Two Firefighters Next Door: A Bad Boy MFM Romance by Jay S. Wilder

Author:Jay S. Wilder [Wilder, Jay S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-10-01T16:00:00+00:00

Nicole

San Francisco, California

“Thank you, Matio. That is all,” the African-American man next to Doyle said to Mr. Fence Post. Matio sounded like a Samoan name to Nicole. She’d certainly never seen him before and was relieved to see him take his leave.

Nicole waited to be invited to sit. She had no idea what was about to happen. There was no way to prepare for either situation of fight or flight, so she did her best to steady herself and wait them out.

Finally, the man moved his eyes back and forth between his open laptop and a file folder that sat open beside it. She assumed it was her personnel file. Or not. She had no idea. He still made no gesture to have her sit. She felt like a disobedient child being called to the principal’s office.

“Nicole Hunt, am I correct?” he asked without looking up.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good morning, Nicole,” Doyle said, standing up and finally pointing to a chair across from them.

“Mr. McDonough,” she said, tightening her fists into balls next to her to keep from shaking.

“Now, now, Nicole, you can call me Doyle.”

That was a bullshit response, and she knew it, but she smiled all the same. “Okay, then.” Nicole sat down and kept her feet on the floor, not easing back and crossing her legs. Be cool… be cool. “Is there something wrong? Did I do something wrong? Mess something up with my work?”

Bob took the open seat next to her and cleared his throat again, phlegmy and unsettling. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you about.”

Doyle’s assistant entered and set three cups of coffee, a small bowl of sweeteners, and some creamers down on the coffee table. Doyle came around his desk and began fixing his coffee.

“Please, Nicole… help yourself,” he instructed.

“No, thank you, Mr. —err… Doyle. I’m good. Can you tell me why I’m here?”

Bob sat up and snagged a cup of coffee—black—and tossed half of it back in one gulp. “Come on, let’s get to it.”

Doyle waved him off and leaned his trim body against the front edge of his large mahogany desk. He was probably in his late forties. The nearly white-blond hair and silver-rimmed glasses gave him a look of credibility. She supposed he was younger than he appeared, although he went for that “man in charge” look.

“Thank you, Bob.” Doyle stirred his coffee slowly and then took a sip. Every second that dragged on, Nicole felt as if her heart would explode in her chest from the frenetic beating. She had to calm herself and stay chill. She’d done nothing wrong. Nothing.

Doyle gestured his head to the large African-American man sitting next to him. “All yours.”

The man acknowledged his full power in the room with a cold stare into Nicole’s eyes. “Ms. Hunt, do you know who I am?”

“No, sir. I don’t,” she admitted.

“I am Anthony Bernhardt.”

Ohhhh. Crap.

The big kahuna.

She forced herself to hold in her surprise and opted for a polite nod. “I know who you are, Mr. Bernhardt,” she began confidently.

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