Miss Armstrong looks so damn fine in the photo. 😍
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"Do you want to stay here tonight or are we going back to my place?"
My mind snapped from its playback of the day's events and back onto the brunette that had graced me with her attention. I was taking the dishes and started cleaning up. JJ and James had left just a few minutes earlier.
"Sorry?" I asked, sort of distracted by her comment.
"I said, do you want to stay here tonight or are we going back to my place?" She shook her head at me as if I was stupid. "Seeing as my father decided to put you in charge of my fucking life."
"Miss Armstrong," I replied, a little snottily, "I don't know what your father or anyone else might have told you, but if I'm protecting you, that's all I'll do. I'm not your your servant, your mother or your guardian. I can assure you I have no interest in being in charge of your life. My only concern is your safety and unless you do something to sabotage that, you can do whatever the heck you like."
She stared back at me, was I imagining things or were those eyes a little softer?
"So if I wanted to go back to my flat I could?"
"If you insisted on it, yes. But as I said earlier, I think it would be foolish to go back there tonight. If those people are serious, and it seemed they were, that would be the first place to try and pick you up."
I yawned, covering my mouth as I did so, "That's what I'd do anyway, stake out your home or your office and wait for you there."
Her eyes narrowed, "So I'm stuck here, with you?"
"If you don't want to put yourself at risk, then yes. Maybe the risk will be lessened after the negotiations that James mentioned tomorrow; and things can go back to normal. I don't think that the attack today was a coincidence."
She spent a bit of time thinking about this, obviously considering. At least I was able to be honest, I didn't have to lie to her. Idle threats are one thing, but you can only stretch coincidence so far before it comes crashing down around your shoulders.
No, it seemed more likely that the attack on Miss Armstrong was designed to either scare her off the meeting with India's Border Security Force, or kill her and get Armstrong Industries to pull out of the deal. Either way, it had failed.
"I don't know why my dad even asked you to look after me."
"Maybe because he wants to keep you alive...or maybe he just wants to screw me, like his secretary." I answered quickly. Her head snapped up and she stared straight at me, her eyes wide.
"You heard that?"
"Miss, most of the staff in your house would have heard that if I hadn't sent them away."
"How much did you hear?" she snapped, suddenly looking angrily at me.
"Enough to know you aren't happy with me being assigned to protect you, enough to know what you really think of me. Enough to know that, for someone that's supposed to be keeping her father's secrets, you have a very loud voice when you're angry."
"Yeah, well, you weren't supposed to hear that; fucking spying on us, who do you think you are?"
I just looked at her and raised an eyebrow in amusement as she paused in her tirade for a second before continuing; her voice now lower and calmer.
"You shouldn't judge him you know, or me for that matter, that wouldn't be fair. It's not as simple as you think."
I had to sigh at that; it's sad really that someone can think so little of someone they've never met before and barely spoken to.
"Look, miss, it's not my job to judge you, or your father. It's my job to keep you safe and that's all I'm interested in doing. What's really unfair is to judge someone you don't know and you've barely spoken to."
She looked across at me, "I don't know what you mean," she said sheepishly; her eyes telling me differently.
"You called me a psycho, miss; that's judgmental and that's not fair. You're also assuming that I'm making some kind of moral judgement on you and your father and that's not fair either."
She looked abashed for a second before turning on me again. "You nearly killed Pieter," she accused, totally ignoring the main part of my defense.
"I was simply defending myself."
She didn't look convinced, I'm not that surprised to be honest, a lot of people I've met assumed that I'm some kind of a baby-murdering lunatic because I'm a squaddie. Well, that's not me, and it's not anyone else I knew in the Army.
I'm a professional and that's what she's going to get from me; professionalism, nothing more nothing less. I took a deep breath and prepared to give her a speech that I've given a hundred times before, on a hundred different escort missions.
"Miss Armstrong, let's understand each other please. I don't care what you think of me; I know you dislike me and that's fine. Lots of people I've protected didn't actually like me. I'm not paid to be liked; I'm paid to do my job. All I need is for you to trust me when I tell you something is for your own good, that's all. Now, if you don't mind, it's been a really long and stressful day and I think we both need to get some sleep."
I left her to her thoughts and went into the bedroom and rummaged around in the cupboards to find an extra pillow and some blankets. I grabbed them and wandered back out into the living room. Tossing them on the floor, I noticed her staring at the pile of bedding.
"Right, if you don't mind giving me a bit of peace, I'll get my head down. If you need anything to sleep in, help yourself to the clothes in the drawers, they're all new."
She looked at me blankly.
"Go to bed, miss, please."
"I can't take your bed," she said finally understanding what I meant and looking down at the floor, "that wouldn't be right either."
"Miss Armstrong, until two days ago I was sleeping on the floor in a worse place than this. I'm a guest here as much as you are. Take the bed and leave me in peace please, I'll feel better if I'm closer to the door; just in case someone tries to get in."
