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“Okay, grab that piece, and stay down. I’ll be in touch,” he said and ended the call.
“Well?” Vanessa stood about a foot from me with her hands on her hips, skin pink from exertion and eyes bright with alarm.
“We can’t stay here.” I waited a beat, expecting an argument or accusation, but Vanessa nodded and looked around my place, not even seeing the details.
“You should pack a bag. You can stay with me.”
I smiled at her offer even as I shook my head. “I won’t put you in any more danger, Nessa.” This was all because I lied to her, didn’t tell her the truth about Fiona. If I had, she would have quit the job, and they wouldn’t have come after her, and I wouldn’t have whacked their guy. Now, I wasn’t about to bring more death and devastation to her door.
“You can because I’m not asking. I have plenty of room, so even if you don’t want to share a bed with me—”
“Oh Jesus Christ Vanessa, you know that’s not it.”
“No, I don’t know that. Not at all Emmett. I’m offering you a place to stay that comes with a bed buddy, so what’s the problem? I mean, if you don’t want me around…”
“Don’t want you around? Shit woman, I can’t stop thinking about you. Not when I’m at work, doing interviews, or training fighters, in the shower. In bed. Hell, I even think about you when I’m sitting in traffic. That’s not it, believe me.”
“Good, then there’s nothing to argue about.”
I shook my head and went to pack a bag. If we were going to argue, we could do it on the move.
“Nessa, ow much time do you need to pack a bag?”
Her dark brows dipped low in confusion. “I don’t need a bag.”
“You do if you’re staying with me. I’m going to Ashby Manor for the night.” Her flush faded into a pale, lifeless shade of white. “Still want to come?”
It wasn’t right to tease her, but this was her choice. It had to be.
She nodded absently and then her shoulders fell. “Do you think it’s too soon for me to be with someone else?”
“No, but I might be biased. Because I want to be with you. Do you think it’s too soon?”
She shrugged, thought about it, and shook her head. “I don’t think so, no. But will Sadie think so? And what about Provo?”
I took Vanessa’s chin and pulled her face to mine. “It’s just you and me in this, Nessa, got it? Everyone can and will have an opinion, but as long as you want me, I don’t give a fuck what they think.”
Slowly her tension faded and she smiled. “Me either.”
“Good. Let’s go upstairs.”
“We’re not leaving?”
“Nope. I’ve changed my mind. Those motherfuckers are probably gone, and I’m not sure I want to leave my house empty right now. Let’s get upstairs. On a bed.”
“I’m right behind you.”
Fuck that. “No, you’re right beside me.”
Her responding smile was the only answer I needed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Vanessa
“You sure you know what you’re doing with Emmett?”
I had a rare moment to myself inside the game room before the players arrived and Provo had picked his moment perfectly.
I looked into his serious blue eyes staring down at me, not in the mood for his shit. “You don’t have anything to say to me for months after Lance died, and the first thing you choose to question is my personal decisions? That’s not a good look for you, Provo.”
We faced off in the back room reserved for employees. I’d slipped in to refresh my lipstick, add another layer of concealer to my bruises, and just take a breath. Nonstop smiling for high-energy men wore me down about halfway through my shift, and I needed a break to recharge, but Provo’s heavy-handed judgment didn’t help.
“I don’t give a shit about looks, Vanessa; I just want you to be careful.”
He ran a hand through thick black hair, a move that made it stand up comically in all directions. “Be careful.”
“Believe it or not Provo, I’m always careful, whether or not you’re here to remind me of that fact.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he suddenly cared. “Maybe you should focus more on your job and not my life.”
“Well, I am concerned, dammit. This world, it’s not for you.”
I put my lipstick in my purse and fluffed may hair, then turned away from the mirror and faced Provo again. “You didn’t have a problem when it was Lance working for the Ashby family.”
“He was your husband,” he growled.
“You don’t think I know that? He certainly was, but he’s not here anymore, so mind your business, Provo. You’ve proven we’re not friends, so don’t start acting like it now.”
I almost felt bad at the flash of hurt I saw in his eyes, but I didn’t let the feeling sit with me long because this was the first real conversation we’d had since the memorial at Midnight Mass.
