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CHAPTER7
Cannon
A week has gone by.I haven’t heard from Roman yet. I’m a patient man, but he’s trying me. Whatever his goal was with making Penelope think she has a stalker, maybe it was killed when she asked for a divorce. Until I know for certain, I’ll suffer this special form of hell. Sleeping in the bedroom next to her. Catching glimpses of her graceful yoga. And remembering how lightly she touched me. Her fingers were barely on me, but I can’t shake the sensation.
There’s supposedly a photo shoot today. She’s agreed to do some work for her mom. She bowed out of the PR junket but has to meet with her lawyer, giving Penelope a valid reason for her absence. The divorce isn’t going to go quickly, and she has a six-month waiting period before it can move at all. Does that give Roman six months to think of something else, or will it be six months I have to be this close to Penelope?
I’ve endured a full week of watching her laugh and smile at exuberant kids. She’s a patient teacher who seems to sincerely want the best for her students. Does she know what a treasure that is?
No, why would she? Her parents made sure she was surrounded by decent people. It’s why I wanted to use Brittany’s safe house. She might’ve been guilty of treating Penelope like she’s still twelve and releasing her into the wild after coddling her too thoroughly, but she cares about Penelope as a person, not a product.
If Peter or Brittany had profited one dime off their daughter, I would’ve kept her far away from them. As it is, I can tell Brittany is desperate to help Penelope. Whenever Penelope isn’t looking, her mom’s expression drowns in guilt and worry, though her concern has eased since Penelope agreed to collaborate.
Penelope wraps up her current class. The kids have gotten used to me and Elsa, but we usually stick to the office during instruction. Elsa will help with the music, just to have something to do and to make it look like she has a job for any curious parents. She’s befriended Penelope, Pierre, and Juan Pablo like she’s known them for years.
Elsa’s off today—another audition—so it’s just me when Penelope breezes into the office. She always looks fucking radiant after coaching. Her cheeks are flushed and delight dances in her green eyes. The little kids adore her. They bring in pictures they colored from school to show her. She has their notes hanging up on a bulletin board in her office.
The world needs more people like Penelope around their kids. It’s why Roman can’t destroy her life. He’ll try. Regardless of what he’s up to with the letters and slaughtering the bunny, he would ruin her in a divorce no matter what. It’s what people like him do.
She unties the loose cardigan from around her waist and shrugs into it. With her tote on one arm and aviator shades in her other hand, she says, “Pierre’s going to lock up.”
The studio is kept locked when classes aren’t in session. All Pierre has to do is lock it behind him like he normally does. I lead the way to the car. She’s the most obedient client I’ve ever worked with. Guys would pay me twenty times her rate to protect them overseas in war-torn countries and then balk at my instructions. Not Penelope.
I’m not looking forward to the photo shoot. I lost at least an hour of sleep last night knowing I’d get to watch her get lost in the movement again. Will the photo shoot be more of the same, but with less clothing?
God help me.
I’d ask her to skip it and use the stalker as justification. But she didn’t have to tell me that she’s getting scared and thinks the extra money is a good idea. The divorce is going to drag on while she’s cut off from Roman’s funds.
We take her car to the photo shoot. My plain-as-hell car stays at her mom’s. Her car is technically Roman’s, but she should be able to use it since he’s locked her out of everything else.
The photographer doesn’t bat an eye at me. If anything, she’s surprised Penelope has only one person instead of an entourage with her.
An hour passes. Penelope poses with various food products that her mom is releasing soon—granola bars and all-natural fruit and protein bars. She’s a natural performer, but she also sincerely likes her mom’s products and it shows.
“All right.” The photographer grins. “I’ve got plenty to show Ms. Cowles.” She puts her camera down and spots me. “Have you ever thought about modeling?”
My heart slams against my ribs. I’m not going to get in front of a camera. “No,” I say gruffly.
Penelope scurries off the set like she’s coming to my rescue. “He prefers to stay in the background.”
“Your bone structure says otherwise.” The photographer tilts her head side to side like she’s framing me up. “Your posture. The way you carry yourself. I’m surprised Ms. Cowles doesn’t beg you to be on the billboard for her granola bars.”
My lungs spasm. A billboard. Nope. Not again. And I don’t need the photographer triggering a memory for Penelope about why she finds me familiar. I manage to keep calm. “I’m not a model. Never wanted to be.” That’s the truth.
Penelope grabs her tote. I give the photographer a nod, and we leave.
“She made you uncomfortable?” Penelope murmurs when we’re out of the warehouse studio and on the sidewalk. It’s a full block before we get to the car. Penelope’s observational skills aren’t my favorite trait about her right now.
“I don’t want to be in the spotlight.” That’s all I’ll say on that.
“Too bad for Mother’s granola bars.”
I smile despite the sour mood the photographer’s insistence put me in. “You’ll sell plenty.”
“I hope so.” She pushes her sunglasses onto her face and smiles. “I get three percent of the profits.”
I chuckle and the tightness in my chest eases. I open the door for Penelope. In minutes, we’re on the road toward Santa Monica. She’s quiet, but not uncomfortably so. It’s like we’ve settled into a routine. Like a couple. And I’m tempted to make a general comment about the weather. I never fucking talk about the weather unless I’m planning a mission.