I ended the conversation by sorting out my bedding and wandering around the house double checking that everything was locked. I made a quick call to the security downstairs, asking him to call if anything odd happened, no matter how small he thought it might be, and then headed for the bedroom. Finding the door shut, I knocked lightly and waited for her to answer.
"You can come in."
I opened the door and walked into the bedroom, she'd already dived under the covers, her clothes a pile on the floor.
"Last minute checks," I said walking over to the window and making sure it was locked shut.
"If you need anything, or if you hear anything weird, you call me, okay?"
"I will," she replied softly.
As I walked towards the open doorway I heard her call me again.
"Miss Sarocha?" I turned to look at her, "I do trust you, okay? After today, I'd trust you with my life... again, that is."
'Damn'
I stood in the doorway and nodded, before stepping into the living room and pulling the door shut behind me. Perhaps my life had just got a little bit easier.
---
"Miss Sarocha, Miss Sarocha...fuck's sake...FREEN WAKE UP!"
I'm dragged from another nightmare by a voice from the heavens. I've no idea who it is or where I am, but for the first time ever, someone in my dream has driven the faces away.
As I pull myself back towards consciousness, I realize I'm being shaken and my name is being called. I opened my eyes to see the concerned face of Miss Armstrong looking down at me.
"What's wrong?" I asked quickly realizing suddenly where I am and who I'm with, "Did you hear something?"
She snorted at me in disgust; all hints of the concern that had been written across her face now gone.
"Only you screaming out guys names. You scared the shit out of me. I thought we were being attacked again."
"Really? Sorry."
Two words, not really enough for scaring her; so much for being fucking professional.
Her eyes softened at my apology. Christ, this girl really does have some serious mood swing issues.
"It's okay, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," I replied sitting up, allowing the blankets to fall around my waist. "Bad dreams that's all."
I looked at the clock on the wall, it was only three-thirty in the morning. 'Jesus'
"Go back to bed, Miss, I'm sorry to have disturbed you." The dismissal was plain; she paused and looked at me for a second, before leaving me and heading back to her room.
I sat in the darkness for what felt like ages, just thinking. I felt a little bit guilty about what I'd just done; she was only making sure I was okay after all. But I just couldn't bring myself to let her see my weakness.
Every time I woke up after a nightmare, I felt drained and scared. They had been haunting me for so long now it was actually a shock to have seen the faces dissolve before they could speak, before my comrades, my friends could torment me with their accusations.
As I drifted off to sleep again, I could feel a faint smile cross my lips as a new face came to haunt me. A face with a perfect nose, brown hair and brown eyes that I could swim in.
Swim in forever, happily drown in.
'Rebecca....what a lovely name, suits her.'
Her face was the last thing I saw before sleep engulfed me once more.
---
I was woken up by the alarm on my phone screeching away telling me it was six in the morning. As I wiped the crusts of sleep from my eyes, I stretched and dragged myself awake. Climbing out of the duvet, I headed for the kitchen and put on the kettle before heading for the shower.
As I felt the water pound my skin, I took stock of my feelings. I was attracted to the woman I was supposed to be protecting. That's not right. I can't allow myself to think and feel like that. Fuck's sake, I'd only been out of the army for a few months, I can't have lost my professionalism that easily.
The cold shower felt good, made everything seem clear.
'Professional Freen, just be professional; that's all you have to do.'
When I'd left the bathroom, I'd almost literally bumped into Miss Armstrong. She was dressed and looking as if she was about to leave the flat.
"Going somewhere?"
At least she had the good grace to look ashamed of herself.
"I was, I...erm. I was..."
"Trying to leave," I interrupted her stuttering. "I know, miss. I'm not stupid. Look, please sit down, make yourself a drink and let me get dressed. I promise I won't hold you up any longer than I have to.
"You're not, it's..." she tailed off as if unsure how to continue.
"Miss Armstrong, please sit down," I sighed. "Don't make my job any harder than it already is."
She looked at me oddly and turned to flop down on the sofa. For some strange reason, she didn't seem to take offence, though; just seemed to accept it and move on. I was puzzled. Last night she'd have probably tore my head off for saying something like that; this morning she just let it slip away.
"I'm just going to quickly get dressed, then I'll call JJ and make sure your flat is safe."
She nodded in reply and I headed for the bedroom, making sure I didn't close the door behind me so I could hear her if she tried to leave. Thankfully she didn't as I could hear her banging around in the kitchen.
"Milk and sugar?"
The question came out of the blue, as did she; suddenly appearing in the doorway.
"Are you making tea or coffee?" I asked carefully.
"I was making tea, unless you want coffee."
"Don't like coffee, not first thing in the morning anyway. Tea would be great, milk no sugar please."
She nodded and walked away, heading back to the kitchen.
Five minutes later I'm dressed, feeling human and looking okay, the look isn't improved by the swollen and bruised eye that no amount of makeup could disguise, and all the minor cuts on my face that yesterday's drive home presented me with.
