Below the Belt(55)

“Can I help you?”

“Marianne Cook?”

She stopped filling the jug with ice and glanced up. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Hi.” The woman’s smile warmed a little and she walked forward. Marianne wanted to warn her not to come closer in those kick-ass high heels. The laminate was often wet in patches and a serious hazard to anyone not wearing grip soles. But she was already across the room in three long-legged strides. “I’m Reagan Robilard. Team liaison for the duration. I wanted to introduce myself and talk about what happened here last week.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” She grabbed a towel, wiped her hands down and shook hands. “Sorry, Coach Ace warned me you’d be coming in and it totally slipped my mind. Rough day.”

“Yes, I heard. I also heard the Marine was going to be fine, thanks to your quick work.”

Marianne fought to blink back the tears once more. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d never been this emotional about work before. “Honestly, I feel a little guilty about it. But that’s not why you’re here. What’s up?”

She nodded, as if accepting that Marianne wasn’t ready to talk about it. Then she started wandering the room slowly. Marianne let her, but kept an eye on her. If she started touching things or moving stuff around, game over.

“I’m here to see how you’ve coped with putting the room back to rights. But frankly, it looks like nothing ever happened. You’ve done well.”

“Maintenance did the majority of the work. I just restocked. They deserve the credit. It was a bitch to clean.”

She nodded absently, stopping to view a few motivational quotes Marianne had printed off on pretty stationery paper and taped to one wall. “Cute. I needed to know if you were capable, but from today’s events, I’d say yes. I’d also say you cared very much about this job, and about the guys you were tasked with watching over.”

“I always care about doing my best work.” She scooped another load of ice into the bucket. If she didn’t get this done soon, it’d just be tepid water. “Is there anything specific I can answer?”

“I’ll be honest. I didn’t mean to, but I overheard your conversation with the man who was just in here.”

“Higgs,” Marianne said, as she scooped more ice in. “That was Higgs.”

“Hmm. And he was referencing you dating someone else. Another Marine?”

Marianne’s arm slowed for a few seconds, but she forced herself to keep scooping. “Bradley Costa. He’s a member of the team.”

“Potential member.”

“Okay, yes. Potential member.” She tossed the scoop back in the plastic sleeve on the side for drainage and let the ice machine’s lid snap closed. “Is there a point?”

“I assume you’ve disclosed this relationship?” The woman’s smile looked concerned, a little strained, like she was fighting to keep it in place.

“I did, with my supervisor—who I assume is also your supervisor—and Costa has spoken to Coach Ace. We’ve addressed it, and have been assured by both sides that it was not a problem.”

“I understand. And I don’t want there to be a problem, either.” Suddenly, the woman’s icy cold demeanor seemed to slide away, and she slumped in Marianne’s rolling desk chair. The chair skidded a foot away and she grabbed for the desk to steady herself. “I’m sorry. I’m doing a real shit job here.”

Marianne snorted at that. The polish rubbed away, revealing a slightly frazzled young woman in a really killer outfit. Marianne hopped up onto the nearest table and let her legs swing. The heels of her running shoes bounced gently against the side. “First day on the job?”

“I wasn’t supposed to start for another three weeks. I got called off vacation. This is my first time doing this and . . .” She scooped a stray brunette wisp of hair back behind her ear. “I’m lost. Can I say that to you?” She looked up with big brown eyes a little wild with confusion.

Marianne laughed and nodded. “Yeah, you can. I’m a little lost too, on some things. Nice shoes, by the way.”

Reagan held one foot out to study the black shoe with silver filigree swirled around the heel. “They hurt like hell, but I wanted to look good for my first day.” She grimaced and looked up at Marianne’s outfit. “I think I overdressed.”

“I think you look nice. But . . .” She took one last look at the shoes, then the tidy, perfectly tailored suit. “Maybe. If you’re going to be around here, walking around the gym in those things is going to kill your feet. Should we discuss the effects of high heels on your arches? I have a pamphlet I could bring you.”

“Let’s not and say we did. My world without high heels wouldn’t be worth living.” She sighed and settled back. “Sorry I came on so bitchy earlier. I’ve got nerves, and then resting bitch face added to it.”

“Resting bitch face?” She couldn’t help but laugh, then hopped down and started filling the jug with water to go with the ice.

“Yeah. You know, when your face just naturally rests in a scowl, but you’re not actually thinking negative thoughts? So people automatically think you’re making a pissed-off face, when you’re not doing anything but considering whether to have steak or seafood for dinner.” Reagan let her face smooth out, then her brows naturally drew down a little. “See?”