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Giorgio almost smiled, but he stopped himself. “A victim’s looks and personality should have no bearing on police response. That’s unacceptable.”
“Yes, it is,” my mother insisted. “My husband knows the police chief, and—”
“Ma’am, pardon me for interrupting, but my organization has contacts in the police department. Let us handle this. We don’t want there to be any hint of interference from Lane or his family. That will only hurt the case against Mr. Hendon.”
My mother looked like she was going to protest, but she exhaled and nodded. “All right, but I want to know this case is being taken seriously.”
“I think you’re aware that we only take cases we consider serious.”
She nodded. “That is my understanding.”
Once again, I felt like there was something in their exchange I was missing.
“Mr. Porter, I’ll follow you back to your apartment so you can gather what you need before we leave for the cabin.”
“What if I don’t want—”
My mother cut me off with a glare. “No more of your ridiculous protests. Knowing Giorgio will be there to keep you safe will finally let me sleep at night.”
Giorgio’s lip quirked up again in an almost smile, and heat rose in my cheeks. Did my mother have to scold and manipulate me in front of him?
Didn’t she realize what she was setting me up for?
No, of course she didn’t. While she’d been awesomely supportive when I’d come out, she made very stereotypical assumptions about gay men. For the most part, I played right into those stereotypes, so no matter how much I tried to explain that there wasn’t one type of gay man, she didn’t really listen. It would never occur to her that Giorgio liked men.
At least I could enjoy exploring the art scene in North Adams, but as fun as that would be and despite the promise of a bodyguard-porn fantasy in a cozy cabin, I had the gallery showing coming up in a few weeks. Did my mother think I could just grab a few paints and some brushes and toss them into my suitcase? It wasn’t that easy. I needed loads of things from my studio. To be fair, though, when I thought about how my mother usually packed, she might expect Giorgio to bring a moving truck to my apartment building and pack up my entire studio.
I sighed and nearly ran a hand through my hair before remembering it was gelled into submission and I was about to fuck it up. I might be mad as hell at my mother for pushing me into this, at Giorgio for looking so completely unruffled, and of course at Alan for starting all this fucking trouble, and I might be a lot more shaken up by Alan breaking into my apartment than I’d let my mother believe, more than a little worried I needed to take the threat to myself more seriously, and apprehensive about Mr. Hot As Fuck I Don’t Think You’re Just A Bodyguard following me around, but at least I looked good.
When I opened my eyes again, Giorgio was looking right at me. His expression was carefully neutral, but I saw a flash of heat in his gaze. He still wanted me.
This was a terrible idea, but if I had to be stuck with someone…
“My boss sent me to meet with you, but I’m going to recommend another operative as your guard, Mr. Porter.”
Operative? Not bodyguard? Who did Giorgio work for, and how the fuck did my mother know them? Why the fuck would he recommend someone else? I knew he’d enjoyed our night together as much as I had.
My mother shook her head. “When I spoke with your boss, he told me you were the best. I only want the best for my son.”
“I have… other obligations, but I assure you—”
“This is not what I agreed to,” my mother insisted.
Giorgio kept his expression blank, something most men couldn’t do when facing my mother’s wrath.
“Mom, I’m sure anyone who works for this agency is qualified to keep me safe.”
“Precisely,” Giorgio said.
I studied him, trying to read what he was thinking. He was damn good with that passive expression. Who was he really?
CIA? Special forces? No, I was dreaming things up again. He worked for a security agency. This wasn’t some spy novel. I’d gone out with an asshole who didn’t know how to take no for an answer. That was all. Everyone was blowing things out of proportion.
“I still don’t think I need—”
“You do,” Mr. I’m In Control and my mother said at the same time.
She smiled at Giorgio. “Exactly. Lane is in need of protection, and I want the best for him. If you’re the best as my”—she paused and glanced at me—“friend told me, then you’re the one I want guarding him.”
Giorgio had to be frustrated as hell. He clearly wasn’t thrilled with the idea of spending time with me. Was that because he wanted me again or because he didn’t? The little bit of emotion I’d sensed from him told me it was the former, but that still didn’t make this a good idea.
