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“Right. Look. I’ll stay away – publicly.”
“Drew.” My name is a stretched-out growl.
“But there’s no fucking way I’m leaving her alone.”
“You don’t trust Paulson and Gentian? Your own guys?” His eyebrow quirks, as if to say, And you let them protect my daughter?
“I’d trust them with the president.”
His eyebrows raise. “Good to know.”
“But I don’t trust anyone but me with Lindsay.”
Any other man would roll his eyes. Harry just blinks. “You sound like a lovesick puppy.”
I say nothing.
“You can’t tail her. You can’t be caught on camera.”
“Not a problem.”
“If Blaine’s somehow part of all this – and I still have my doubts – then whoever schemed to get that punch on camera is a step ahead of you.”
“Parallel to.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not a step ahead – they’re running parallel to me.”
“You’re splitting hairs.”
“I’m being precise.”
“I don’t authorize any of this.”
“You don’t have to.”
“And what about Lindsay?” he asks.
“What about me?”
We both pivot to find her in the doorway, dressed for a run, hair pulled back in a ponytail, face freshly scrubbed.
She’s glaring at Marshall, who looks at her like she’s an annoying little girl interrupting Daddy’s work as they both walk into the room, Lindsay edging him aside.
Before anyone can answer, she looks at the newspaper. Her eyes go wide and she whispers a curse word.
“What is going on, Daddy?”
Interesting who she chooses to ask.
“Your security detail was caught on camera punching a state rep,” Marshall answers.
“Are you my daddy?” she asks, her voice full of sugar but her eyes bleeding poison all over him. “If so, my mom has a lot to answer for.”
“Lindsay,” Harry barks. I can tell he’s horrified – and trying not to laugh. So am I.
“I’d like an answer from the man in charge,” she says, pandering to Harry, who knows it.
