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May Caledon’s car clunked and sputtered and came to an abrupt halt, steam streaming from beneath the bonnet. Noooo! Just what she needed. Not. She was almost there. She huffed and shook her head. “Great. So bloody typical.” Of all the times her car could break down, it had to happen on the way to her first serious job interview. The first position that had piqued her interest since she’d left the military. Only a short couple of kilometers away from the location, according to her GPS. So close, yet still so far. Thank for mobile phones so she could at least let Solve Security know she’d be running late. And thank she knew the intricate workings of a car. With or without electronic diagnostics. Intimately understood how to fine-tune an engine. Hazard lights on and with car horns blaring, she threw the gear stick into neutral, jumped out and steered her current labor of love to a safer spot on the side of the busy road. Extracting a hair tie from her purse, she wound her untamable, rebellious locks into a ponytail then popped open the hood. Once she had the prop rod in place, she hitched up her skirt and leaned over to get a closer look. The early-morning sun, harsher than she’d expected, beat down on her, adding to the inflamed, unanticipated, infuriating circumstances. She sighed and swept the wayward strands of hair off her sweaty forehead, the hot, merciless, northerly breeze whipping across her back. Her classic red and black Holden Torana, affectionately called Ladybird, didn’t have any of the electrics so couldn’t tell her straight up what was wrong. It absorbed the unprecedented heat to its detriment. The persistent hissing haze emanating from the radiator suggested a water problem. Most likely a crack or possibly a leak. great. Just what she needed. Her limited budget hadn’t catered for major car issues. Hopefully the engine hadn’t totally overheated. Like her internal thermostat, the pressure had built, teetering close to boiling. It would only take one more inconvenience and she’d blow her last gasket. The air vibrated with the anxious hum of people desperate to get to work, or wherever they were headed, on time. And halted by traffic. Fumes mixed with a humid mist, creating a fog that rose off the sun-soaked bitumen, and road rage horns blared at semi-frequent intervals. Instead of playing into responses out of her control, she shifted into mindfulness meditation mode and focused on what she needed to do to ensure a successful interview. Stop start. Stop start. Stop start. Noxious exhaust gases, musty and smoky and sulfur tinged, permeated the environment, making her nose crinkle and melded with her already high stress. Frizzy, curling strands of hair stuck to her face. She tried to blow them off, but they flopped back into place, plastering to her hot, perspiring, pollutant-exposed skin. Unable to do a thing about her ruined hair, she’d have to wait to have a good scrub in the shower after the interview…if she ever made it. Although tempted to check the radiator, she wouldn’t risk removing the cap until the car cooled down. Yes, she wanted to maximize the meeting opportunity, but not at the expense of her safety. Not unless she accepted adding the high possibility of scalding burns to her already compromised condition. Vehicles continued to crawl on by, the stifling northerly breeze buffeting her body, the tar heating the soles of her shoes like a convection stovetop. She debated whether to walk the rest of the way to Solve Security, then return to Ladybird later. May refused to call roadside assistance—she was a better mechanic than all of them strung together. She dug her fingers into the back of her neck. What to do? She had to make a decision, and quickly. Did she set off on foot now, or stay put and wait until she could get her car running? From a risk-first perspective, she didn’t want to remain standing on the side of the road, or even sitting in her broken-down car for longer than needed, or else she’d increase her chances of being hit. Injured or possibly killed. How many times had she heard news stories, how many times had accidental or sometimes purposeful deaths resulted from someone’s vehicle breaking down on a busy highway? She refused to be another statistic. Losing Ladybird would be traumatic, but a -ton more preferable than losing her life. Maybe she should stand on the median strip and wave someone down to help her push Ladybird into an even safer side street. No. She shook her head. No. Not worth it. Who knew what weirdo might pull over? Her current irritated, annoyed mood reduced her tolerance to fending off questionable-character advances. With her short fuse shortening by the second, she might lash out on a well-meaning male and be arrested for assault. In the event of an opposite outcome, she trusted her extensive armed-forces training to enable her to adequately and effectively defend herself, if the need arose. However, in order to best protect herself and others, she should avoid both scenarios. A car blared its horn and shot up the emergency lane, in an attempt to overtake a slow driver, barely missing the rear of Ladybird, and screeched back into the slow flow of traffic. Heart hammering, she retreated off the road onto the median strip. Not a ploy for male