Heller's Girlfriend

By JD Nixon

Book 3 in the Heller series. Tilly Chalmers’ life is complicated. Her boyfriend is demanding more attention while her boss, Heller, is always a distracting temptation. Can she manage both of them as well as her new assignments: chaperoning a woman in an ugly divorce case; security at a swingers’ party; and looking after a fading A-list movie star? And how well can she pretend she doesn’t care now that Heller has found himself a girlfriend?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JD Nixon
• Release date: Jan 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465770400

JD Nixon

I live in beautiful Queensland in Australia. I started writing in 2009 because I wanted to do something creative and haven't stopped since! I have two series of books:The Heller series (first book Heller - free!) features the frequently outlandish adventures of security officer, Tilly Chalmers, and her complicated relationship with her beautiful, mysterious and intense boss, Heller.The Little Town series (first book Blood Ties - free!) features police officer, Tess Fuller, and her struggle to survive a long-standing vendetta with the feral Bycraft family and at the same time manage the tense relationship between her new Sergeant, Finn Maguire, and her boyfriend, Jake Bycraft.I took a very long break from writing, but am now back!Heller 7: Heller's Family out in 2023.Hope you enjoy reading my books as much as I enjoyed writing them! I'd love to hear your feedback, so why not email me at: [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter 1

Excuse me, pretty little lady, drawled a friendly southern-US accent in my ear.

I spun around, coming face to face with Elvis.

Good morning, Mr Presley, I said with casual cheerfulness, an easy smile ready on my lips. I don’t want to be a hard-headed woman, but can I see your ticket please?

He winked at me and handed it over with a flourish, striking a pose while I checked it carefully. I handed it back to him with another smile and waved him through. Well, that’s all right. Good luck today, Mr Presley sir, and I hope you enjoy yourself.

He flicked me a brief salute and winked again. I will, little lady, I will, he promised, sauntering through the doorway.

I watched after him from my place in the foyer, noticing that his sequinned jumpsuit wasn’t kind to his podgy butt. In fact, as I cast my eyes over the large number of people milling around inside the cavernous room, I decided that I’d never seen so much straining white polyester in my life.

Of course it wasn’t the real Elvis I’d just spoken to, but merely an impersonator, one of many gathered in the convention centre for the city’s biennial Elvis talent competition. Its $10,000 first prize attracted Elvis wannabes from all around the country. I guess that kind of money would keep you in sparkly jumpsuits and fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches for quite a while.

That was two for me, I boasted, shooting my colleague a smug look.

Don’t be cruel, Tilly, he smiled. Whoops – one for him.

You’re just too much for me sometimes, Ben. One for me.

I’m happy to be anyway you want me. Another for him.

It was like Elvis tennis.

I’d been assigned to the security detail at the competition with a man I hadn’t met at work before, but instantly liked. His name was Ben Nguyen and he was tall and hugely muscled like most of my colleagues, with a shock of black anime hair and an amiable smile. We both worked as security officers for a small but growing business, Heller’s Security & Surveillance, and presented as a matching pair in our uniforms – black polo shirts with a gold H monogrammed on the pockets, black cargo pants, black utility belts and black boots. We were currently amusing ourselves while we worked by seeing how many Elvis song titles we could incorporate into our small talk during the morning.

Even though I was trained and licensed as a security officer and crowd controller, I didn’t normally work events. My duties were usually confined to one-off special jobs that required a woman’s touch. But when I’d found out that we had won the contract to provide security for the Elvis competition, I’d bugged and begged my boss, Heller, to let me be on the security team. For two reasons.

Firstly, my mother was a huge Elvis fan and I’d grown up listening to little else during my important formative years. So I was quite fond of the man myself, always associating his music with my happy and loving childhood memories. I remember as a little girl colouring-in and playing with my dolls and Lego while humming Elvis songs contentedly to myself.

Secondly, I personally think that there’s almost nothing funnier in the world than a bunch of Elvis impersonators gathered together, all sparkling jumpsuits, high-heeled boots and black quiffs. A group of Elvises (Elvii?) made me laugh every time I saw one, and I couldn’t bear to miss the opportunity to chuckle while I worked. And so far, they hadn’t let me down.

