Archer Securities
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Table of Contents
Other Books from Jove Belle
Title Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
About Jove Belle
Other Books from Ylva Publishing
Cake
Daughter of Baal
Other Books from Jove Belle
Bitterroot Saga:
Cake
(Book #1)
Bitterroot Queen
(Book #2; Coming: Summer 2017)
Books in the Series The Law Game
Requiem for Immortals by Lee Winter
Archer Securities by Jove Belle
Daughter of Baal by Gill McKnight
Evolution of an Art Thief by Jessie Chandler
If Looks Could Kill by Andi Marquette
Archer Securities
by Jove Belle
CHAPTER 1
The clinking of a fork against a wine glass sounded from the back deck. Laila stared at the kid, Logan, refusing to look away just because her uncle Samar had decided to make a speech. They’d been at it for almost three minutes, and the kid was going to crack any second. A small trickle of sweat worked its way down the side of his face.
“Thank you all so much for joining us today. We have happy news to share with you all, our friends and family.” Samar’s voice swam in the back of Laila’s mind.
She already knew about her cousin Sia’s engagement. That was the whole reason they’d gathered here today. She didn’t need to forfeit her contest with Logan in order to watch Uncle Samar. And, since Logan was the thirteen-year-old son of the groom, he already knew and didn’t really care either.
“Laila, what are you doing?” Christine stepped into Laila’s peripheral view and tugged on her arm. She huffed out a sigh. “Come on.”
“Can’t.” Laila refused to be the first to blink. She’d told the kid she could go five minutes, and while she was many things, a liar wasn’t one of them. Christine yanking on her arm was annoying, but not enough to break her concentration.
“Are you seriously having a staring contest with a twelve-year-old?”
“No. He’s thirteen.” She was staring to prove a point. Not because of a contest. “And it sounds silly when you say it like that.”
“That’s because it is silly, no matter how I say it. He’s a kid.”
“So?” Laila still hadn’t blinked, but it was getting harder not to look at Christine.
“As you know, my daughter has been dating Desmond for over a year now,” Samar continued his speech.
When Christine darted a hand out and cuffed Logan on the back of the head, he yelped and flinched. Laila won their not-a-staring contest by default.
“Beat it,” Christine said.
With his hand clapped over the spot where Christine had smacked him, Logan said, “This doesn’t count. You didn’t win.”
Christine sighed, and Laila held the kid’s gaze. She still hadn’t blinked.
“I said get outta here.”
Logan sulked but finally turned away. “Fine. You suck.”
“Why did you do that?” Laila loved to win, but hated to win unfairly. When she beat someone, she wanted that person to know she was better.
“Because you’re ignoring me, and I’m sick of it.”
Laila looked at her date, finally letting herself blink. Her eyes itched. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you brought me to your family barbecue, and so far, you gave someone a black eye, slammed a ball into that lady’s nose, and now you’re having a staring contest with a kid.”
“Rafael asked for a sparring match, Maurine was blocking the net, and it wasn’t a contest.” Laila ticked off the points. Her cousin Rafael studied Jui Jitsu and had asked about Krav Maga, which Laila practiced. Of course they’d compared styles. If he were better, she’d have the black eye and he’d have bragging rights instead of the other way around. And their family volleyball games were never friendly. Everyone played aggressively, including Maurine—a distant cousin Laila didn’t really know—whose nose got slammed. Maurine had paused long enough to check that her nose wasn’t bleeding, and then she’d slapped Laila’s outstretched hand to let her know all was good. The game had resumed.
“The point is, you’ve been ignoring me.” Christine was beautiful, with long blond hair that she wore swept up in casual ponytail today. There was an ethereal quality to her beauty, and when she was pissed—arms crossed over her chest, body tensed and ready to spring, and glaring resentfully at Laila—she looked like some sort of goddess raining fire on a poor village that made the mistake of worshiping her on the wrong day. Divas usually weren’t Laila’s thing, but Christine was good in bed and willing to participate in some pretty kinky scenarios. The orgasms generally made putting up with Christine’s weird social demands worth it.
Laila waited, unsure how to respond. She shouldn’t have brought Christine here.
“Desmond is on track to become partner at his law firm in the next few years, and his son, Logan…” Samar droned on in the background, talking about Sia’s bright future with Desmond and his son.
Christine looked at her, clearly waiting for something. Somehow, Laila went from having a staring contest with Logan to having one with Christine. Except, she was pretty sure there was no way to win this one. Christine had a bad habit of using sex as a weapon, and based on the exasperated expression on Christine’s face, Laila was dangerously close to the relationship equivalent of being put in timeout.
“That’s it. I’m leaving.” Christine stomped away, her heels sinking into the grass as she crossed the yard and made her way through the gate that separated the front from the back. Laila tried to decide what a normal person with normal emotions would do in this situation. Follow and apologize? Let Christine cool off on her own?
Sia slipped up beside her. “Think she’ll come back?” she asked mildly as she sipped her beer.
Not sure what else to do with her hands, Laila scratched the back of her head. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Should I go after her?”