attention. A self-preservation decision. She didn’t need a guy in her life to make it worthwhile, to prove her value, to feel complete. She didn’t need him to do anything for her, other than offer his mouth and hands and cock for a good, thorough screw. May blew out a frustrated breath. It had been too long between men. A random, no-strings-attached for fun, when she felt like it—which was most days—would do the desired trick. It ticked her sexual-relief boxes. Nothing serious. Never anything serious. Serious turned into mundane boredom and the death of freedom. May knew from years of personal experience. She’d tried the boyfriend thing a few times and it hadn’t worked. For a countless number of reasons. If anything, it caused her more stress and anxiety. Too much emotional crap, too much pain and baggage to trudge through. She sought a mutual, enjoyable escape. Instead of easing, the traffic congestion increased, decelerating to a super-slow crawl, the heightened pollution making her cough. She could practically feel the black specks of smog clinging to her face and arms and semi-bare legs. Inhaled it into her lungs. She’d wait a few more minutes, reluctantly lock Ladybird, then attempt to meander her way to Solve Security and pray she wouldn’t feature as a hit-and-run news story. An army camouflage-print Jeep rolled up in the far lane, a bunch of fresh-faced soldiers sitting in the back. Were they new recruits? Or returning after holidays, to wherever they were deployed, to further defend their country? The military… She sighed. She’d loved it. Maybe too much. The insular, close, cliquey community had had her back. And she’d had theirs. She’d trusted her team with her life. Even though it had taken a while for her to convince the guys of her mechanical expertise. But it was worth every second of her hard slog. Bittersweet tears burned like flaring fire behind her eyes. It had taken her months, following a few persisting over-use injuries, to finally pull the I-need-to-go pin. Losing one of her close team members had finally rammed home the point that no one was ever one-hundred percent safe, didn’t matter how well trained. That, plus burn-out, had started singeing the edges of her sanity. Not helpful, not healthy for her or anyone. If she had any chance of a ‘normal’ life, a civilian existence with the possibility of children, she had to leave. Before it was too late. Opening up options provided a greater, more satisfying number of choices. Or so she tried to convince herself. Having worked in the forces since she left secondary school—they’d provided her the education to learn her trade—her team had become her second family. Although unsure of how she’d cope, she’d taken the scary plunge, and much to her surprise, had seamlessly transitioned into her new carefree single life. Contrary to the ex-military PTSD horror stories she’d heard. Mind you, she hadn’t tested herself in a new civilian job. Yet. But mounting financial pressure meant she needed to find something soon so she could live the free-and-easy lifestyle she envisaged. Having a reasonable pension helped, created a comfortable buffer, however she still needed purpose, and an additional income to pay for the accelerating high-cost-of-living expenses in Melbourne. Going out for dinner at a pub and having a couple of drinks pretty much equaled her grocery shopping bill for the week. Not maintainable. Far from sustainable. The biggest shock since she returned to Australia. Although still seeking the odd adrenaline rush, overall, she now needed a more supportive, lower-key life. Something with the occasional thrill but more stability. Hence her application for a Solve Security agent position. If she ever made it to the meeting. Her car losing its shit—not a good start. Definitely the opposite of making a great first impression. An employee needed to show reliability, efficiency, effectiveness. May reached into the driver’s side door, snatched her cell phone from the center console and searched for the Solve Security number in an email, confirming her interview date, time and venue. She copied and pasted the contact number into her mobile and pressed the call button. It rang and rang and rang, and went to voicemail. “Hi, you’ve reached Solve Security. Please leave your name and number and a brief message, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” . She summoned her calm voice, and waited for the beep. “Hello? It’s May Caledon here. I’m scheduled to attend an interview at nine-thirty a.m. but my car has broken down. Just wanted to let you know I’ll make it in as soon as I can. Sorry for any inconvenience. My number is…” She hit the call end button and gritted her teeth. Eight-thirty-seven a.m. She should have been there, would have been there, given herself some quiet, relaxed time to get psychologically prepped for the interview if… No point focusing on that. It wouldn’t change the present situation. The early-morning summer sun had turned scorching. Already. Actually, the temperature had been unbearable most of the night, dropping to a muggy ‘low’ of twenty-six degrees Celsius, and the weather bureau expected it to rise to forty degrees today. Great. She hated having a sweaty, unsettled sleep…unless a hot man was involved. She hated summer. She hated turning up to her interview a dripping