I headed outside to see her sat on the sofa, a large mug of tea in her hand, watching the news.
"I left your tea on the counter," she said, her voice level. I picked it up as I walked past and sat on one of the chairs taking a sip.
"Anything happening?" I asked nodding at the television.
"The usual, war, death and destruction," she replied bleakly. "Fucking typical, another waste of lives."
She glared at me as if it was my personal responsibility that it had happened, I simply grimaced. I'd seen and heard these kind of comments while I was over there. It's easy to criticize when your thousands of miles away from the situation.
I kept all this to myself though, I didn't want to break the uneasy truce that seemed to have developed overnight between us by giving her something else to get mad at me for.
"I think it's terrible the way that innocent peop..."
I was rescued by the phone going off in my pocket; thank god for JJ.
After a quick conversation, he confirmed that Miss Armstrong's flat was indeed safe and that he was parked outside; watching the street for anything suspicious just in case. He also told me that the car her father had arranged for was on its way to pick us up.
"Good news," I said cheerily as I put away the phone, hoping to dispel the gloom that had descended on the room. "JJ says your flat is clear and your driver is on his way over to take us there."
"Good, I can't wait to get home."
I took a sip of my tea and ignored the slight sarcasm in her voice.
"I need to get changed, I can't go to the meeting dressed like this," she continued; probably sensing that things were changing for the worse.
"Dunno why, you look fine to me."
More than fine actually. Smart black business suit, white blouse and heels. It all looked very expensive too, not that I'm an expert but some things just ooze quality and elegance.
"Oh and you're an expert are you, Miss Sarocha?" She looked across at me and blushed, "sorry, that was uncalled for."
"Miss Armstrong, I told you last night, I know you don't like me and that's fine. All I need for you to do is trust me; and trust me you look fine."
"It's not that I don't like you Miss Sarocha, I just don't like what you stand for."
I'm kind of shocked... no, actually I'm just plain shocked; I never realized I stood for anything, not really.
"Oh," I manage to utter, rather stupidly I think as my brain tried to work out what it is she thinks I stand for.
"I mean you're all the same aren't you, ex-military types? War is just a big game to you, isn't it? Killing people is nothing to you; it's what you're trained for. Look at you, you burst into a meeting I'm having with my dad and you pull a fucking gun. You're just like every other ex-military dickhead I've had to deal with. You've got too much testosterone."
Right, so the truce is over, is it? I've never allowed someone to label me like that. I don't do labels, I'm more than someone's fucking label. Being labeled as something always just made me angry; in fact, I can feel my blood start to boil just a little bit right now, because Rebecca Armstrong being mad at me for what I did, with what she does for a living, is pretty fucking hypocritical.
I was about to go on a full scale tirade when I remember that I'm actually now working for her father and I promised myself I'd be professional. So I took a long deep breath calming myself before speaking. Planning how to get my punches in without getting myself fired and ending up back on the streets.
"Miss Armstrong, yesterday you accused me of judging you and your father and told me it wasn't fair; but you're doing exactly that, judging me; judging all soldiers. You have a false impression of what military people are like. Military people are like me and James and JJ; we're just normal people doing our jobs. Yet you accuse me of being some kind of mindless killing machine. I've only ever used my weapon to defend myself, to keep me and the people around me alive, whoever they are. I'm a professional and all I've ever done is my job."
"But you've killed people, haven't you?" she snapped back. I sighed and nodded; that's something I can't deny.
"Yeah, I've killed people, do you want me to feel guilty for doing what I did? You can't Miss Armstrong, you can't make me feel any more guilt than I already do. I was doing a job, just like you do. How many people have been killed as a result of your deals? We've both killed, in our own ways. It doesn't make us good people, but it doesn't make us bad people either."
I looked at her and saw her eyes start to fill with tears; she turned her back on me. Suddenly, I remembered what I'd been told yesterday by Alan, the security guard.
"Rumor has it she's not exactly in love with what she does."
"Anyway," I said trying to break the silence again, trying to change the subject. "Like I said, you don't have to like me, miss; you don't even have to like what you think I stand for. But please, judge me on what I do, not what you think I'm capable of doing.
Now, if you'd like, we'll go and see if your car has arrived and get you home and on to your meeting. Then we can discuss what you want to do for the rest of the day and how I can best protect you during it."
I led her out of the flat and down the stairs in silence. We had nothing to say, both processing the hurtful words that we'd said to each other. I checked that the little guest car park at the front of the building was safe before escorting her out and into the waiting car.
As she climbed into the back of the huge car, I got into the passenger seat up front. I caught a look from her out of the corner of my eye as I pulled on my seatbelt; but she continued with the silent treatment.
I'm actually really hurt that she thinks so little of me, despite not even knowing me. I
don't know why it hurts so much, it's not like it's the first time I've been faced with an attitude like hers.
'Fuck off, Freen, you know exactly why it hurts, you like her... you really like her.'
And with that disconcerting thought floating through my head, we set off to St John's Wood and the place that she called home.