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He points to the floor, where Ezra’s body was last seen. “I was right about his open source, and with him next door, I went into his laptop. Gatekeepers are people who protect personal systems.”
I shrug as we step onto the elevator. “Is that unordinary? He is the COO of a cybersecurity company.”
“Do you do that? As the owner and the daughter of one?”
My head bounces to the side. “No.”
“No. Only people with something to hide protect their assets, and there is nothing more valuable than information.”
“So he’s protecting himself. Does that mean you can’t hack it?”
Lenox takes my hand, playing the part of my husband as we step into the lobby. “I can hack anything. I just don’t want him or his cronies to know someone is doing it. That’s what will take a bit more time. I have a feeling Alfie will be even more fun to sort through. He’s smarter than his son.”
“Have fun and all that. If only you allowed me to pay you for your hacking or husband services, this arrangement wouldn’t be so one-sided.”
He twists until his eyes meet mine, the outside Las Vegas sun hitting his back through the glass doors, creating a halo around him. An angel with the devil’s intent.
“I’m paying off a debt I owe to you and your cousins. Think of it that way.”
“I don’t care what you think you owe them. It’s me you have to deal with.”
His eyes search my face. “Dealing with you is only half the battle.”
I smile up at him, batting my eyelashes playfully. “I never said I’d make it easy for you.”
“You’re too beautiful, Georgia. I’m not supposed to think that way about you. This is a fake marriage, but when you smile up at me like that and the sun hits you just right, I start to think about last night and all the ways I want you, and that can’t happen again.”
Oh. I flush. And then obviously want to keep looking exactly like this forever, but that’s not going to be helpful for anyone. He’s not alone in that. A woman could easily grow addicted to the way he looks at them and how his hands and tongue can’t seem to get enough of their body.
“It won’t, so you don’t have to worry. What happens in Vegas…” I trail off, and he’s utterly unamused. “Will always stay here and never travel.”
“I can’t go down that road with you again.”
I look away, hurt flashing like a flood through me. He means the road where I fell head over heels for him and he felt nothing for me. The road where he betrayed his best friends because he liked the sex and wasn’t in the best of mental places.
I turn back to him, all traces of my smile now washed away. “Agreed. Never again,” I tell him with an assurance I feel down to the marrow of my bones. “So stop worrying all hell is about to break loose.”
Except the moment we step outside, all hell does break loose.
Chapter Twelve
You know that scene in Christmas Vacation when all the cops come swarming in, breaking through windows and doors, and taking down that giant Christmas tree only to leave Mrs. Griswold holding poor Clark’s nuts? Yeah, that feels like me right now.
Only it’s not the cops swarming us, it’s the press. And Georgia unfortunately is not holding my dick, just my nipple. To the point where I’m tempted to groan and need to smack her hand away because she’s pinching it and my nipple ring.
But what in the almighty fuck is going on?
“Georgia! Lenox! Over here!” Click, click, click. “How long have you secretly been together? Do Zaxton and Greyson know you’re married? Why didn’t they attend the wedding?”
Questions fire at us one after the other, cameras and phones shoved in our faces. We’re completely surrounded, unable to see anything past the mass of bodies. On instinct, I wrap my arm protectively around her—clearly, I lied when I told her I wasn’t a bodyguard—tucking her into my side and crisply walking us forward. To where I have no clue, but I don’t care. Just as long as I get us out of here.
“Georgia, what does this mean for Ezra? Were you having an affair with Lenox behind his back? Lenox, were you really a virgin when you married Georgia?”
Virgin? I trip on that last one but don’t stop moving, familiar enough with the whole paparazzi routine to keep my features neutral and void of reaction. Security comes flying out of the hotel, and somehow I’m being directed to a limo like we’re living out some cliché Hollywood movie.
Which I suppose we are since I’m married to Hollywood’s former sweetheart.
The door opens, and I shove Georgia in first, climbing in beside her and slamming the door shut behind us. The car slowly inches out of the driveway, pushing past the throngs of press and somehow hitting the light just right and taking a quick left.