wet, frizzy-haired, grimy, flustered mess. She really had to get a reverse-cycle unit installed in her bedroom. And maybe a more reliable everyday car. Normally she’d call a taxi or an Uber, but given Ladybird had decided to die in the peak of peak hour, it’d be quicker for her to walk. Though she really didn’t want to leave her pride-and-joy so exposed. What if someone plowed into her baby? Radiator replacement she could handle, but major bodyworks…no. Just no. May closed her eyes and took a couple of big, deep breaths. She threw her phone onto the driver’s seat, and with the steam dissipating, she bent over the engine again, earning her several honks and a couple of wolf whistles. The short skirt—big mistake. Was this an omen? Her morning had gone from promising to disastrous. Maybe she wasn’t meant to work at Solve Security? Between the congested trudge of traffic, and the whoosh when they took off at the odd interval, her phone started ringing. Shit. She raced to retrieve it and answered. “Hi, May here.” Holding the phone tight to one ear, she blocked the other with her hand to filter out the persistent traffic noise, the relentless heat and racket radiating off the road. “It’s Alex from Solve Security. Got your message. Thanks for letting me know what’s happening. Get here when you can. Safely. Don’t rush.” A firm, no-nonsense male voice, yet he exuded empathy. Caring. Gave her a good vibe. Just the kind of employer she’d enjoy working for…if he continued to demonstrate his positive initial impression with action. Maybe the universe wanted to reinforce she should follow through with the agency. Give it her best go. Didn’t David Bowie say something about needing to step into the deep end, where your feet barely touched the ground to enable growth? “Thanks, Alex. I’ll give you a call when I’m on my way.” She yelled over the line after line of chugging car and truck and motorcycle engines, and swiped the sticky sweat from her forehead, the wispy strands of hair from her eyes. “No worries. Hopefully see you soon.” First-world problem somewhat sorted. Beads of perspiration formed between her breasts and trickled down her stomach. She could only imagine how shit her hair looked. Why had she even attempted to straighten it on such a sultry day? Because she’d assumed she’d make it in air-conditioned comfort to the Solve Security office. Massive Murphy’s Law mistake. Her clothes stuck to her damp skin, and she fanned her face. Hopefully her mascara hadn’t run in dark rivulets down her cheeks. She didn’t want to turn up to her interview looking like one of those creepy porcelain clowns popular in the eighties. Or Alice Cooper. Great for rock and roll, but not so great for a security agent…unless the role called for it. She definitely didn’t consider dress-ups a deal breaker. May checked the time on her mobile—eight forty-five a.m.—then dumped it on the dashboard and went to dislodge the prop rod. Car tires crunched along the emergency lane. She swore under her breath, closed her eyes, and froze. no. Please don’t be some single, predatory guy. Yes, okay, she appreciated the concern, the possible help, the attempt to assist, as long as the person didn’t show serial killer signs. As long as the ‘do-gooder’ didn’t have some other personal, financial, or pick-up, date-me agenda. As long as they hadn’t responded to her practically half-naked body on display as some sort of free-for-all come on. “May I help?” A man with a refined English accent that contrasted with her born-and-thoroughly-bred Aussie lilt. Nothing too full-on, but still noticeable. The Queen’s or in this case, King’s English, if she had to guess. Here we go. Didn’t matter how great he sounded, he could still prove to be a prick. No matter how sexy his voice, he gave off an old-fashioned, I-must-help-a-lady-in-distress mentality. And she’d experienced that enough in her life, even more in the male-dominated forces. Already annoyed and frustrated, she couldn’t help but sigh. She only just held back from telling the ‘selfless’ guy to right off. Men always assumed a girl was helpless when it came to cars. Assumed she’d want some big, tough, car-expert to save her. How could she possibly know a multigrip from her mascara? A makeup bag from a tool kit? As a woman, she’d have no inkling where to start, how to fix anything mechanical. Of course she’d have no idea, and he’d have to swoop in and save the day. Massive ego trip on his part, and most likely some sick attempt at flirting. Jaded much? Could her day get any worse? She rolled her eyes and huffed, more than ready to tell the man, in the nicest way possible, to shove off. May left the prop rod in place and turned. Whoa. Her breath caught in her chest. He was stunning. Straight out of her fantasies. Very Tom Ellis, Lucifer. Tall, dark hair, built without being overly buff. Dark jeans, a chocolate-colored T-shirt, piercing coffee-colored eyes. And he had an amazing Jaguar F-Type R black car. hot. Sexy. Expensive. This guy wasn’t some opportunistic, I-desperately-need-a- type. He had wealth. Choices. Going by his outward presentation. Not at all what she’d expected. She’d accused the stranger of assuming and yet she’d done the exact same thing. But was he dodgy? Appearances could be totally deceiving. For all she knew, he might have hired or stolen the