I’ve given her plenty of reason.
Still, it's hard to remember that when the blood throbs lightning in my temples and my cock, and I’m five seconds away from dragging her into my lap and finding out what it’s like when we kiss for real.
This time without any damn spectators.
I regret that last thought a split second later. An imperious little rap interrupts us, knocking against the doorframe leading out to the deck. Reb jumps from the surprise, and I'm almost right behind her.
Milah.
She's standing there, looking smug, her little pouting petulant fit apparently forgotten. In fact, she almost looks triumphant as she tosses Kenna a sour look, then shoulders past her.
Ducking her head, Kenna retreats a step, hugging that journal to her chest like a shield. I push to my feet.
More interested in positioning myself as a shield between them when Kenna looks like a kicked puppy, but Milah doesn’t give me the chance. She inserts herself in my path, raking me with a once-over that feels so possessive it makes my skin crawl, turning a saccharine smile up at me with her lips pursed, as if inviting a kiss.
I don’t even get to ask her if she’s made up her mind yet before she’s already baby-lisping at me.
“Good news, Landy. I’ve decided,” she purrs, “that you can still be my good boy.”
My eyebrows fly into my hairline. A growl rises up the back of my throat.
There’s a fuck that stalled on my lips, but she keeps talking, tossing another of those victorious, cruel looks over her shoulder at Reb.
“I heard everything,” Milah says. “Girlfriend? I knew it couldn’t be true.” She smirks. “Did you think I'm stupid? Like those ratty, shit-flinging tabloids all say? Fun fact: nobody lies to Milah Holly.”
Then her slender hand – with nails that feel like claws that could easily dig hard where they don’t belong – cups over my erection. It immediately withers, my gorge rising, but she doesn’t even seem to notice, her smirk widening. “This will be mine by next week, Landy, and there’s nothing your fake girlfriend can do about it. I'll suck it, jack it, whack it, ride it, and love it allll I want – and you'll damn well enjoy every splendid second.”
My eyes flash to Kenna. There's a raging, almost violent look in her eyes I've never seen before. I'm expecting her to physically assault my very crazy, disgusting, self-absorbed client, and I'm almost ready to let it happen. Deal with the fallout.
I’m under half a breath away from shoving back from Milah as violently as I can – doing the damage so Kenna doesn't have to – when she pulls back herself, freeing me from that nauseating hand.
I'm fucking furious. Lungs heaving black smoke. It couldn't be more obvious, but she’s completely blind to it. Another proprietary look that I guess is supposed to be sultry, seductive, and then she’s sauntering away, leaving me alone.
Alone, because Kenna’s gone.
And it’s suddenly important that I tell her I’m not into Milah.
I could never be into Milah, because Milah Holly's the most entitled asshole I’ve ever seen. A universe apart from a shy, pretty girl trying so hard to pretend to be grown-up, just so I’ll finally see her as the woman she is and not my best friend’s bratty little sis.
So fucked. That's what this is. Don’t even know where to start untangling it.
I only know that I can’t do this.
No Kenna, no Milah, none of it.
I’ve got to step back, reassess, get my head on straight. This sideshow is messing up everything, especially after the talk I had with Dallas.
I fling myself through the deck doors and toward the stairs, already digging out my phone and thumbing through my address book for Milah’s agent’s number.
This job is off.
Getting grabby with me like that goes too far. Not in the contract. You don’t fucking do that to anyone when they've made it crystal clear their skin's crawling.
But before I can hit the Call button, my phone vibrates in my hand.
Skylar again – holding things down at the office today while I'm not there. I pause on the stairs, sighing, then take the call and lift the phone to my ear.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, boss.” Skylar sounds out of breath, and I can hear something that sounds like boxes being shoved around. Probably dragging crates of surveillance gear. We've got a few new toys recently, and Milah's next show was supposed to be their trial run. “Everything's set. Thought you'd want to know. We've done the leg work and tactical assessment at the arena, but we’ve got a problem.”
I drag my free hand over my face. “We always have problems. What is it this time?”
“Crown Security.” She pauses tactfully. “Don't shoot the messenger.”
Fair disclaimer.
My gut feels like a rock. “What the fuck is Crown doing? Skylar?”
“Working with us, apparently.” Skylar's soft voice has a rare wry rumor. “An arena this big is way too huge for us, Landon. Milah’s team made that call, not us, but it’s not wrong. They over-sold her show. So, we’re handling the VIP area and the stage with Milah herself, but Dallas and Crown are going to handle out-perimeter security.”
Fuck. My. Life.
If I could somehow stop my fists from wanting to slam into the nearest surface, I'd admit it’s smart. Sensible.
It also pisses me off, and leaves me in a bind. I have to stay on the job now, just to save face in front of that asshole.
If I’m honest with myself, though, I’d have stayed on anyway. I’m not the only one affected by this job. I might have enough money to keep myself square for a while, but I’d be stiffing my crew out more than half their pay on this job if I had to compensate it out of my own pocket instead of Milah’s fees.
I can't do that to them.
Doing the right thing, right now, means dealing with goddamn Dallas.
I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath, then continue down the stairs. Where did Kenna go, anyway?
“We’ll make do. It’s just one job. Play nice with the guys from Crown. Their shitty boss isn’t their fault.”
“You're taking this well. I'm glad.” Skylar actually laughs, which makes me blink. Then she grunts. “Crap, yeah, gotta go. Sorry. Riker needs a hand, heavy lifting.”
“Don’t do anything to get me reported to OSHA, Pixie.” She's anything but a soft little fairy, hence the name.
I hang up after another of her laughs, which brings a smile to my face, knowing everything she's been through the past few months.
Then I stop at the foot of the stairs and glance around, raking a hand through my hair. My house suddenly feels too large. I feel too helpless in it.
Feels empty, too.
Like I'm the only one here.
My old military sense tingles. Just like I have an uncanny sense for intruders, I also know when there's no one else around.
Kenna wasn’t in her room when I passed. She's not in the kitchen or anywhere else on the first floor, either.
How does she do that? She’s practically a green-eyed little cat, disappearing without a sound.
Maybe she’s out at the beach house again, digging for more of her stuff in the wreckage.
For some screwed up reason, I hope that's where I'll find her.
I head outside. It takes a second to register that her Prius isn’t in the driveway anymore, but I don’t think much until I see the note tucked under my Impala's windshield wiper.
Blue paper. I already know it’s from her, because those blue Post-It notepads were always her thing in high school, books and notebooks bristling with them tucked inside and full of random scribbles.
Any hint of nostalgia from that memory is gone when I see what the note says, tugging it out and unfolding it between my fingers.
I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Goodbye, Landon.
I won’t say anything. I promise.
And I promise I never told anyone. Believe me, or don't. Your choice.
You’ll always be safe with me.
-Reb
Every inch of my body prickles with a cold sweat.
Safe. That's what she said.