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If I thought takingLex to the airport was going to be easy, it wasn’t. The entire time, all that kept circling in my mind were ways to keep her in Italy with me, but we both know she needed to go. I’ve never once resented the significant responsibilities of my job, but this time, I just wanted to be with her. Taking care of her, both emotionally and physically as she goes through what can’t be easy, but damn if I didn’t just send her thousands of miles away instead.
I made sure every one of the team knows their priority is to ensure her safety and gave them strict instructions to give me a play-by-play of everything she does, but that doesn’t stop me from chastising my ass all the way back to the Prestian estate for not hopping on that goddamn plane with Alexis. The only consolation is that I can run interference with the intel department if I need to right from my phone.
It’s morning in New York when she lands. I get the text from Trent letting me know she’s heading to her apartment to shower, and then she sends me one quite a bit after to let me know the same thing, adding an emoji of a smiley guy with a spy glass.
I chuckle at her unspoken dig and make a note to talk to her about the delay in updating me when we go over the finer details of the rules.
Alexis: Stalker much?
I laugh. Security must have told her I had them take her to her apartment to shower since she slept until just before the plane landed. She needed the rest. Otherwise, I would have had them wake her when I checked in a couple hours before they landed. I grin because she didn’t lie. It is straight up stalkerish.
The morning is a blur, spent getting things in place to ensure the protection of the Prestian and Larussio families and trying to find out who the fuck has a target on their backs. My phone buzzes constantly with incoming messages. I handle them one after another, taking in information and texting out orders, but the one from our security team in New York makes me stop dead in my tracks.
I reread it twice before it really sinks in.
Trent: Alexis is going to the salon today and plans to work all day tomorrow.
What the fuck? Just going back to the salon where that Darwin fucker could be waiting for her is bad enough, but she needs to fucking work all day tomorrow? Has the woman not heard one word of caution about the psycho bastard who’s stalking her? If she has, she’s decided to completely ignore it and everything we talked about instead of moving a few haircuts and eyebrow waxes. I blow out a deep, freeing breath. She doesn’t fully understand how dangerous this man is because we’ve sheltered her to some degree. We haven’t shown her the pictures of suspected victims with multiple knife wounds or told her what he did with their bodies, and all the guards hovering around her probably feel smothering to her.
The security team sends text after text, following my request of a play-by-play. Trent and Liam aren’t too pleased about the abrupt change in plans, and I can’t blame them because there’s been no sign of the guy from the coffee shop in days. I’m sure they’re chomping at the bit to get satisfying work, and now they’re stuck heading to a beauty salon for the afternoon. As much as they may not like it, they’re professionals and realize the danger of her going, and Alexis isn’t getting anywhere near that place without Liam and Trent’s protection.
Me: Make sure that salon is cleared before Alexis steps foot inside.
The security team fires back.
Trent: Need time to get the salon cleared. Taking Alexis to lunch.
That makes sense. Everyone knows it will take at least a half an hour to get your order, and longer than that to be served at any of the well-known jaunts in downtown New York during the lunch-hour rush, and these men are trained in delay tactics.
Me: Roger that. Keep me apprised.
I try not to worry, but damn if that woman hasn’t gotten under my skin so deep that I can’t seem to get her off of my mind for more than a few minutes at a time. I finally get good news on the work front and begin setting up plans for the evening to ensure we have all our perimeters and points of contact covered for the Prestians and Larussios. I’m still mulling over the magnitude of our responsibilities, which have multiplied now that we’re working with not only Chase and Brian but are dealing with the most powerful mafia family in all of Italy too.
The guys send me periodic texts with updates on Alexis. I plan to give her a call when things settle down with the Larussios because this is something that shouldn’t be done over messaging. I knew Alexis was self-sufficient, driven, and quite capable of making her own decisions, but I thought what she wanted was a relationship where she didn’t always have to be the one to make them, could lean on someone to take care of those things for her, to protect her, but that may not be the case. The fact she didn’t even reach out to let me know what was happening or ask for my opinion speaks volumes. If this is any indication of what’s to come, it’s heading full steam down the same runaway tracks as the last relationship, and that was a fucking train wreck.
I glance down at an incoming message from Alexis, and my jaw tightens.
Alexis: Hope everything is okay. Text me when you can.
She finished up at the salon, took a nap when she got back to her apartment, and then the team took her back to the hospital. I wrestle with the idea of calling her now and talking this through, but Jan isn’t getting any better, and I decide the conversation will wait another day as long as she’s safe.
I’ve just dozedoff after working most of the night when my phone buzzes with a message from the security team. Alexis is done at the hospital, and she and Allie are going to a place called Donavan’s. They’re going to a fucking bar, with not one word of notice, no request to the security team to see if that would work for them to clear the place, not a goddamned concern in the world for her safety or for Allie’s. I get another text from her shortly after learning this.
Alexis: Is everything okay?
Is everything okay? At this point, I don’t have the slightest clue what she considers “everything.” The plan for her security? The relationship? The one where I take care of her needs? No, everything is most definitely not okay, but instead of putting that in a text, I turn my phone back over on the nightstand and try to ignore it. I thought she wanted the full package, not just a little domination in the bedroom, but that just may not be the case. It’s not her fault that we never had a chance to go over all the finer details of the rules or aspects of the relationship dynamics I envisioned, but I couldn’t have been clearer about things where her safety was concerned. Maybe this is her way of trying to tell me without the words, but even in this, she’s going to need those words to help me understand. I didn’t read the signals incorrectly because damn it if she isn’t submissive right to her very core, and I know it. I try to get some more sleep, tossing and turning until the buzzing of my phone wakes me from slumber a couple hours later.
Alexis: I’m worried about you. I need an answer. Text me back.
The fact that she’s worried is something I can’t ignore. If positions were reversed, I’d want to make sure she was okay. In fact, I have an entire security team, two if you count the one Keith’s pulling in, hired to ensure her safety. I type out a response and then delete and rewrite it. As much as I want to alleviate her angst and assure her that I haven’t been harmed, I’m not about to pussyfoot around the fact that things between us are not where they were when I put her on that plane.
Me: I’m fine Alexis, but things are most definitely not okay.
I turn over and try to get back to sleep, but a half hour later I’m still awake and decide to get up. I’m not sure what makes me continuously glance down at my phone as though any minute a message from her might magically appear. I didn’t expect Alexis to reply after that message. In fact, she’s probably still sleeping soundly after three goddamn beers at the bar.
I sign into the monitors and make sure all the teams protecting the Prestians and the Larussios are doing well. When satisfied that all is well, I head down to the kitchen to see what Gaby may have hoarded away in the refrigerator. When I walk in, Katarina is sitting on the bar stool with a cup of coffee and talking with Gaby, and Chase is standing by the French doors overlooking the vineyards and talking to someone on his cell.
“Morning, Sheldon,” Katarina greets from behind the massive bowl with a handle that she refers to as a cup.
