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By the time she gets it in there, she's panting and mumbling to herself. I smile at the sight, imagining her telling herself off for letting it get so full before she dealt with it. She may be a shy little lamb, but she's got fire in her soul.
Even dressed in fuzzy slippers and pajamas, she's fucking beautiful. I can't help but notice the little shadows under her eyes, though. She hasn't been sleeping enough. Is that because she's up late taking care of her grandmother? Does she have any help at all?
She wraps her arms around herself as if she's cold and glances around.
Shit. Does she sense me watching her?
I hunker down in my truck, hoping she doesn't notice me. Before her gaze gets to our location, though, a delivery truck rounds the corner. She turns in that direction, watching as it approaches.
The driver pulls up in front of her, obscuring my view.
"I called to tell you that you have a new client," Zion says, done talking shit about me with Gideon.
"Can't take it. Busy."
"You don't even know who it is."
"Don't care. I'm busy. You're goin' to have to handle this one."
"She's a model."
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, impatient for the truck to move. I'm like an addict when it comes to Emma. She's been turning me down for the last month straight, but everynojust embeds her more deeply under my skin. Every time I see her, I'm immediately looking for another reason to put myself in her general vicinity.
"Don't care," I say to Zion again. "She could be the fucking Pope, and I wouldn't care. I'm busy. You handle it." Zion doesn't take many clients. He usually runs the day-to-day operations of the business while Gideon and I handle the client work.
He was shot and left for dead five years ago in an operation gone wrong in Syria. It fucked him up for a while, left him with some permanent hearing loss. He doesn't trust his instincts like he did once upon a time, and in this line of work, your instincts are all you've got. He's a hell of a bodyguard, but we don't push him to take clients when it stresses him the fuck out.
Unfortunately, he's the last brother standing at the moment. He's going to have to take it because Gideon is dealing with the musician, Kenna. Camila just signed Gray Larsen, a member of the Nashville Predators, to her client list, which means I'll be sorting out security for him and trying to win my girl. Zion can handle the model.
"Fuck, fine," Zion growls, clearly not thrilled. "But I'm telling Ma you're stalking Emma."
"I'll tell her that you're the one who set her shed on fire." It was an accident, but I fully intend to leave that part out of the story. He was fifteen, playing with fireworks he wasn't supposed to have. One went through the window and exploded.
"That was ten years ago."
"She loved that shed," Gideon murmurs. "She could be ninety and would still be pissed."
"Fuck. You're both assholes."
"You're welcome for the model," I say before Zion hangs up on me, making Gideon chuckle.
"He's going to snap one day, and it'll be your fault."
"I didn't hear you takin' his side."
"I like stirring the pot." Gideon shrugs, his eyes still closed.
I laugh quietly. At least he's fucking honest. He does like stirring the pot. He's been doing that shit his entire life, just to see what we do. It's quality entertainment to his big ass.
My phone buzzes with an incoming message.
I grin when I read it.
Ma:Have you convinced my future daughter-in-law to like you yet?
I'm working on it, Ma.
She's been hounding me ever since I told her about Emma. She's dying to meet her, but I'm not pushing my luck. I can barely get her to stay in one place long enough for me to see her. If I throw my family at her, she may disappear to Antarctica.