There were Elvises in every shape, size and skin colour present – large Elvises, thin Elvises, tall Elvises, short Elvises, juvenile Elvises, elderly Elvises, female Elvises. You name it and it was here at the convention centre. I’d been struggling to keep a professionally straight face all morning.

But despite this assorted chocolate box of Elvis delights, most of the contestants had predictably come decked in one of two of his career stages – the hot Elvis from the 1950s or the Las Vegas Elvis from the 1970s. Unfortunately, from what I could see, the over-stretched jumpsuits far outnumbered the leather-clad hotties.

Ben confessed to me that he was quite the Elvis fan himself and bragged about his encyclopaedic knowledge of the man’s songs and movies. He had also begged to be allowed on the security team. Heller, who was normally a hardarse about everything, particularly business matters, had indulged the both of us out of all the others who’d also asked him for the opportunity. It amazed me how many secret Elvis fans Heller’s harboured.

Ben and I weren’t expecting any trouble during the day, but muted excitement buzzed in the air and sometimes excited people can be unpredictable.

He took a ticket from a female Elvis, checking it before handing it back. Off through the door with you, ma’am. It’s now or never. Could be your big chance today. He glanced over her head at me with self-satisfaction.

A young Elvis, thirteen perhaps, handed me his ticket. Now sir, you’ll think we have suspicious minds, but I have to check your ticket. I pulled a theatrical double-take. Oh, my God! Are those blue suede shoes that you’re wearing?

No, replied the kid, peering down at his feet in confusion. They’re my black school shoes.

My mistake. Off you go. Through the door please.

That wasn’t very subtle, you know, Ben chided when we struck a lull. I don’t think you can count that one. Non-sequiturs don’t count.

I mock-pouted. You don’t want to be a hound dog about the rules, do you? I just forgot to remember to forget them, that’s all.

Tilly! Now you’re just cheating.

Ben, I reproached. I’m all shook up to hear those accusations from you. It really sounds as if you’re in a moody blue today.

Tilly – he complained, smiling.

Ben, now and then there’s a fool such as I, but I can’t help falling in love with you. You’re my good luck charm. I really want you to let me be your teddy bear, and I wonder to myself if you’re lonesome tonight. I’m stuck on you and you know I don’t have a wooden heart. If I can dream about our wedding, I’d want you to love me tender one night, because I think you’re a big hunk of burning love. I hope you don’t leave me crying in the chapel, because I sure don’t want to end up in the heartbreak hotel.

He gave me a slow clap of appreciation. Oh, Tilly Chalmers, the wonder of you! If you keep talking like that to me I’m going to ask you to wear my ring around your neck.

I giggled. Maybe we should have a little less conversation and a bit more ticket checking?

He shook his head, smiling to himself. Tilly.

Don’t cry, Daddy. Don’t, I consoled. Things are always worse in the ghetto.

He laughed, his hands up in defeat. Okay. You win!

So you surrender?

Enough, Tilly! You’re the devil in disguise.

I grinned at him and we slapped hands. Elvis had been burned into my subconscious; Ben had little chance of competing against me.

A surge of Elvises came through the door then, and we were far too busy checking tickets to banter for quite a while. Finally, it was time for the competition to start and we closed the doors to the room behind us, shifting to crowd control duty. One of the competition staff took over the ticket-checking job, but contestants and audience members would only be allowed in between acts from now on.

It was planned chaos inside the room. The organisers made sure that only the ‘serious’ Elvis aficionados attended by charging a nominal entry fee, a portion of which was donated to the city’s children’s hospital. They didn’t want people sullying the competition with stupidity, like the man a few years ago who’d made the TV news dressed as a mutant version of Big Bird. He’d worn a slicked-back black wig and a sequinned-studded white jumpsuit over his bird costume that left everyone wondering how he’d ever managed to squeeze all his feathers into it. He’d performed the Chicken Dance, but in an indescribably Elvis way, with lots of pelvis thrusting, all the while loudly clucking in tune to ‘Heartbreak Hotel’. He’d been a huge hit with the audience, but not with the organisers who were a little over-zealous in their Elvis worship. They’d instructed security to strong-arm Big Bird Elvis out of the venue in haste and the following year they’d introduced the entry fee to discourage the time-wasters.

