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He swore inwardly, his eyes narrowing as she took another drink from yet another man, the woman from the fashion show clearly desperate to show off Max’s presence. She made sure they were photographed often, she circulated Max to a large group of people, including journalists, and Noah followed dutifully behind, his expression impassive, even as she began to speak to one man in particular for longer than the others, even as she leaned closer, her hand on his chest, an invitation unmistakable in his eyes.
So help him, God, if she brought this guy home with her, it would test every ounce of his professionalism. Not quitting would be the hardest thing he’d ever done.
It was clear that the man in question was keen. He laced their fingers together, spoke low, leaned close. Noah wanted to strangle something. For a moment he looked away, because the sight of them was burned into his retina, before he remembered that his job was to watch, no matter how hard he found it.
She laughed at something the man said, then looked towards the doors. This was really going to happen. He braced himself for the inevitable, tried to preempt how he’d react, how he’d keep his face from giving him away when she told him she was bringing some other guy home, spending the night with him.
She finished the drink and put it on the table. The man nodded to the bar; Max shook her head.
Suit guy leaned closer, his hand came around to the top of Max’s butt. Noah was surprised the steam coming from his ears didn’t set off the smoke alarm. Max laughed; Noah clenched, then she was pulling back, turning around, her eyes fixing to his so he could see everything, her haunted expression, the realization that she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, that she had started this to make him jealous and was now regretting it.
He swooped in, putting an arm beneath her elbow. “What do you want?”
She didn’t even look at suit guy. Her lips chattered together. “To go home.” Her eyes didn’t meet his.
He ignored the burst of relief, and didn’t hesitate. He propelled her out of the club, onto the sidewalk where a smattering of paparazzi remained, their lenses trained on whomever stumbled out. Thanks to Noah’s support, that wasn’t Max, but she shrunk into his side anyway, burying her face in his shirt, so he instinctively put an arm around her and kept her close as he pushed through the crowds and into the waiting car. Double parked on a yellow line he noted the ticket with a sardonic grimace, opening the door for Max. She ignored it, rounding to the front passenger door, which she opened herself and stepped into. He compressed his lips, not arguing, just glad he was able to take her home. And without the suit guy.
A glance at the dash when he started the engine showed it was past two. She’d been there for hours. Had she enjoyed herself? Was this how she spent her spare time?
“You must be starving.” Her words sounded so small, so concern had him whipping around to look at her, before quickly returning his gaze to the road.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.” He stopped at traffic lights and looked at her properly now, seeing the way her throat moved as she swallowed, the look of being lost clear in her eyes. She bit down on her lip and he had the most unsettling realization that she was staving off tears.
“I can go twelve hours without eating,” he promised. “I’m not going to die.”
She smiled, a half-smile, turning away from him, her hands running over the elasticized hem of her dress.
He took the most direct route back to the apartment, fighting an urge to put his arm around her as he led her into the building. There were no camera lenses here, no paparazzi, just two more doormen who greeted her with the same deference as the earlier two.
In her apartment, Max slipped out of her heels and padded into the kitchen. He stayed where he was, watching, before rousing himself. Distance.
He bolted the door, inspected the windows, checking each meticulously, then the double doors that led to the rooftop terrace. He went through the entire apartment, the mechanical act of carrying out his job vital for reminding him what he was doing there.
Fifteen minutes later, when he returned to the lounge room, it was to find a very different Max. She’d showered, washing off the full face of cosmetics and brushing out her long hair so it was silky and soft, pulled back into a low ponytail. She wore a pair of silk pants and a loose fitting top – it was obvious there was no bra beneath, the roundness of her breasts so perfect that he ached to simply stare. But he didn’t.
“Your apartment’s secure.”
“Thank you.” She waved a hand towards the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything. Or call for delivery. I’m going to bed.”
“You haven’t eaten either.”
“I had some hors d’oeuvre at the club. I’m fine.”
Except she wasn’t fine. He could see the lines of strain around her eyes, the sense of powerlessness, and he understood. Having someone stalk you, the persistent, niggling fear, the sensation of needing to be ever-ready, always vigilant, was exhausting. But that was why he was here. So she didn’t need to be so vigilant. Why she didn’t need to worry so much.
It was also why he had to make sure he did his damned job properly, not get distracted by their chemistry.
“You’ll feel better if you eat.”
“You seem to forget I’m twenty six years old. I’ve lived perfectly well up until this point without your tips. I think I’ll manage another few days.”
He thought about fighting back, about insisting, but at the end of the day, she was right. He would never get involved in the dietary habits of any other client. It wasn’t his place. So why did he care so much about Max, wanting to stop her from feeling crap in the morning?
“Suit yourself. Goodnight.”
After he’d polished off a whole pizza, Noah checked on her. Not Max so much as her room, to be sure everything was as it ought to be. He simply pushed the door inwards, flicked his gaze around the room – window closed, nothing disturbed – then stepped back out of it again. It was only as he got ready for bed he realized the same little nightlight that she had in London had been glowing with warmth, casting a gentle light over her room as she slept. Why?