“You should.” Sia nodded thoughtfully. “But I’d rather you didn’t. She hit my future step-son and acted like a pouty brat in the middle of my engagement party.”
Logan, Sia’s future step-son, as she put it, went out of his way to aggravate people. But, he was one of the only people at this party Laila actually liked. “Sorry about that.”
Sia shrugged. “It’s okay. Besides, I’ve never really liked her.”
“Really?”
“Nope. She’s not right for you.”
Sia had acted friendly toward Christine, but never particularly welcoming. Finally, at the Memorial Day picnic, she’d asked if Christine was really good in the sack or something. Laila confirmed that she was, and Sia had nodded the same way she was now, as if a piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.
Laila frowned. How upset was Christine? She wasn’t sure, but it was possible that they’d just broke up. “She has a key to my place.”
“So? You don’t keep anything there that’s worth stealing.” Sia put her arm around her and drew her from the shade of a mature cottonwood tree toward the deck.
“What about my TV?”
“You don’t watch it anyway.”
“That’s true, but what about sex?”
“You can still have sex.”
“But not with her.” That thought almost made Laila chase after Christine. She was really good at sex.
“No. You’ll have to find someone new for that.”
“I guess I could do that.”
“To Sia and Desmond.” Samar raised his beer in a toast, and Laila realized she didn’t have a drink of her own.
Sia neatly pulled a bottle of water from an ice chest as they passed, twisted the top off, and handed it to Laila. She urged Laila up the stairs to stand with the group gathered there and spun her around to face the family and friends on the lawn. Laila, self-conscious about being dragged into the focal group, took a long drink of water just as Sia bent down and whispered to her, “Now, my maid of honor, drink to my wedding.”
“What?” Laila sputtered. The drink she’d just swallowed was halfway down her throat, and Laila sprayed the people gathered to listen. Between the water and her confusion over Sia calling her the maid of honor, it took Laila a few moments to realize that she needed to apologize. People didn’t like to be spit on. “Sorry, everybody.” She smiled uncertainly at her aunt and two cousins as they wiped their faces with paper napkins.
Sia threw her a small glare as she hugged her dad. “Thanks, Daddy.” She raised her bottle in a small toast. “And thank you all for coming. Desmond and I are so glad you could be here to share in our happiness. Now, everyone eat up. And have fun.”
Desmond dropped his arm around Sia’s shoulders as she spoke, a wide, proud grin on his face.
As soon as people stopped focusing on Sia, Laila grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her back down the steps toward the lake. Sia veered toward the boathouse, as was their ingrained habit. Once they were inside, Laila took a deep breath to calm herself before she said, “What the hell, Sia? Maid of honor?”
Laila didn’t even believe in the whole idea of marriage. She thought long-term monogamy was unnatural, and Sia knew it, so why would she expect Laila to participate in the ceremony? This had to be some sort of sappy, sentimental request, and Laila sucked at both sappy and sentimental.
“Yes, maid of honor.” Sia crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m getting married, Lai. Did you really think I’d ask someone else?”
Laila paused. She hadn’t thought about it at all.
Sia sighed. “It has to be you. You’re my best friend.”
“Sia, I hate this stuff.” Her understanding of emotions was mostly academic. Not that she didn’t feel things. She did. But where most people’s emotions were like a TV with the volume turned up, hers were muted and fuzzy in the background. They never came into focus long enough for her to really grasp them. “The maid of honor does a lot of important stuff, like giving a speech, planning stuff, and…and…” Laila’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t even talk about it properly. How the hell was she supposed to do it?
“I know.” Sia nudged her with her shoulder. “But you’re still my best friend. This is what friends do, Lai.”
Laila thought about that for a few moments. Sia was the only member of her family who made any sense to Laila. Her first clear memory was of Sia, her face scrunched up, red with anger, mouth open with the biggest screech that Laila had ever heard. She had been tiny and so loud. But when Laila had brushed the back of her hand over Sia’s face—her skin had been the softest thing ever—Sia had stopped crying and looked at her with a broad, curious smile. Her mom had told her it was just gas, that Sia was too young for it to be a real smile. Laila knew, though, that her mom had been wrong. She and Sia just went together. Cousins. Partners in crime. Best friends. And now, apparently, her role in Sia’s life had expanded to include maid of honor.
She dropped onto the wooden bench that skirted the inside front wall of the boathouse, and her shoulders slumped. “Are you sure?” Laila would do it. If it was important to Sia, she had no other choice. But Sia really deserved someone who would be better at it. “I won’t be good at it.”
Sia sat next to her. “Are you kidding me? Name one thing you’re not good at.”
There were lots of things Laila wasn’t good at. Understanding people was pretty high on the list. Normally, she didn’t care, but this was different. “You’ll have to give me a checklist. Or maybe I’ll buy a book.” If she had a guide, she would be okay. “Do they have books about how to properly bridesmaid?”
Sia squeezed her in a sideways hug. “You bet. There are entire websites devoted to this kind of thing.”