Ben and I stood at the back of the room, either side of the door, casting our eyes over the audience. One by one, an astonishing array of Elvises strutted their stuff on stage, hoping to impress the judges – an allegedly world-renowned Elvis impersonator; a local Z-grade celebrity judging for free as part of her community service for a drink-driving offence; and a business-suited grey official from some boring government department that issued licences allowing entertainers to busk in the city’s CBD mall.

Geez, muttered Ben one moment when we were standing near each other again. We’d just watched a very doddery, elderly Elvis almost crack his hips trying to swivel them with enthusiastic, but imprudent, vigour while wheezing out ‘Blue Suede Shoes’. He’d had to be helped down the stage stairs afterwards by the organisers. The way some of these acts are delivered, they ought to be marked return to sender.

I giggled. "You’re not wrong. Did you see the Elvis ventriloquist with the Elvis dummy? I could see his lips moving, but the dummy’s didn’t!"

Truly tragic, agreed Ben, shaking his head in disbelief as he moved over to the other side of the room again.

A few diamonds shone amongst the lumps of coal, but overall it was a depressingly dreary display of the city’s latent Elvis talent. I could only hope that the next day’s bunch showed greater Elvine aptitude than this sorry lot.

By delaying the announcement of the finalists, the organisers forced all of the contestants to stick around until the end of the day for publicity shots. I’d brought along my digital camera in the hopes of capturing some of the madness, so in my sweetest voice, asked one of the organisers to take a few shots of Ben and me surrounded by the Elvis troupe. Those photos would keep me giggling for years afterwards.

The head organiser was himself dressed as a Las Vegas Elvis in a resplendent blue rhinestone-studded jumpsuit and blue high-heeled boots made from genuine pseudo-suede. He stepped on to the stage and named the lucky ten contestants who’d made it through to the final, disappointing a lot of other Elvises as he did.

One of those who missed out was a particularly fervent contestant who’d undeniably gone the extra mile as one of the hottie Elvises. He was bedecked in a tight black leather outfit identical to that worn by the man himself at his famous 1968 comeback concert. The contestant bore a passing resemblance to Elvis that he cultivated fanatically, so he really looked the part. In fact, his sideburns were so precise that I’d wager he’d used a ruler to measure them. But he’d been let down by his reedy, unpleasant voice that had made us all cringe with its lack of tone. The applause after his act had been sparse and merely polite at best.

"That’s bullshit! he screeched, his shrill voice bouncing around the room. I was twenty times better than that fat bastard!" He pointed his finger accusingly at a tubby Elvis in yet another white jumpsuit who’d mesmerised the audience and judges with his beautiful voice.

Who are you calling a fat bastard, you no-talent loser? demanded the tubby Elvis, striding over to the angry leather-pants. I won that spot in the final fair and square. You sucked. Deal with it.

"Robbed! I was robbed! Angry Elvis howled. Look at him! He’s too fat to be Elvis. What the fuck were you people thinking? he berated the judges. I look like Elvis. I know I do. I’ve practised in the mirror for two years. He glared at the now-frightened judges, the wildness in his eyes hinting that his failure to validate his devoted efforts was having a slightly negative effect on his mental stability. Two whole fucking years! Nobody in this competition has worked harder than me!"

And nobody has less talent than you either, sneered Tubby Elvis. Even that old guy with the dodgy hips was better than you.

Hey! puffed out the ancient Elvis, half-rising from the seat where he was still recovering from his performance. You’ll leave me out of this if you know what’s good for you. Or I’ll come over there and kick you in the goolies!

Settle down, grandpa, soothed Tubby Elvis, palms up. No offence meant.

Mumbling darkly to himself, Ancient Elvis lowered his bony rear back on the seat and addressed the angry young man. And anyway, that fat Elvis is right – you sucked, junior. Man up about it.

I was robbed! insisted Angry Elvis, his voice rising a disagreeable octave in fury. And I’ll take on any fucker that says otherwise!

