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“That will not happen again, Ms. Harrington.” I honestly didn’t recognize the deep and quiet rattle of my voice, but figured it was due to the fact that I’d never had to work so hard to keep my irritation under control on the job before. “I am not here for you to play with or let people think you’re in some strange sexual relationship with. My job is to make sure you’re protected, and part of that job is my ability to be intimidating. I’m not an actor and I will not let people believe you’re not being guarded.” I hadn’t realized I’d even moved as I spoke, but suddenly she was caught between me and the wall, looking up at me with wide eyes, the forest green muted by something I hadn’t seen in her before this moment. Fear.
I ignored the trickle of guilt rolling down my spine as she audibly swallowed. Maybe if she was afraid of me, she’d be more willing to do what she was told without the fucking attitude. I already spread myself thin protecting her and running the investigation into the letters, not to mention running a damn company with other clients and men sent out all over the world. I didn’t need to deal with her princess attitude making shit worse.
“Okay,” she said in a small voice, focusing over my shoulder at the wall, no longer willing to meet my gaze. “Sorry.” The word was little more than a whisper, easily missed if I hadn’t been watching her mouth. The silence that fell over our small space was almost suffocating, suddenly bringing back the feeling of claustrophobia that had been absent on the ride up.
I’d had issues with enclosed spaces since the attack that had taken one of my brothers from me and meant a long road back to normal. I hated even looking at elevators, let alone getting into them. Rocketing up ten stories and I would have gladly taken the stairs. But in my irritation and being entirely consumed by the actions of the woman now trying to distance herself from me, I hadn’t even questioned getting into the box or even worrying as it climbed floor after floor.
The loud ding of the elevator, announcing their floor, caused the usually confident woman in front of me to jump ever so slightly, and I felt like the world’s biggest asshole for making her so uneasy that she was now jumping at noises. The doors opened and she was out of the space before I’d even taken a step. With a low growl of annoyance, I followed, knowing there was not imminent danger in the hallway leading to the front door of her condo. Jack Kasey has been in charge of the camera feeds and as one of the owners of RP, he was as committed to going above and beyond. If there had been danger, I would have been notified before the elevator had even reached her floor.
A buzz from my phone seemed almost too coincidental as I pulled it from my pocket and saw a text from Jack Kasey, himself. Apparently he didn’t just have an eye on the hallway leading to her apartment, he’d watched the entire show from the lobby to Lake’s front door.
Kasey:You know, if you wanted to scare her any more, you could have just pulled your fucking gun on her.
I managed to reach the rapidly closing door to Lake’s condo before she could effectively lock me out, forcing me to use the key card given by her father. The man had predicted his daughter’s actions in a way that made me wonder if he didn’t pay closer attention than he liked his daughter to believe.
She was already storming down the hall, ignoring my presence as I took in the new surroundings. I’d expected something overly modern, dripping with expensive fixtures and maybe more marble and diamonds scattered around to ramp up the value of the converted suite. I hadn’t expected a living room that looked like a spread in Country Living. The overstuffed cream colored couch and loveseat looked cozy with the intricately distressed side tables. It all still looked expensive, but lived in. French country at its best, with a brilliant view of central park. I rounded the couch to investigate the decor lining the walls and table tops, wondering if she’d decorated herself or paid someone, when my phone buzzed again, breaking me from my distraction. Looking down at the screen again, it was another message from Jack Kasey, this time with a video link.
Kasey:Check this out and then try to tell me you weren’t just pissed that she got to you.
I wanted to ignore the message, to tell Kasey to fuck off and do his job without the commentary, but I couldn’t help the curiosity in what my friend and business partner had seen. I pulled the handsfree earpiece from my pocket and attached it, connecting it to my phone before clicking the link and glaring down at the video of me being led into the elevator by my fucking pants. It was humiliating and I was sure the video would be circulated around the office within minutes if it wasn’t already.