car. Ted Bundy epitomized attractive and charismatic and look what had happened to those who engaged with him. She stood up super straight, her emotional battle-armor in place, and glared at the apparent good Samaritan. “Can I help you?” .............................................................................. Not technically, no. But…even with grease streaked across her face, the cute, sexy, confident woman, got the blood boiling in Westley’s veins. “Have you called roadside assistance?” She crossed her arms over her chest, and clenched her jaw. “No. I don’t need it.” She paused and exhaled hard through her nose, as though forcing herself to speak a few more words against her will. “Thanks all the same.” Her curt tone suggested the opposite of thankful, more like offended. “I know a bit about cars. I can have a look.” She rolled her eyes as though she’d dealt with this an innumerable amount of times. “I’m sure you can. Thanks for offering, but I’m already well aware of the problem.” O-kay. She didn’t want his help. Fine. She’d made that explicably clear. Was she fobbing him off or did she really know what she was doing? With no way to know for sure, and not wanting to be one of those misogynistic dicks who believed only men knew better when it came to cars, he’d honor her explanation and not-so-subtle request to leave her alone. “I’ll be on my way then.” “Thanks for stopping.” Her forced smile entirely contradicted her statement. For her ability to hold off on giving him the third degree, he gave her silent kudos. This woman had belief in herself, assurance, and what did the Aussies say? Balls? And she did. No one with any sense would want to screw with her…in an unfun way. Her actions suggested she wouldn’t let a tosser take advantage. She’d vet any man, even if he seemed well-meaning. Admirable. Sensible. Made him honor the lady’s wishes. Though, leaving her behind activated his internal savior complex. Had his stomach clenching and his mind overrun with questions, querying his choice. Even though they’d only spoken a few words, he didn’t doubt her resourcefulness. Didn’t doubt she would continue to refuse his assistance. And yet, he hesitated, wanting to ensure her safety. He’d always struggled to rein in his protective instincts. Strong, capable woman or not. Giving her a shit-ton of time to change her mind, he slowly, under self-imposed duress, got into his car. Indicating back into traffic, he continued to work, watching her as long as possible in his rearview mirror. Within safety limits. Thankfully the traffic started thinning out, and he wasn’t too far from Solve Security headquarters. So he should make his nine a.m. check-in with the boss. Or close to it. After that, dreaded paperwork. He was a field guy. Through and bloody through. Hated the bureaucratic, red-tape part of the job. Loved the thrill of the chase, the strategy, the excitement of setting up to capture a culprit. His previous case had dragged on way longer than anticipated. How many times had he been called to different roofs and sat there, gun aimed. No result. Just waiting and more waiting. Cold, alone, isolated. Focused. But it was worth it. How many times had patience paid off. How many times had the team apprehended the assailant. Too many to count, ever since he’d been employed. Alex and the small team had trust in him, the new guy, and his skills, and he appreciated that. In the end, patience, persistence, perseverance and consistent results were the name of the success game. In his past, his colleagues had worked together for a while before they trusted each other. Before they felt confident putting their lives on the line for work, a cause, society. With an evolved team, they quickly identified the key required traits of a new recruit. Reaching the secure agency car park, he scanned his pass. The boom gate opened and he traveled toward his regular spot in the multilevel complex. While most people had to turn to social media or TV or any other means of escapist entertainment, he loved the challenge of concentration. He loved being a part of bringing in the bad guy. Or girl. Or person, no matter what gender. Brought up in Britain, he carried his justice mentality with him to Australia. Although people outside of the UK assumed residents had a conservative view, he’d been reared within a diverse environment and applied the knowledge to his work, to his decision to leave his antiquated military regiment and migrate to Australia. Anyone living in the UK, probably even in broader Western society, would be familiar with their risqué television programs and live theater over the years. They’d pushed social boundaries through comedy for as long as he could remember. Since before he was born. However, with the change in times, questioning people’s perspectives ceased to remain funny, accepted. Not a worry for him. He kept a foot in both politically and non-politically correct camps. Whatever it took to apprehend criminals. He focused on doing his job and getting any relevant reports in on time. Then he’d go into repeat mode for each new assignment. Westley rolled into his usual spot, grabbed his satchel, and locked the car. He showed his ID pass at the manned checkpoint, then entered the lift and rode it up to the Solve Security office, the sexy little blonde woman impossible