"Cadet Matthews," he said, coming up closer, eyeballing me to make sure that I was in the correct position and really challenging my muscles. "Glad to see you made it in on time this morning. I think you were mistaken when you told me that you weren't a morning person."
He followed that with a sexy wink.
Sweet Jesus - he is flirting . . . kinda . . .
His teasing statement was because I had actually used that lame excuse when he had jumped my ass the previous week about clocking in late for my seven a.m. personal workouts. So, like I said, my punishment was being assigned to an earlier time slot for the next few weeks. Not only that, but it was also now on "my time," meaning I wasn't on the payroll clock like I had been when I was scheduled at seven.
I had to hang with it or get kicked out of the program, and as much as this part of it, and agents like Darin Murphy who loved to bust the chops of newbies for the pure pleasure of it, was clearly not my cup of tea, I was still determined not to fail.
Why?
Because that's what everyone expected me to do, my parents included. I sort of had a history of failure.
"Morning, sir," I addressed him, continuing my repetitions, inhaling and exhaling in timed rhythm.
"Hey, just wanted to let you know that Agent Carpenter said you're doing a good job in learning the database over in the lab. He said you're actually fairly knowledgeable with the analytical instrumentation as well. I have to admit, I'm surprised a little."
I looked over at him, quirking a brow as I finished the last repetition. "I do have a B.S. in Physics from Cal State," I replied, putting the free weights back into their empty slots in the rack.
"So I saw when I reviewed your file," he commented, giving me a boyish grin. "With a 3.87 G.P.A. to boot. Impressive. So, I gotta ask: why did you apply for the Visiting Scientist Program internship? Why not just apply for a job with the bureau and start making real money?"
I wiped the back of my neck with the towel. "Because I'm not twenty-three yet, Agent Murphy. I'm only twenty-two. But, by the time I finish this internship, I will be twenty-three. I guess I figured having the successful completion of the VSP on my resume just might bump me up a notch or three."
He cocked an eyebrow at me, and a devilish grin followed. "The operative words being 'successful' and 'completion,' Cadet Matthews," he retorted, turning and heading back. "That's totally in your court, babe."
And it totally was.
And I knew it.
But why did Darin Murphy care?
chapter 3
Apparently, Memorial Day was some sort of a customary celebration in D.C. I mean, yeah, I can recall growing up and having a long weekend to mark the start of summer. I even remember going to the local Memorial Day parade, but this holiday certainly seemed to be more than that here—at least with my semi-relatives it was.
"Hey Paige," Darcy greeted as I strolled into the kitchen a little after ten a.m. to get my first cup of java. "Want to help me with some of this food? I could use someone to make the deviled eggs."
“Sure,” I said, while adding a generous amount of creamer to my coffee.
I'd been up late, not getting in from Darin's until the wee hours of the morning.
Yeah, that's correct; I'd been doing my coach, which is probably not smart, but hey, there were no official rules against it at the bureau. It was simply that we had both ramped up the flirtations at work, and finally I could think of no good excuse not take Darin up on his invitation to stop by his apartment for beer and pizza one Friday night.
So far, I'd kept this quasi-relationship my own personal business, and thankfully, Darcy wasn't one to pry. But, things with Darin looked to be going from 'quasi' to 'possibly,' so having been apprised of the fact early on that Darin had been in kind of a serious relationship with my host sister-in-law, it was probably smart to clue her in.
My caffeine fix in hand, I made my way to Darcy’s side and watched her torture some tomatoes as she sliced and diced. “So, why are you the one making the food for this barbeque, anyway? I mean, isn’t that why you have Martha Stewart working for you?” I waggled my eyebrows at her.
She laughed good-naturedly. "Her last name isn't Stewart," she replied, "Although, I can understand how you might draw that connection."
"Yeah," I nodded, grabbing an onion that was next to the freshly-washed vegetables next to the cutting board, "Those blueberry scones she makes for the 'Lord of the Manor' are fucking awesome."
Darcy started laughing; wiping a tear from her eye that I was fairly sure was a result of the onion I was currently peeling, and not my reference to my oldest brother Easton.
"I swear Paige," she said, "You freakin' crack me up at times. I can't understand why you and Lindsey seem to rub each other the wrong way. My God, Easton is uber uptight and you seem to hold your own with him."
I was silent for a moment, contemplating what she'd obviously noticed. "It's because Easton has no expectations of me," I replied casually, peeling the next layer of skin from the onion.
"I don't understand," she said, wrinkling her forehead in confusion. "I mean I know the whole deal about him not being a blood relative and all of that, but you still consider him your brother, right?"
“Actually,” I looked over at her and found that I now had her full-blown attention. “To be honest, blood or no, Easton really wasn’t around all that much. And considering the age difference between Trace and me is eleven years, well there you have it. I just don’t share that many memories with Easton, but I mean…it’s more than that, Darcy.”
"Go on," she said, scraping her diced tomatoes into a bowl of drained pasta.
"Well, they both seem like brothers to me as far as that goes, but Trace treats me exactly the same way that my father does—did," I corrected. "I just never seem to make the mark with either of them. Easton? Well he just says what's on his mind, good or bad, regardless of who's in the audience. I mean, I don't think he's harder—or softer—on me than anyone else."
"I get that," Darcy, replied, tossing the pasta salad. "I'm glad you realize that Easton isn't a warm and fuzzy person by nature, and not to take it personally."
“And I hear that,” I replied, smiling. I gestured toward the onions, “Sliced or diced?”
"Hmm? Oh, diced please," she responded with a nod.
I started chopping away at the onions. "Darcy, I need to let you know something and now is probably as good of a time as any…it's kind of, well—uncomfortable."
"Go ahead," she said, watching me.
"Well, the thing is, I'm seeing someone and you actually know this person. I would've said something sooner except that I felt it was just, you know, a purely casual thing?"
She nodded, adding several dollops of mayo to her pasta salad.
"Well, the thing is, I'm thinking now that maybe it's getting to be more than just a casual thing with the two of us, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable with—"
"Say no more," she interrupted, a big grin going. "Lindsey is my best friend, but I'm here to tell you that I'm not nearly as provincial as she is. I appreciate that you haven't brought guys over—I know she and Trace had issues with it, but what the hell? This place is like a freaking zip code of its own. Easton and I have no issue with you having a steady boyfriend in your life, and having him sleep over here occasionally. So it's cool, okay?"
I looked over to where she was smiling as she tossed the rest of the seasoning into her pasta salad.
Well, that was a piece of cake.
"Wow, thanks," I replied. "But you need to know that the guy I'm talking about is…Darin Murphy."