The footage cut to inside the elevator and it was obvious that Kasey had worked his magic to make this a seamless video portrayal of my stupidity. I watched as the video version of me slowly dragged his fingers across her skin, doing my best to ignore the electric buzz that reignited in my fingertips at just seeing it again. I watched as that Decker seemed to lean closer with each passing second, something I hadn’t even been aware I had done at the time. Then as if a switch had been flipped, my hand dropped and my eyes narrowed on her. Of course Kasey had included the audio, and I flinched at the ice dripping from my words. I’d rarely heard the venom in my own voice, but this shit should have had stronger men than her cowering. I had to admit I was impressed that her back had stayed straight even if her eyes hadn’t found mine again.
I rubbed a hand over my face as I let out a long sigh, closing the video and going back to the messages, reading over what Kasey had originally sent about pulling a gun on her. I had been too frustrated to control my tone, and I was starting to wonder just what kind of frustration it was. What foreign emotion this damn woman was pulling out of me. I wanted absolutely none of it. My fingers tapped along the screen, typing out what I hoped was enough of an explanation to stop the comments about the trainwreck in the elevator.
Decker:I was trying to make it clear that I didn’t appreciate her tactics when I am doing my damn job. Speaking of, you should be doing yours instead of playing movie producer in your batcave.
Kasey:You made it clear that you’re a prick. At least in her eyes. Too bad since she seems like a fun time. You sure you don’t need me to help out with on site guarding? She might appreciate a little variety.
I couldn’t help the growl of irritation that rumbled in my chest as I attempted to bite down my anger as I typed out a response.
Decker:This is exactly why you’re staying behind the scenes. You make these stupid fucking comments and I have to rely on Cabot or Fitz to keep your ass in check. Get back to work and stop trying to start office gossip.
I pocketed the phone and let out a long breath of frustration. Only John Landow could have gotten me to take this job. And now I was stuck waiting for the princess to pack so I could spend another few hours in an enclosed space, just to get her to a house that was secluded enough to be the closest we’d get to a safe house. At least the mansion sized home was big enough to give me some much needed distance from Lake Harrington. I couldn’t pinpoint the source of my frustration. It could have been the attitude of a spoiled teenager that she launched at anyone besides the elderly, or it could have been the fact that I could still feel her skin under my fingertips. A simple touch that seemed to flare parts of me to life that I’d suspected had died long before I built Remington Security. Something about touching Lake Harrington had been akin to stroking a live wire, the hair on my arms still shooting straight up as if to attest to the electric reaction we’d shared. Unfortunately, long dead emotions weren’t the only thing that had begun to flare to life the second her finger had closed around my belt loop. With another irritated exhale, I shoved the thought aside as I pulled up Aiden Cabot’s number and called. I could at least double check that everything was good to go in the Hamptons to keep my mind off the woman slamming drawers in the other room.
CHAPTER 4
LAKE
Islammed the dresser drawer for the third time without actually removing any of the clothing I was supposed to be packing. I had only managed to shut and lock the bedroom door before allowing myself to breathe finally. I doubted a locked door would keep the monster masquerading as a man out, but it was some small safety as I willed my heart rate to slow. The ice water tossed on my senses at his growled question of a nickname I’d just thrown out had effectively doused the scorching flames on my skin left by his touch.
I shivered at the memory of his fingers, so strong and yet unwaveringly gentle as he’d traced up my throat. My pulse had been pounding out an unfamiliar rhythm at his touch. The touch of a man didn’t get much stirring anymore, overly used to grabby hands and digits sliding around my waist in clubs and other events. Little got me going anymore. Except dancing. The reason I allowed myself to rotate in the orbit of people like Monica and Bailey. They were my all access pass to my own personal freedom. Dancing had always been freeing for me. A way to close my eyes and fall into another world where the only thing that mattered was feeling the beat through my normally numb body. Hell, I didn’t even drink that much when I went to all the clubs I did.