to eradicate from his mind. And those large, sea-green eyes…breathtaking. Yes, okay, it’d been a while since he’d wined and dined and bedded a beautiful lady, but still… . He normally had more control. He normally moved on when an opportunity didn’t work out. But there was something intangible yet captivating about the woman. Maybe the damsel-in-distress thing? On his break, he’d detour down there and make sure she hadn’t stayed stranded. If he’d stopped, who knew how many predatory men might use the circumstance to their advantage. Though, he had to admit that some guys might have the best intentions. Like he had. And not just because she was stunning, enchanting, unforgettable. The elevator dinged and the metal doors slid open. He blew out a big breath, stepped into the cool sunlit floor, said a quick hi to Sage on reception, and strode straight to the staff kitchen-lunch room to grab a strong black tea. Stereotypically English, yes, but required when he’d surpassed his regular stress levels. He needed a kick start out of his woman-focused fog if he planned to get anything of significance achieved. He rushed into the large bright climate-controlled area, a long table and chairs running down the middle. Thankfully empty. Running late had its benefits at times. As a self-confessed non-morning person, he preferred not to speak too much until he’d had his caffeine fix. Good quality coffee or tea did the required job. But today, he needed a reconnection to his roots, something to center him. Snagging two tea bags from the huge clear canister on the bench, he popped them in a cup with boiling water from the plumbed tap. The scent of the leaves steeping wafted into his nostrils and had his mouth watering, his mind settling. Westley glanced at his watch. Eight-fifty-nine. Shit. A shorter-than-short-lived high. He added some cold water to the brew, sculled the rest of his tea, hoping it’d give him the required buzz, washed his cup, and strode to his boss’s backlit office. “You’re late.” Alex gestured to the chair opposite his desk, looking like a god on a throne. And he kind of was, his dark brown hair and intense blue eyes clearly stating Don’t mess with me. No doubt he’d made it his life to show dominance in order to protect himself and others. His employer was a stickler for punctuality, and an excellent, experienced boss. Westley took a seat and met Alex’s explain-yourself stare. “Sorry. I stopped to help the driver of a broken-down car but they didn’t want my assistance.” “A woman?” “Yes.” Another unfounded male presumption? “Did you get her name?” Weird. Why did it matter? Did the guy have some sort of psychic abilities or cameras on the streets Westley didn’t know about in order to ensure his staff told the absolute truth? Was this a test? Was it a CCTV check? “No. Why?” “I have interviews today and one candidate rang to say she’d possibly be late because of car trouble.” Intriguing. Was it a coincidence, or could the woman he spoke to be the interviewee? “She didn’t specify her circumstances or offer her name.” In fact, she refused to give much away, pushed him to go ASAP without relinquishing more than the smallest amount of information. Out of safety, annoyance? Probably both. “No worries. But next time, call and inform me if you’re held up.” He peered into Westley’s eyes and leaned forward on his forearms, the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt revealing a myriad of intricately interwoven tattoos. “Thankfully the business is booming but that means I need to keep to scheduled times, or rejig them accordingly, or things get out of hand, and we all get behind.” Made total sense. Westley needed to snap out of his singular mindset and think more broadly. Think with perspective. Think collaborative colleagues. A tricky task when he was used to working alone. Predominantly. The sniper profession didn’t exactly attract extroverted team-player types. And yet, he’d been told time and countless time again he had a natural charisma. Might be his British accent. And yes, he played on it where he could, particularly to gain trust. A requirement of the security profession. His boss scrolled through his tablet and stopped. “Where are you at with the documentation for the Remington case?” “Finishing it up today.” “Good. Because I’ve got another job for you.” Thank goodness. He didn’t need the money, but he needed the work. “What are the specs? When do I start?” Not that he cared. He’d do anything Alex asked because he trusted him implicitly. Knew the guy wouldn’t assign him to something that didn’t suit, that didn’t need his expertise. And it helped that Westley had no personal life. “Still working through the details. All I can tell you is it’s offshore and you’ll be paired with another agent. Once I’ve appointed both of you, I’ll go through the finer aspects.” “Suits me fine.” As long as he had some space. As long as he didn’t have to be hauled up with his work partner twenty-four-seven. One night, two nights, all good. Longer than that, he needed his own room to re-energize, to recover. Time to allow him to think through the day’s events and develop a workable strategy going forward. Hard to do if overwhelmed. He needed a clear head with no other extraneous distractions and complications. “I thought it would. I appreciate your dedication and