"I say otherwise, challenged Tubby Elvis, evidently not one to turn the other cheek. So you better be prepared to take this fucker on, tossbag."

Ben and I exchanged glances.

Let’s bossa nova, baby, he suggested, and we headed off to quell Angry Elvis before things turned really nasty.

He wasn’t thrilled to be politely reminded of his manners and started swinging out in violent fury. Tubby Elvis had unwisely positioned himself front and centre before him, butting up against him aggressively with his big belly. Ben was much bigger and stronger than me, so after another exchanged glance, I moved to force Tubby Elvis to retreat, while Ben tackled the fiery, thrashing Angry Elvis. Before he could though, Angry Elvis struck out with surprising accuracy, cracking Tubby Elvis one on the chin, and sending him reeling backwards. Unfortunately for me, I was standing directly behind him at that point in time and he fell back on to me heavily, taking me down with him. I broke his fall, while he nearly broke my back.

He was heavy, very heavy, and I had the air thumped out of my lungs as efficiently as if he’d run over me with a steamroller. I didn’t know how Ben was going with Angry Elvis, because Tubby Elvis floundered around on top of me trying to right himself, like a beetle on its back. With every movement he crushed me further into the carpet. All I could think about was oxygen – beautiful, clear, clean, pure oxygen. I needed it and I needed it urgently. I knew it was all around me for free, but I currently suffered a grave deficit of it.

I mustered up my strength to roll Tubby Elvis off me. Free of him, I lay on the floor looking up at the ugly air conditioning ducts and fluoro lighting on the ceiling of the room, hauling great breaths of air into my lungs. When I’d re-oxygenated my body sufficiently, I roused myself and staggered to my feet. I made sure that Tubby Elvis was okay and with great effort, helped him to his feet.

Thank you kindly, ma’am, he said to me with that renowned Southern geniality. I bobbed my head courteously and turned to check on Ben. He continued to struggle with Angry Elvis, egged on by the newly revived Ancient Elvis, whose rheumy eyes shone with excitement. That little wizened elf hovered around the tussling duo as annoyingly as a mosquito, getting in Ben’s way and shouting out instructions for him to kick Angry Elvis in the goolies.

I’m not kicking him in the goolies, patiently explained Ben again, trying to swat away Ancient Elvis while simultaneously subduing Angry Elvis.

I stalked over to them, pain twinging in my back, pulling out my capsicum spray from one of the many pockets in my cargo pants. The spray wasn’t a standard issue weapon for Heller’s security officers, but Heller insisted that I have some with me at all times. He’s a bit over-cautious like that. For some inexplicable reason, he considered me to be a trouble-magnet.

Oi! Angry Elvis! I yelled in his snarling face, giving him fair warning by holding the spray in clear sight. It’s capsicum spray. Do you want a dose of extreme pain? If not, then I suggest that you calm down right now.

To his credit, he stopped resisting immediately. Ben flashed me an appreciative look, but Ancient Elvis seemed disappointed that it was all resolved so quickly and peacefully.

You should have kicked him in the goolies, he grumbled, his entertainment spoiled.

Look, we don’t kick people in the goolies, all right? snapped Ben, his patience dried up. And I don’t know what makes you think that we do. Now, go and sit down over there and let us handle this, instead of getting in our way. Still grumbling, Ancient Elvis limped away, his white jumpsuit flapping around his scrawny, bandied legs.

Okay, good. I want you to settle down, I ordered Angry Elvis. He slumped against Ben’s chest and let himself be led out the door. I followed them out to the foyer.

Don’t even think of coming back. Take your loss like a man, Ben recommended as we watched him slouching away.

Yeah, harden up, princess! And if you come back, we’ll kick you in the goolies! yelled out Ancient Elvis from where he’d trailed after us, keen not to miss any of the action. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the altercation more than he’d enjoyed the potentially incapacitating swivelling of his hips on stage.

What the hell is it with you and goolies? Ben asked him, shaking his head in disbelief, both of us really wishing he hadn’t butted in at that particular moment.

