Page 8 of Foreign Exchange

“You know I’ll only be doing research for you if I do those things.”

I nod and hand her a brochure from the pet-friendly spa in Santa Barbara. “And that is why I booked a weekend for you and the kitties to sit by the pool and get massages, mud baths, catnip treats, the works.”

“But…”

“And if you try to do any work—if you so much as call or text me about anything other than to tell me you’re having a wonderful time—I’ll have Nando come to the spa and confiscate your phone.”

She gasps at the mention of my bodyguard. “I hate that guy!”

Arching one eyebrow, I tell her, “I know.”

“You’re evil.”

“Yes, I am.”

Finally, her shoulders come down from her ears. “Thanks, Serenity. But how will Nando harass me if he’s with you in Ohio?”

I glance down at my phone. “Oh, I won’t need him there. I’ll have my dad.” And Cian, I think, blushing.

We hug goodbye, and she shoots Nando an evil look as he grabs my cases and piles them into the back of the car.

“Bye, Ellen,” he says with a flashy grin and his usual taunting attitude.

“Be nice, children,” I say.

“Always,” Nando says. “LAX?”

I slide into the back seat as Nando takes the wheel. “Burbank Airport.”

“Thank fuck,” he growls. I can’t blame anyone who hates LAX with as much passion as Nando does.

I text Cian furiously, peppering him with apologies for my lateness.

Instead of replying via text, he calls me up.

“First of all, it’s okay.”

Cian’s voice is everything in this moment.

Finally able to breathe, I return the phone to my ear.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as possible, but I’m going straight to my Dad’s because my flight won’t arrive until 3 a.m.”

Nando mutters something about not trusting Midwesterners to leave me alone.

“Everything’s grand,” Cian replies. “So, who’s the fella in the car with you? I just want to talk.”

Am I crazy, or do I hear a hint of jealousy in his voice?

“It’s Nando. My security guy, my driver. He does a little of everything.”

Cian groans. “Is Big Nando gonna beat me up when I lay a kiss on you?”

I blush like a schoolgirl. “No!” I laugh. “He’s driving me to the airport. My dad’s picking me up there.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

“Cian,” I say, “are you jealous of my dad?”

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