reliability.” Westley appreciated having an all-consuming job. One where the workplace got him and how to maximize his skills. One that didn’t allow him enough time to think about the big black hole in his personal life. “Unless there’s something else, I’ll get back to finishing the Remington report.” “Nothing else at the moment. I’ll be in touch when I have more info on your new assignment.” “Excellent. You know where to find me.” Westley stood, circled around to the door and headed to his office, down the sunny corridor—the frequent Melbourne sunshine so unlike the UK—thoughts of that sassy woman reappearing, bouncing back and forth in his brain. Could she be one of the potential new agents? No. That sort of shit only happened in the movies, right? Though his gut hoped he was wrong. If by some sort of miracle she was the candidate Alex spoke about, what then? If she met all the agency requirements, ticked all the stringent Solve Security boxes, he might have to work with her. Shit. How could something so simple, so innocent, get so complicated so quickly? If she showed up, and Alex chose her to fill the vacancy, it’d be prudent for Westley not to get personally involved. Prudent, but not necessarily possible. Not if they both had a mutual attraction. She’d definitely sparked desire in him, but had he triggered the same lustful chemical reaction in her? Even if one-sided, she’d be impossible to ignore. Hopefully he’d be fully invested in the new case soon, focus all his scattered energy on that and be way too busy to give her a second thought. Yeah, right. Who was he trying to fool? However, he needed a pre-emptive plan. Just in case she made a permanent appearance. Shouldn’t be too difficult, given it formed part of his regular processing and strategy when taking on a new assignment. And maybe, just maybe, once he knew her better, he’d lose interest. Concentrate. He needed to concentrate on utilizing his fine-tuned skills, his high-end accuracy to get the required job done. Quickly, efficiently, effectively. Without succumbing to any emotional worries. He had to switch off his overactive mind and go into work-compartmentalization mode. Entering his stifling workspace, he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and, using the remote, switched on the air con—thank Alex had shown the foresight to install reverse-cycle units in each office and communal area or else he’d have expired. Westley stood in front of the icy airflow until he stopped sweating, then logged into his computer and waded through the backlog of emails. It always amazed him how many messages piled up in such a short time. Most of them he’d been carbon-copied into, thank goodness. For his reference. Not requiring any action. After deleting a fair chunk of his inbox, he grabbed a strong black coffee and got stuck into completing his latest report. Once in the flow, time flew and next thing he knew, a familiar female voice penetrated his door, caressing his ears. A client? The new worker? Either a woman he’d spoken to or someone he’d met or someone he’d . Maybe even someone who sounded like someone he knew. He stopped typing, straining his ears for more seductive snippets but…nothing. Maybe an interviewee? Or a random? The nature of Alex’s business meant that people sometimes walked straight off the street seeking assistance. Either way, the need to know further details about who accompanied that distinctive, libido-inducing voice overwhelmed his mind, caused an almost compulsion. Could it be the sexy little don’t-screw-with-me lady with the broken-down classic Holden Torana? If so, he’d had his luckiest bloody day in years! In terms of seeing her again. Not that she’d seemed the least bit into him during their mini, stressed-circumstances, side-of-the-road, accidental meeting. But they remained unacquainted. Their short interaction relied on limited first impressions. With more information, familiarity, trust, initial opinions could change. For the positive…or negative. Except his professional expertise made dating extra hard. He could do his whole English accent charm, which had a history of winning over women from a range of countries but then…what? Honesty and security agent didn’t exactly go together. A romantic date wanted truth, to get to know a potential partner in their entirety in order to consider whether they were aligned enough to pursue the relationship. So if he couldn’t be upfront with her, what did it say about him? What did it say about the women he was attracted to? What did it say about his priorities? He shot up out of his office chair and paced the length of his suddenly stuffy office, the air con no longer able to counteract his inner emotional flare up. How much did he want a compatible, loving woman in his life? How much was he willing to sacrifice to find her, keep her? How much did fear prevent him from relationship success? Oh, he’d be honest and frank in terms of his feelings, but he refused to tell the prospective woman what he did job-wise in case it put her—and him, and everyone he was intimately connected with—in additional jeopardy. The more he opened up, the more it elevated the risk. Aside from that, looking at it with a wider perspective, it added extra awkwardness to the whole scenario. What woman wanted to introduce their boyfriend as a