And as though struck by the elderly man’s taunt, Angry Elvis suddenly spun around and ran back towards us to re-enter the room, obviously wanting another go at Tubby Elvis. I ran interference between the door and him, but he forcefully shoved me out of the way, fuelled by his consuming belief in the injustice served up to him. I fell hard for the second time that day. Surely that went beyond the call of duty, I thought unhappily as I landed on my back with jarring painfulness. Again.

I rolled on to my stomach quickly and grabbed Angry Elvis by one of his ankles as he jumped over me. He was in full flight, so by holding his ankle I halted his momentum quite abruptly and he fell to the ground as well, twisting around and kicking out at me aggressively when he landed.

Angry Elvis was still very angry, but guess what? So was I. In fact, I might even have been angrier than him. I’d arranged a far too rare visit to my boyfriend, Will, tonight and I didn’t want to be late or turn up with a face full of bruises. I wanted this whole situation sorted out now.

I sprang up to sit on his legs, stopping him from kicking. To compensate, he began striking out at me with his fists. I slid up his body, straddling his pelvis until I could restrain his arms. It was a curiously intimate position being astride him, holding down his arms, looking into his face. I’d been there many times with Will, but with much less clothing involved. He struggled to buck me off, but I pinned his arms down with as much force as I could muster, and he wasn’t a big man.

Do you want me to kick him in the goolies for you? offered Ancient Elvis, fluttering around us with alarming eagerness.

"No, she bloody well doesn’t! Will you just go away?" Ben suggested tersely, his testiness with the feisty senior growing every second.

Calm down now or we’ll be forced to call the police, I said to Angry Elvis slowly and patiently, keeping my eyes locked on his. You don’t want to be doing the jailhouse rock, do you? Damn! Ben didn’t hear that one so it probably didn’t count.

Angry Elvis shook his head and stilled.

Good. This is what’s going to happen. I’ll get off you and my colleague will help you to your feet. Then we’ll escort you to the entrance of the convention centre where you will leave peacefully and you won’t return. Do you understand? He nodded. Otherwise, and I indicated over my shoulder to where Ben was standing by on alert, all six-foot-three of menacing muscles, "he will be the one sitting on you next time while we wait for the police to arrive."

I climbed off him and Ben took custody of him, assisting him to his feet. The man was dishevelled, his quiff in disarray, his leather outfit scuffed. He dusted himself down, ran a comb through his hair, and with his chin lifted high, allowed himself to be escorted to the doors of the convention centre where we watched him stalk away down the stairs.

Do you reckon he’s gone for good? I asked.

Yeah, I think you scared him off when you mentioned the cops. Ben looked at me, raising his eyebrows, a smile playing on his lips. That was an interesting hold position you had on him, he teased. Was it good for you? Do you need a cigarette now? I think a few of the other Elvises were about to become rowdy on purpose just so you would sit on them as well.

Sure they were, I laughed, rolling my eyes.

As we sauntered back to the room to supervise the last of the contestants out of the convention centre, Ancient Elvis suddenly kicked over a chair, causing a racket.

What the hell? demanded Ben.

Seeing that he’d captured our attention, the elderly man kicked over another one, then another.

What on earth are you doing? I asked, bemused and concerned about his hips.

Look what I did. I’m a real badass. You better stop me before I hurt someone. He kicked over another, puffing with the effort. Ben and I stared at each other, not sure what was going on.

I think you should stop doing that, sir, said Ben politely. The only person you’re going to hurt is yourself.

Ancient Elvis carefully lowered himself to the carpet and laid his limbs out straight. He looked over to me. Well, what are you waiting for? You better come to subdue me. You saw what a total badass I am. Come and sit on me. Just like what you did with that angry guy. But be careful of my hips – they’re not as flexible as they used to be.

Oh, brother, I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck, not sure what to do. Ben unsuccessfully smothered a laugh.

Hurry up, Ancient Elvis insisted. I might just start kicking over more chairs otherwise. I’m bad, I tell you. I’m a real motherfluffing badass, I am.

Go on, Tilly, smirked Ben, nudging me. You better manage that motherfluffer over there. That’s what you were hired to do. God only knows what he might do next. He might even kick someone in the goolies.

