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“You clearly felt shitty as you left, and that feels on me. Had I done a better job making you comfortable, maybe—”
“You did fine.” Hell, any more comfortable, and I might have moved in. Or at least dozed off on his broad chest. “Me leaving was the crappy thing, not anything you did.”
Malik opened his mouth like he had another apology at the ready, but then Duncan strolled into the already too-small room.
“There are the guys I was looking for.” He wasn’t smiling, which wasn’t a great sign, and looking for both of us was an even more terrible one.
“Eh?” I made an inarticulate noise.
“Come on. I need to talk to you both.” He ushered us toward his office. When the LT gave an order, I couldn’t help but follow, even if my heart sped to nuclear speeds. What did he know? And who had told him? This was unquestionably a disaster, but I kept my expression blank. Playing dumb was likely my best bet.
“It’s probably no shocker that I needed to talk to you. After all—”
“Yes, sir.” I gulped air like an astronaut with a cracked helmet.
“You okay, Haskins?” Duncan leaned forward, brow creasing.
“Oh, I’m fine.” Sweat ran down my back. I’d never been fired from something before, not even the ball-boy job my dad had forced me to take as a teen, but there was a first time for everything. “Never better.”
“All right. I was just going to say it would be understandable to be uneasy. After all, with the movie winding down filming, you were probably wondering what your next gig would be.”
“Oh. Yeah. More work would be good.” I managed to not audibly sign in relief, but it was a close thing.
“Yep, boss, whatever you’ve got.” Malik nodded, head bobbing like maybe I wasn’t the only one who’d been worried.
“Excellent. I was hoping you’d be agreeable because what I have is a special opportunity for both of you.”
“Both?” Any relief was quickly replaced by dread, back going clammy and sweat gathering on my prosthesis sleeve.
“Yes, both of you.” Duncan frowned before returning to a welcoming smile. “It’s a smaller-budget movie filming in Colorado. They wanted one of our people to manage security, including some local temp hires, but I talked them into two of you.”
“I could do it on my own.” I stood straighter.
“Me too. Be happy to.” Malik’s tone was crisp, officer-to-officer official. “A few temps? No big deal for me.”
Duncan blinked, gaze flitting between us. “Is there a reason you don’t want to work together?”
“Nah.” I smiled and hoped it didn’t come across as too wobbly.
“Of course not. In the report I submitted, you’ll note that I mentioned Haskins’s stellar job with the food-fight situation.”
“It was nothing.” My neck was so stiff I felt it down to my ass. Fuck me running. Malik complimented me? Knowing full well I’d let my temper get a little out of control? He’d taken a freaking pie for me. Damn it. He must be feeling all kinds of guilty to give me so much credit.
“Good. I figured with you both being single, it would be easier than asking some of the married personnel to take a few weeks away.”
“Weeks?” Groaning was not my finest moment, and it was a good thing I wasn’t back in the service, or he might have had me pounding out pushups.
“Yes, weeks.” Duncan quirked his mouth. “It’s a lower-budget movie, so we’re not talking months, but weeks, yes. That a problem?”
“No, sir.” Malik had all the poise I lacked.
“Fine by me,” I added. My tone was too bright, but hey, it beat another groan. “I don’t even have a plant at home. I’m good.”
And so, so screwed.
Chapter Eight
Malik
I knew exactly what Duncan was doing. He didn’t trust me to handle this gig alone.
“Why both of us?” I asked after Avery hightailed it out of Duncan’s office.
“Because it’s a bigger job than the client thinks.” Duncan’s tone was just this side of annoyed. “They don’t need some go-it-alone Superman. They need the A-List experience—the team we can provide. One overworked person isn’t going to deliver that.”
Yup. This was absolutely about my PTSD and worries that working too hard would trigger it. Accordingly, my dark mood continued gathering steam, even after I rescued my abandoned lunch from the break room and made it to one of the desk stations we used for completing paperwork.
“Damn. You look like shit.” Harley, Duncan’s friend and business partner, in town after working a gig in Atlanta with his TV show-producer boyfriend, wandered by my desk, coffee in hand.
“Gee. Thanks.” I didn’t protest because I knew I looked like I hadn’t slept enough, and I hadn’t, but I really didn’t want to talk. I tried to give off my best move-along vibes, but Harley pulled up a nearby chair, apparently settling in for a chat. And seeing as he was one of the bosses, there was no nice way to tell him I wasn’t in the mood.