sniper, a shooter, a security agent? A guy who might, and most likely would, kill people…if he hadn’t already. What woman would feel comfortable with his skillset and the accompanying danger? None that he’d met so far. Then again, he’d dated ladies outside his profession so had consistently lied about his occupation, hadn’t tested their true reaction to his career choice. Not the best foundation, pretty much setting a precedent for failure. Anyone external to his work, he didn’t let close enough to really know him. The voices grew louder, nearer. Alex’s distinctive, firm-but-considerate rumble, followed by a sultry, intoxicating woman’s laugh. The woman. Westley stopped right in front of his door. His curiosity dared him to make an appearance, determine how she fit within the Solve Security puzzle. Not yet. Take a breath. He leaned against the door and raked his hands through his hair. He needed a believable excuse, something that didn’t sound pathetic. Something that sounded legit. Pushing off the door, he started pacing again, darting his eyes about the room, zoning in on his almost empty coffee cup. Yes, he could take it into the kitchen under the pretense of cleaning the caffeine-stained thing. He needed to act before he missed this rare opportunity. Westley dropped his face into his hands. For years, he’d lived as a loner. Up until he secured the gig at Solve Security. Prior to that he’d done his job without concern that someone else might get hurt. From his experience, enemies knew how to target a person’s weak spot. So he’d kept his vulnerabilities, and connections to family and close friends hidden, to retain a strong resolve. Although he wanted a wife, his own children, he refused to put anyone he loved at risk. Hence his continued single status. His immediate family lived in the UK, and he made sure to keep communication with them to a minimum, for their own protection, and he had no familial connections in Australia. Just how he liked it…professionally. Made it a shit-ton easier to do his role. If criminals worked out who he loved, they’d use them as pawns, as bargaining chips, making him less effective and reducing his ability to follow agency protocol and stipulations. It would significantly impact on his job integrity. Because although he enjoyed what he did, he couldn’t sacrifice those he cared about. Never. Ever. Protecting those close to him held the highest priority. Always would. As a result, he’d compartmentalized his life into personal and professional, ensuring neither crossed. Hence why working alone had held added appeal, playing into the whole noble cause thing while increasing his and his family’s chances of survival. His family, friends, and partner came first, closely followed by keeping the broader community safe. More voices joined the mix, ebbing and flowing in volume down the hallway. Normally he had fantastic concentration and attention to task, but not today. Every little sound pulled him out of the moment. Every little noise jolted him into his external surroundings. At the very least, he needed to appease his curiosity. Westley stretched his arms above his head. Yoga had a way of helping him refocus. He closed his eyes and drew his attention to his breathing, then shifted into the next pose in the sequence. Forcing himself into mental stillness, attuning his mind to create calmness in his body. Since he moved to Australia, he hadn’t returned to an in-person class, but he hadn’t forgotten the movements or the positive impact. Once he settled into a more established routine, he’d seek out a session close to home. Assist him to de-stress, refocus. Achieving balance held the key to success in everything, according to his old yoga instructor, and his life experience. As a natural protector, he strove for safety, equity. He had a history of putting others ahead of his own needs. But he couldn’t if he suffered an emotional breakdown. Westley had to find a way to continually strengthen his psychological battle-armor, his resolve. He had a more interactive job now. What would it take to successfully reconfigure his brain from years of solo missions, of a skewed perspective? What would it take to ensure he did everything to the best of his ability and eradicate work-biased indoctrination? Eradicate internal conflict and potentially deadly compromise. His role always entailed a certain amount of danger, however he needed to decipher how much he was willing to accept for himself, for those he cared about, for the broader community. Snatching his cup off the desk, he drained the dregs of his now-cold coffee. Did he even want to draw more complexity into his already chatty, overloaded mind? Add more considerations into his already close-to-capacity brain? Create conflict with his current boss? Although Alex and the team had been accepting of him, in Westley’s eyes, he still needed to prove himself, his skills, his reliability, his consistency…if he hoped to establish himself in Australia. Did he have the required maturity, the stamina, the emotional endurance to stick out a security role? Did he have the fortitude to deal with persistent challenges and not get triggered? Only the passage of time would tell. Taking a deep breath, he opened his door and stepped into the corridor.

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