Page 171 of Fighting the Pull


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She opened her mouth.

But oh no.

He wasn’t done.

“It’s been fuckinghours, the police have come and gone, and you’ve been blowing off a credible threat to the point your staff, in order to protect you, have had to act behind your back. I mean, for fuck’s sake, babe. You’re smarter than that.”

“Well, if I’d known I was getting death threats, I probably would have reported it or figured out what you’re supposed to do with something like this. I’ll have words with Zoey and Chuck about their overprotectiveness later. But thanks for givingmystaff the heads up you were coming over here so they’d leave the jobI’mpaying them for so they wouldn’t witness”—she tossed a hand his way—“this.”

Keeping his eyes on her, he twisted at the waist and jabbed a finger toward the door. “You know those two guys out there?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“They have training you can’t comprehend. I’ve read their resumes and I don’t comprehend it. I know very little about the skills they need to hone to do their job well. What I do know is, they operate very differently when they protect someone who needs security because they generally live under threat, and one who is living under a credible threat. They did not have the information to do their jobs well, and in this instance, considering that means keeping you safe, do not fucking stand there, giving me attitude, because I’m pissed as all fuck you didn’t see to your own safety.”

“Says the man who only recently allowed himself to have a bodyguard.”

“We’re not talking about me, Elsa.”

“We weren’t, but considering you’re being a hypocrite, we are now.”

“I haven’t had a dead cat delivered to me.”

“Hudson says I’m receiving email from the same address, so maybe just a matter of time.”

“She wants me, she doesn’t want you to have me. The first is creepy, the second, obviously, is fucked right the fuck up. If she’s capable of doing that, Elz, what else would she do?”

She had no reply to that.

“Right,” he gritted.

They went into stare down.

She, the impatient New Yorker, lost.

“You’re mad at me because you’re worried about me. It’s being handled. Get over it.”

“I want all your email vetted by my security team.”

Her eyes went huge.

“This isn’t up for discussion, Elsa. You wanna know what people like us do? We have trained professionals that vet our email so when some crazy person escalates, and shares that with us, something can be done about it. This person escalated,notcommunicating to me. She, or he, or whoever they are, stopped sending messages to me because their focus turned toyou. You’re doing weekly interviews on a big network. You have a huge prime-time special coming out in a couple of weeks. You’re gearing up to film your big series that will be streamed into hundreds of millions of homes. Congratulations. You made it. But sorry to say, nothing comes for free. And I don’t mean earning what you’ve got. I mean putting up with people being really fucking pissed they aren’t you, and willing to do something fucked in the head about it.”

“You’re right,” she said quietly, and he noted her expression had changed as well as her tone. He read remorse, and something else he didn’t know what it was. “Until I can find a service, I’ll be happy to use your team.”

He blew out a breath.

“I’m fine, honey.” She was still using that quiet voice.

He was glad he got through.

He still wasn’t over it.

She pushed away from the door, came to him, and fit herself to his front, her arms around him.

That was when he got over it.

He put his arms around her and dropped his face into her hair.

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