Shooting Ben a dirty look and muttering under my breath, I gently dropped to my knees next to Ancient Elvis. His eyes were bright with mischief.

Look, if I do this, will you promise to go straight home afterwards? You need to rest your hips. You might even need to see a doctor.

Okay, he agreed mildly.

I threw one leg over the wrinkly supine body on the ground, careful to keep myself a few inches above him at all times. I wasn’t going to be responsible for injuring a senior citizen.

There you go. You’re now duly subdued. Off home with you.

Do it properly! he wheezed indignantly. You’re insulting me.

Rolling my eyes, I gently pinned his hands to the ground with a couple of fingers, and said in an embarrassed voice, If you don’t calm down immediately, I’m calling the police.

Say it meaner. Like you did with that other guy.

God! I raised my voice and tried to inject some anger into it. If you don’t calm down immediately, I’m calling the police.

Never! Anarchy forever! He struggled beneath me, even though I wasn’t restraining him at all.

Hey! I said, alarmed. Calm down. You’ll hurt yourself. Remember your hips.

"Is this absolutely necessary? demanded the head organiser in a heated voice liberally laced with undisguised disgust. He’d come out to the foyer in time to witness our display. He’s harmless, surely. Get off him! Jesus! Do we now live in a police state?"

Don’t spray me! I promise I’ll behave, whimpered Ancient Elvis, a tremulous waver in his voice that I’d never heard up until now. "And please don’t let him kick me in the goolies like he threatened." He shot a scared look in Ben’s direction.

I’m not going to kick you in the goolies! protested Ben, turning to the organiser in supplication. "He’s the one who wants to do that all the time, not me! I don’t do that to old people."

"Oh, so now I’m old! Is there no end to the insults? wailed Ancient Elvis. That’s discrimination!"

No, no, no, sir, soothed the organiser, panicking. There’s no discrimination here. Not in my competition. Here, let me help you up. His eyes on me were lava-hot with anger. If this young lady will allow . . .?

I sprang to my feet. Of course. Let me help as well.

No! shrank back our wrinkled little trouble-maker. Not her! You saw her crushing me with her gigantic weight.

Hey! I complained.

My hips, he moaned, hands rubbing up and down them.

He’s trembling! spat out the organiser. You people are savages!

No – started Ben.

We’re not – I tried.

I’ll be asking for a new security team tomorrow, be assured of that! he promised over his shoulder as he led Ancient Elvis away, asking, "Is there anything we can do to make this up for you?"

Well, Ancient Elvis said weakly. "You could find me a small spot in the final. Just as a sop to my incredibly hurt, and possibly litigious, feelings."

Of course, of course. You’d be more than welcome. Yours was a most . . . er . . . entertaining performance. How about first billing?

That would be nice.

Let me call you a taxi. We’ll pay, of course.

As he was led away by the concerned organiser, Ancient Elvis looked back over his shoulder and winked at the pair of us.

Ben groaned and I palm-faced myself.

We’ve been played, rued Ben.

Oh yeah, I agreed. Like a string section.

We looked at each other and laughed regretfully.

But now we have one hell of a problem, he said.

What’s that?

What’s Heller going to say?

Chapter 2

We didn’t have to wait long to find out. As we drove off in a black Toyota 4WD, one of the Heller’s fleet cars, my phone rang.

Matilda. Heller always called me by my full first name even though he knew I disliked it.

Heller, it’s not what it seems.

It never is with you.

"We didn’t hurt him. He made fools of us so he could get his own way. Honestly! We’re the patsies, not him. We’d never hurt an old man."

Silence for a while, then a heavy sigh. It has that unmistakable ring of Matilda-truthiness about it. But still, I’ve been asked to replace you both on the job and that doesn’t reflect well on any of us.

I groaned in disappointment. But I was having fun.

I don’t pay you to have fun.

Yeah, well, sometimes it just happens spontaneously.

So you enjoyed it?

I laughed my arse off! I giggled into the phone.

Oh, how unfortunate for you. Was there any other trouble?