Of course! She could learn everything she needed to know on the Internet. “Yeah. I’m going to kick maid of honoring’s ass.”
“Yeah,” Sia agreed, “you are.”
“You really never liked Christine?” Laila didn’t particularly like her either, but she always assumed her lack of attachment had to do with her own inability to relate. She’d never considered that Christine might actually be unlikeable.
“No. She messed with your head too much.”
“She did?”
“She did. No matter what, she tried to make you think everything you did was wrong,” Sia said.
“Huh.” Sure, Christine bitched about everything from the toast being too toasty to the line at the movies being too long. Laila had just tuned her out and rolled with it. Most of the time, she was running through her list of objectives for the next day, or visualizing a new self-defense move she’d just learned. “I guess so. I didn’t really notice.”
“I know. Because you’re too accepting. But it irks me when people take advantage of you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Laila always told Sia what she thought of her boyfriends. Maybe this was one of those social rule things that she constantly screwed up. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to tell Sia if she liked her dates or not. Not that it mattered now that she was marrying Desmond. Laila loved him. He was great at brainteasers and just laughed and tried harder any time Laila beat him.
“You weren’t really into her. I knew it wouldn’t last, so I didn’t see the point in ruining your fun.”
“Yeah, she was fun.”
“No, she wasn’t.”
Laila laughed. “Maybe not with you. But I had a lot of fun with her.”
Sia sighed. “We need to discuss this habit you have of mistaking great sex for a great relationship. It takes more than a regular dose of orgasms to lead to happily ever after.”
Laila tried to picture another way to be happy for the rest of her life but came up blank. “I’m pretty sure you’re wrong about that. Orgasms are awesome.”
“They are. But they won’t take care of you when you’re sick, hold your hand when you’re sad, or stick around long enough to grow old with you.”
Laila wrinkled her nose. “That’s what I have you for.”
“True that, cousin. Now come on. My dad was telling me about a problem at work. He thinks someone might be stealing, and I know how much you love a good mystery.” Sia stood and pulled Laila to her feet. Sia’s dad, Uncle Samar, was the president of US operations for a multi-national conglomerate called Archer Securities.
“He’s right. A company that size, someone is definitely stealing. Several someones, actually.”
“True. But this is more than missing pens from the supply closet.”
As they made their way out of the boathouse, a couple of kids Laila vaguely recognized as cousins tried to make their way in. She caught one by the collar and spun him around. Sia pointed toward the house.
“Not today, boys. The boathouse is off limits during the party. If you want to take the bowrider out, ask Uncle Samar.”
The boys ran off ahead of them, and Sia said, “I don’t even know those kids. I swear, my dad invited everyone he could think of, from family to the guy who loads his groceries at Whole Foods.”
“I’m pretty sure we’re related to them.” Laila locked the door, just in case. They normally left it open, but clearly that wasn’t the best idea today.
“So, what are you going to do about Christine?” Sia asked. She stared straight ahead, and Laila appreciated that. She always did better with emotional stuff when people didn’t look at her.
“I don’t know.
What do you think?” She scratched the back of her head and glanced at Sia out of the corner of her eye.
Sia shrugged. “You don’t love her, do you?”
“No, of course not.” Laila shook her head. She might love having sex with Christine, but that probably wasn’t the same thing.
“Then you let her go,” Sia said it in the same easy way that she ordered coffee in the morning.
“That’s what you’d do?” Laila nibbled on the edge of her thumb, the skin right next to her nail.
Sia finally looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “I have no idea.”
That was fair. Sia fell in love too easily. If she were like Sia, Laila would have married Christine months ago, and they’d be making lesbian babies together by now.
“I’ll change my locks when I get home.”
“Good idea.”
On their way past the pool, they were both hit by a stray splash of water. One of the guys, a friend of Desmond, stood just a little straighter and smiled dashingly. Water dripped down his torso, and his hair fell in dark, wet curls over his forehead. Laila returned his smile.
“He’s single, you know.” Sia nudged her in the side.
“Yeah?” Laila turned her head and held his gaze a fraction longer. “What’s his story?”
“Just ended a three-year relationship. His girlfriend complained he wasn’t available enough and said she felt emotionally disconnected from him. He’s an architect. Started his own firm last year and has pulled some major contracts since then.”
“Workaholic. One who obviously puts in the time at the gym.” So far, he sounded perfect. Someone who was that busy wouldn’t make demands that Laila had no interest in fulfilling. “What’s his name?”
“Gabe. He and Desmond went to school together. Want his number?” Sia paused at the base of the stairs.
“No thanks. I’ll get it from him later.”
“Christine who?” Sia shoved her arm lightly.
“Uncle Samar,” she took the stairs two at a time, “your daughter tells me that you have a thief at Archer.”
Samar raised his eyebrow and looked pointedly from Laila to Sia, who was a few steps behind her. With a shake of his head, he looked at the group of people he’d been chatting with. “Excuse me, folks. I need to have a conversation with my girls. Laila’s got a quirky sense of humor, doesn’t she?”