I might have embraced the party lifestyle before I was legally allowed to drink, but the dancing was what I really fell in love with. The disconnect from my mind and problems as the music washed away the child-like sadness still threatening to choke me. So as the years passed, I’d learned how to make others think I was constantly partying along with them, all while keeping that energy mostly sober and on the dance floor. It wasn’t hard to place a drink down after placing it to my lips and pretending to sip a few times. Leave it in the corner, on another table, at the other side of the bar. The glasses were always collected by someone working there, no questions asked, as it was just an unattended drink. Then someone would buy me another, I’d let the liquid hit my closed lips, distract with anything from a giggle and a well timed sigh that made my chest heave to pull attention, set it down to dance and grab another in between trips to the dance floor.
By the end of the night I looked like I’d polished off half a liquor store, and still enjoyed every minute of the music pounding around me and bringing me through the life I’d built for myself. And then when I knew the paparazzi were waiting to pounce, I would put on the only show they cared about. I still liked keeping my shit shoved in my father’s face, even if he’d never seemed to care. I wasn’t a stupid woman, had the degrees to prove it, but there was something almost primal in me that needed to challenge and push my father, so I pretended that at 26 years old, I was still the same teenager out past curfew, drinking my way across the globe.
That old saying about insanity defined as doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result seemed to keep playing through my head as much as I hated that damn saying. Mostly because that was not the definition of insanity, but also because it rang too true in my life and actions. Insanity was being assigned day and night protection because my father was mixed up in something he was barely even telling me about. As immature and idiotic as Robert thought I was, I knew former senators were not targets of hate mail and threats unless they were wrapped up in something much more dangerous than he was letting on.
I snatched my phone from the nightstand and tried not to flinch at the radio silence from Monica and Bailey since Mullins had sent that text. I would probably be getting the silent treatment for months until I did some big show of apologizing. Meanwhile life wouldn’t change for those girls. They’d continue on their way pretending I’d never existed. For some odd reason, the idea of not being around them didn’t cause me much grief. At least this way I wouldn’t have to pretend to care about their drama just to get prime dance floor real estate. I wouldn’t be doing much dancing while stuck in the Hamptons anyway.
Brushing aside thoughts of them, I pulled up a Google search and typed in Robert Harrington in an attempt to see if he’d done anything newsworthy lately. Or anything to piss someone off enough to threaten his and my life. Instantly the search pulled up his picture and wiki page first, but that’s not what I needed, tapping the news tab just under the search. I watched the page reload and let out “shit,” on a breath. Not because I’d finally found my answer, but because the headlines weren’t about him at all. No, all the headlines for the last few years as I scrolled, were about me, and the only reason he was popping up like this was because each and every article that was cashing in on my fucked up life, had to mention who my father was in regards to why I warranted an article in the first place.
Fair enough since I wasn’t as open about my birth into the upper echelon, and was well aware that Hiltons and Kardashians were bigger cases of success when it came to people only famous due to who their parents were. Not that I didn’t have respect for the family's children as they’d actually turned their fame into companies, clothes, make-up, a few sex scandals and of course… reality television. They hustled and made their names their own until people had forgotten their parents. No one wrote an article on Kim, reminding everyone who her father had been. Not these days.
But Robert Harrington had to be mentioned each time I was because I hadn’t started my own fragrance line, started my own reality show, or released a line of makeup that would end up on makeup tutorials all over Youtube. The only thing the world and my father knew me for, was hitting clubs, making bad decisions and spending the family fortune on nothing. And I’d let them keep believing that. Thinking I spent a single cent of my father's money on anything other than my secrets. No, each plane ticket, limo ride, club VIP section, hotel room… each and every one had been paid for out of my own pocket since the day I’d turned 18. Scout made a habit of questioning why I lived two separate lives instead of embracing the woman I’d become, but she had two parents who doted on her and made comments about her success to anyone who would listen. I wasn’t doted on. I was a pawn to be moved around the chessboard by my father as it was convenient for him.
The ding of an incoming text jolted me from my pity party and staring blankly at the unhelpful google results. Tapping the notification of the unknown number at the top bar of the screen, I frowned wondering who would have gotten my number. Curiosity fled in the wake of terror as I read the message on the screen.
