“I take my job seriously, Utah. Get used to it.”
On a map, Westwood wasn’t a long distance from Mike’s Beverly Hills home. Driving there at seven thirty in the morning, however, would test the patience of a saint.
Wearing a pencil skirt, a silk blouse, and sensible heels, Judy hustled from her car after finding a parking spot near the top of the structure. Her excitement over her first day as an intern was clouded by the mad dash to the elevator and the realization that she was going to be late if there was anyone else attempting to get to the lower floors.
At two minutes after eight, she walked up to the receptionist at Benson & Miller Designs and waited while the lady on the phone finished her call.
“Hi, I’m . . . ah, I’m Judy Gardner. The new intern.”
The blonde behind the desk looked to be in her early twenties and seemed to have a genuine smile. “Is it that time again?” the woman asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Intern time. Seems we just did this.” She picked up the phone and dialed. “Mr. Archer, your intern is here. Great.”
The receptionist hung up the phone and pointed down the hall. “Go down the hall, take the first right, and you’ll see offices lining the left side of the building. Three down and you’ll find Mr. Archer’s office.”
Judy hiked her purse higher on her shoulder and started down the hall.
The phone rang behind her. “Benson and Miller Designs, how may I direct your call?”
The greeting alone brought a smile to Judy’s face. She was here. Chasing a dream of becoming a world-class architect. The soft brown and taupe color palette of the office soothed the space and highlighted some of the more recognizable designs of the talented staff. Each photograph had a spotlight from above, giving the hall a museum quality. She didn’t have time to study the buildings. That would have to come later.
She found Steve Archer standing over his overburdened desk with a phone in his hand. Judy stepped into his office with a smile. “We haven’t heard back from engineering on the soil report, Mason.” While Steve spoke into the phone he had poised between his shoulder and his ear, his hands dug into the pile of paper to the left of his phone. “As soon as I have it I’ll send it to your secretary.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s five minutes after eight. I haven’t even had my coffee yet, let alone checked my e-mails. I know . . . I got it.”
Mr. Archer hung up the phone. “You’re late.”
Judy froze. She really had hoped he wouldn’t have noticed. “Uhm . . . the off-ramp—”
“Is messed up. Yeah, I know, has been for months. Leave fifteen minutes earlier. Interns are expected to be here on time, if not early.” He still fumbled on his desk, searching for something.
“I’m sorry.”
He tossed his hand in the air. “Never apologize and never give any excuses, Lucy. I only want to hear how you’ll fix it so you won’t do it again.”
Right. “I’ll leave twenty minutes early tomorrow.”
“Perfect.”
“And it’s Judy.”
Mr. Archer had to be in his midthirties, but his hair was thinning and though he wore a nice suit, it looked like he’d been in it for several hours. “What?” he asked, never taking his attention off his desk.
“My name, it’s Judy, not Lucy.”
“Right . . . OK.” He found the paper he was looking for and whipped it in front of his eyes with a smile. “There you are.” He moved around the desk and out of his office with swift, determined steps. Judy had nothing else to do but move out of his way and follow behind.
In the center of the office were several cubicles along with a dozen light-table workstations. “You can put your purse here,” he told her, pointing toward an empty cubicle.
Judy tossed her purse under the desk and nearly jogged to keep up with her mentor.
“Coffee’s in here.” He pointed toward a small kitchen. “The fridge is for lunches. It’s emptied every Friday so don’t leave anything there over the weekends.”