The driver jumped out to open her car door. Rhys got out too.
Jules stepped out into the warm night.
The driver retrieved her overnight bag and, after punching in the code to the front door, walked into her house, reminding Rhys once again that Jules lived in a place where others worked.
“You don’t have to go in there,” he tried again.
She ignored him. “We’re sticking to the schedule.”
“That’s not what I said.” He stayed by her side.
“I don’t need you to walk me in, Rhys.”
“Maybe I insist.” They stopped at her oversize front door.
“Maybe you should go pack.”
“Already done.” He smirked. “I’ll walk you in and wave hello to Mason.”
She squeezed his arm. “I’m good. I promise. Good night, Rhys. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bright and early, right?”
He nodded. “We’re wheels up at Van Nuys at five a.m. I’ll be here with your driver at four.”
“Great.” She turned in the doorway. “You and I both know I’ve been through scarier situations than dealing with a bunch of corporate lawyers.”
That didn’t mean he wanted this for her.
“They don’t scare me.” Then she blew into her home like a gale-force explosion.
The door shut. Pressure tightened in his chest. Standing there, wanting to put his fist through Mason’s face, wasn’t his job. The drama and the bullshit, the theatrics—none of it was important. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to intercept her headaches.Counteracting problems was his job, after all. Just because Mason and his billable-hour crew or the general parasocial posse that believed they were besties weren’t her stalker didn’t mean that Rhys couldn’t watch out for her.
Except it did. That wasn’t his job.
She’d walked right into the storm in her very own home. That was a level of bullshit fuckery he refused to put up with. But for the thousandth time, it wasn’t his place to make a stand.
Rhys forced himself into the car. The driver didn’t pull out. Together with Wes, they watched the mansion, silent and staring, waiting for a reason to help the woman who’d sent them away.
“Feels like you should have gone inside,” the driver finally said, raising his shoulders. “I’m no bodyguard, but a little showmanship never hurts.”
Rhys ground his teeth.
“Maybe the showmanship is Jules not giving a crap who’s inside her house,” Wes offered.
Wes made a good point.
Still, Rhys clenched his fists. “Maybe.”
“You know her better than us,” Wes continued. “But it’s not a bad idea to show up with you as backup.”
Hell. Rhys frowned. He should have forced the point and walked her inside.
“Not that I think she’s physically in danger.” Wes shrugged. “Only that she could use someone in her corner.”
His teeth clamped. “I get that.”
“You want to call the sister?” the driver suggested. “Abigail Lowry could tear a guy apart without breaking a sweat.”
Traffic and distance placed Abigail an easy forty-five minutes away.