A minor scuffle. I was flattened by a tubby Elvis and knocked over by an angry Elvis. Nothing we couldn’t handle. Although I have to say that my back’s a bit sore now.

I’m not even going to ask, he said, sighing again. Would you like me to give you a massage when you get home? And he laughed in that low, growly sexy way of his that always made my stomach feel funny.

Very tempting, Heller, I said honestly, but I’m going to Will’s place tonight. I’d sweet-talked Ben into dropping me there directly.

I’ll pick you up at the normal time.

Okay. See you then.

Have fun, my sweet.

I plan to, believe me. Bye. And I hung up.

Ben turned to me. The Boss checks in with you after every job?

Yep. I have to let him know what I’m up to every second of the day. And I was only half-joking.

His sideways glance was curious. I’m surprised to hear that you have a boyfriend. I always thought you and Heller were . . . you know. That’s the word around the office anyway.

My voice was cool in response. Everybody thinks that, but it’s not true and never has been.

He persisted. But don’t you spend the night at his place a lot? That’s what the other guys say.

I refused to discuss the matter with him any further, cursing the gossip that continually buzzed in the security section about my love life. Those big, burly men were worse than any woman when it came to tattling about each other and me. I didn’t want to explain my complicated relationship with Heller, a relationship that wasn’t quite platonic, but not yet consummated.

The fact was that I couldn’t explain it to Ben – I couldn’t even explain it to myself. And it was true that I frequently spent the night with Heller, sleeping in his bed, occasionally fooling around with him even though I had a boyfriend. But I guess some relationships only make sense to the people in them. Heller and I cared about each other and simply liked to be together.

But I could tell that Ben wasn’t convinced with my denial. Those rumours were pretty pervasive around the office. I shrugged to myself with resignation and dismissed the topic from my mind. After all, there was nothing I could really do about it.

We pulled up out the front of Will’s place.

It was fun working with you, Tilly, Ben said, idling the 4WD. I hope we work together again soon.

Me too, Ben. Thanks for the lift.

Viva Las Vegas, hey? he grinned and drove off, tooting the horn jauntily as he did, and scoring the last point in our Elvis game as a bonus.

Will met me at the door, his wild, curly brown hair particularly unruly, but his soft brown eyes welcoming. It wasn’t long before we were naked in his bed, sharing a very pleasurable experience. Afterwards, we lay back, bodies entwined and chatted a little.

I suppose you’re running off at midnight as usual, he sulked, running his fingers through my long wavy, dark brown hair.

I suppressed an impatient sigh. It was a longstanding complaint of his that we didn’t spend enough time together. While I appreciated his viewpoint and had promised to find more time, it just wasn’t possible for me to spend every second of my spare time with him. I had other people who were very important to me that I needed to spend time with as well, and the more time I spent with him only robbed me of time with them. It was a difficult balancing act, and I wasn’t sure I was doing it all that well. But instead of arguing with him, knowing I could never win that battle, I distracted him with my body again.

He stopped complaining – for a while at least.

When time came for me to leave, to my surprise it wasn’t Heller who picked me up as he normally did, but Sid. He was a massive, intimidating man who managed Heller’s surveillance section, while his identical twin, Clive, managed Heller’s security section. I lived with all

Reviews for Heller's Girlfriend

[bookjunkie777 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Still interesting, funny, sad, and captivating. However, Tilly sure takes a lot for the team but I have to wonder when she will say enough is enough. There were several times when I laughed out loud. The bantering is pretty good. I really like Farrell's character.

[sbshepherd · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Still interesting, funny, sad, and captivating. However, Tilly sure takes a lot for the team but I have to wonder when she will say enough is enough. There were several times when I laughed out loud. The bantering is pretty good. I really like Farrell's character.

[lara carter · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Always fun and like able, then just when you don't expect it the real and the heart come out. Love Tilly!

[emanate28 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Better than "Heller's Revenge", it kept me interested and entertained. Heller's having a girlfriend came to a big crashing catastrophe at the end that was great fun to read. This series is becoming more and more like a chic-lit version of pulp-fiction :) And (yay) slightly fewer mentions of Tilly's breasts in this book, compared to the last.