Taking Control (Babysitting a Billionaire #3)

No way was she touching the stuff today. She wanted a clear head. “Water will be fine.”


Rory raised an eyebrow but took his seat and studied her. “You’re not at all what I expected you to become.”

“Really?” She kept her tone disinterested. She had a good idea what he’d expected her to become. He’d made that clear at their last meeting.

“Actually, I like the scar.” He gave a small smile. “Gives you character.”

She smiled sweetly; she’d been practicing. “That’s nice. I aim to please.”

Beside her, Steve choked on a mouthful of water, and she reached across and patted him on the back.

Rory’s eyes narrowed on the movement. “So,” he said, “I hear you went back to see Declan yesterday and I know you stayed for a while.”

He didn’t sound too bothered by the idea. Had she suddenly become acceptable? “Still spying on him?”

Before he could answer, the door opened and Declan stepped through. He closed the door behind him and stood just inside the room, taking in the occupants. Like yesterday, he was immaculately dressed in a dark suit and tie, his hair in place. The only sign of his close encounter with death was a cut on his forehead.

Staring at the jagged red line, the fact sank in: he could have died that morning. The idea made her want to lock him away somewhere safe until all this was sorted. And she couldn’t understand the reaction.

Declan nodded at Dave and Steve, ignored his father, and finally focused on Jess. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he stared.

…

Once again, she wasn’t wearing any makeup but her lips were pink, maybe a little swollen from his kisses yesterday. Her dark blue eyes held no expression.

There was a seat opposite her, but first he went and grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass from the sideboard behind his father. He took it to the table and sat down, poured himself a drink, and swallowed it in one go. He looked up to find everyone watching him with varying expressions, from Jess’s deadpan, to the two men’s disapproval, to his father’s…amusement?

“Was the hotel okay?” his dad asked.

“It was fine.”

“You could always come and stay with me.”

“I don’t think so.”

His father cast a glance at Jess. “Worried I’ll cramp your style?”

“No. Anyway, it’s only for one night. Paul’s finding me an apartment to rent. One I can move into immediately.”

Jess cleared her throat. Loudly. “Er…do you think we can move on here?”

He sat back in his chair and smiled. “Of course.”

“So have you changed your mind? Is the job on?”

He held her gaze. “The job is on.” He tried to read her expression, but she was giving nothing away. Back when she was seventeen, he’d been able to read her every thought. She’d hidden nothing, flashed every emotion for everyone to see. Somewhere along the way she’d learned to hide that and he felt a flicker of sadness. She’d been so full of life, fizzing with energy. Like a wild fire, liable to go out of control at any moment.

That last meeting, at the hospital, she’d been full of disbelief. He’d told her they could still be friends and that she should come to him if she needed anything. But he’d had to go, had to get some distance. She turned him into a person he didn’t want to be. The close encounter with the police had shown him that. The police hated his family—and maybe they’d had good reason. His older brother Logan, had already been serving time on some trumped-up assault charge that anyone else would have walked away from.

A week before the crash, she’d stolen a goddamn car. And he’d gone a long with her, because she loved the thrill of danger.

And so did he. He’d just buried it deep.

She’d brought him face to face with a side of himself that he’d always kept under rigid control. A side that at eighteen had craved walking on the wild side. And that was why he’d had to leave.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I’ve accepted I need professional help.” He shrugged. “I thought the shooting was maybe a one-off that they wanted to make a point. Scare me a little.”

“And now?”

“Now I think they want me dead.”

She raised a brow, opened her mouth, but at that moment the door opened and a waitress wheeled in a trolley with lunch. They were all quiet as she served them, filling glasses with white wine and placing plates of lobster-tail salad in front of each of them. He wasn’t hungry and ignored the food, instead poured himself another glass of scotch. He sat back and sipped it, watching her.

The men all tucked into the food, but Jess picked up her fork and then placed it down again. “Why us?” she asked.

“Your company has an excellent reputation.”

“So do a lot of companies.”

“Okay, because I know you and trust you.”