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“So, what are you going to do? Build a stone tower and put me in it? I’m not helpless. I’ve worked extremely hard not to rely on…” She gives me the stink eye as she crosses her arms.
Jesus, she’s beautiful. That spirit. “Maybe.” If I get this fiery woman, I may. “Of course not. But we’re going to build you an office at the other end of the floor. One that has a state-of-the-art security system. Lucky for you, I know a team of guys that can do almost anything. You can’t be so accessible.”
“Why? We don’t really know if anything has happened to my dad.”
“He thought you needed security.”
“I don’t.”
I push off the desk and stalk toward her. “You do.”
“He’s always been overprotective. You know I’m his princess,” she says, challenging me with a daring gleam in her eyes that, in the past, I’ve been unable to resist.
I take two more steps, crowding her against the bookcase. “So, he was too protective to let you bungee jump? Let you rock climb? Let you stay out until all hours of the night?” I ask.
“I was with you.” My heart stutters. Yes, she was. “He trusted you,” she says as her voice trails off.
“Then you need to trust me.”
My chest rises as I touch the ends of her hair. It’s as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. Like I have no control over what I’m doing. Her palm lays on my chest, and our heads inch closer together. The raspberry lipstick calls me home. Am I doing this? Her neck stretches and our mouths are so close I smell the lingering scent of her minty mouthwash.
The flesh of my lips strain to keep their distance. She swipes her tongue between the seam of her lips.
“Ms. Barron, Mr. Lennox is on the line. He needs to move your date,” Mrs. Potts announces.
Startled, I jump back, and Mrs. Potts gives me a wink and a knowing smile. This is why I can’t get close to Vanessa. I lose all concentration when she’s so close. Three days and I’m forgetting what she did to me.
Vanessa picks up the phone. “Hi, Rome. What’s up?”
Rome Lennox sounds like a douchebag name, and the melodic tone of her voice—upbeat and happy while talking to another man—pisses me off. How many men has she been with since our last time?
“Sure, I’ll be there. What should I wear?” she asks. There’s a pause on her end. “Okay. Got it. See you tonight.”
With a slight tilt of her head, I notice a quick smile. Then as if she finally remembers I’m in the room she says, “Oh, did you need anything else?” The happiness drains from her face.
Tension oozes between us. My jaw tightens at her apparent pleasure from this man’s call.
“I need your schedule, and I’ll be escorting you wherever it is you’re going tonight.”
“Louisville at nine p.m.”
“I guess that’s how deals get done—after hours.” Before she gets a word out, I storm out of her office.
Mrs. Potts peers over her glasses as I stalk by. “She’s a spark plug, that one.”
Muttering under my breath, I say, “Don’t I know it.”
All the good vibes I had from the vision of her dancing around in my shirt last night dissipate.
Doing this job and coming out unscathed by the curly haired bourbon boss is highly unlikely.
The cafeteria is vacant, aside from Gary, who coached me for three years in little league baseball. He turns with a cup of coffee in one hand and a Danish in the other. We exchange pleasantries while I order a spinach quiche. I’m not hungry, but this quiche melts in your mouth and is made by the award winning, Minnie’s Pie Shop.
Gary swallows his Danish pastry in two bites. “So, what do you need?”
“Vanessa’s office needs to be relocated to the other side of the floor. I need to put you in contact with my friend, Ben, who’s a surveillance consultant for the Department of Defense and other high value companies or targets. We were in the service together, and he has expertise that I don’t have but need in order to protect her. We’ll need to work together to get this done as soon as possible.”
He slides me his card. “Got it. Do you have any specifications as far as room size or design? Any built in shelving or special features?”
