We pull to a stop at a red light and I steal a glance at him. Brooding war hero is right. His face is a study in concentration, but his eyes are distant. What happened to him in the war? As much as I hate him for what he did, I hate seeing him suffer more, and part of me still wants to help him. I shake the thought. No way. I’m not going to be soft on him or go easy. He didn’t just leave, he made sure I would never even think about waiting for him when he told me about the girl he was seeing overseas. The girl he was leaving me for.
The silence gets the better of me again and I find myself blurting another question. “So you’ve just been working as a bodyguard this whole time?”
“I got out of the SEALs about a year ago. I’ve been working personal protection since then.”
Personal protection. He doesn’t like the term bodyguard. Noted. “So why a bodyguard? You couldn’t think of anything else barbaric and mindless enough?”
I don’t look, but I can feel his glare burning into me. I regret the question, but I won’t let that show. I’m just so pissed. As terrible as it is, part of me just wants to make him hurt as much as I do.
“When I got back, it was like I couldn’t turn it off. I guess my brain got wired for living a few inches from death. Normal jobs…they wouldn’t work.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. I sigh. I feel like I should apologize, and I almost do, but I stop myself. I’m not ready yet. Maybe I never will be. I can’t forgive him.
27
Jesse
It’s all I can do not to stare at her. Ten years and all she has done is get more fucking beautiful. I saw her on TV a few times, but it doesn’t even do her justice. The part that amazes me most is how the innocence still clings to her. She could tell me she’s still a virgin, and if I hadn’t been the one to take that from her personally, I would still believe her. And damn. She’s wearing her clothes from the show, but the thin black dress her character was wearing is riding so far up her thighs that I think if I leaned forward I could catch a glimpse of her panties. Jesus Christ. Her legs look so smooth and soft that I only imagine how great they would feel wrapped around me.
If the angry scowl on her face is any indication, I’m going to keep imagining, because she doesn’t look willing to let me anywhere near her yet. But fuck. What am I thinking? She’s a client. I don’t fuck around with clients. I never have, and I’ve worked for some clients who were practically begging to be fucked around with. Maybe it’s for the best that she seems to hate my guts. It will make it easier to keep my hands off her. At least a little bit easier.
We arrive at her stepfather's building. It’s a towering skyscraper. At least forty stories. We park in the underground garage and I get out of the car first, scanning the lot and pulling my jacket over the Glock holstered at my side. If someone wanted to hurt Makayla, I wouldn’t blame them for trying to do it here. There’s only one way out by car and two more by foot if you took the elevator or the stairs. As few as three people could lock down the entire area and keep us from slipping away.
“What are you scowling at?” asks Makayla as she steps out the car.
“Places like this. They are perfect for an ambush.”
She smirks, lowering her chin in an attempt to deepen her voice as she mimics me. “Perfect for an ambush.”
She laughs at her impersonation, but I don’t return her smile. “If I’m going to keep you safe, I need you to take this seriously.”
“Don’t I look serious?” she asks before adjusting her bag on her shoulder and walking past me. I’m forced to follow behind her, keeping my eyes on alert, scanning the garage for any sign of danger. I’m perfectly alert until I realize how perfect her wide hips and ass look from behind. She taps the elevator button and waits, crossing her arms.
“We should take the stairs,” I say. “It’s safer.”
Her eyes dart to the stairwell and she gives a tight shake of her head. “No. We’ll take the elevator.”
I can tell there’s more going on than just stubbornness, but I let it go, for now.
Two people file out of the elevator, leaving us to ride up alone together. I step between her and the doors once she punches in her stepfather's floor. I’m always watchful over my clients, but being around Makayla after so long has me hyper-alert and my fingers itching for my gun. I knew I missed her because I still thought about her after so long, but I didn’t realize I would still want her this badly. Fuck. I’ve practically had a hard-on since I first saw her on the set just thinking about the things I would do to her behind closed doors. Hell, even thinking about the things I would do to her out in the open has me hard.
The door dings before we reach our floor and a Spanish woman with fuck-me eyes and tall heels clicks her way in. She does a double take when she sees me. “Jesse?” she asks incredulously.
I give her another look and then it hits me. Shit. I met her at Maverick’s a few months back. I can’t remember much else, but I recognize her face now, and judging by the way she’s glaring at me, I gave her the VIP treatment.
“You must have me confused for someone else,” I say.
“No,” says Makayla, turning her full attention on the woman and planting her hands on her hips. “He’s exactly who you think. Jesse Slade. He can be a little forgetful. Why don’t you remind him what he did to you?”
I can tell by the look in the woman’s eyes she thinks she’s about to out me to my girlfriend. “He fucked me and then kicked me out of his place the next morning like a dog.” She steps toward me, jabbing me in the chest with a finger. “He’s a fucking asshole.”
Makayla gives me a look that hurts more than I’d like to admit, like she’s seeing me for what I’ve become and she doesn’t like it. Since when have I given a shit about what women think? I want to run my hands through my hair and go find some space, but I’m working, so I square up and watch the doors. Let her be pissed, let all of them be pissed. I just need to stay focused on the job at hand and get this done.
I ignore the tense silence that follows until the door opens and we leave the still fuming woman behind. Makayla seems to be walking even faster now, striving to get more distance between herself and me.
She walks past a secretary who obviously recognizes her and scrambles to call ahead to her boss before we reach his office. We move through a hallway crowded with doors until we reach a door at the end of the hall, set apart from the rest. Makayla raises a hand to knock and pauses when voices come from within.
“...insurance policy will handle that,” says a man’s deep voice.
“You had better hope, Mr. Walsh. If this scheme of yours falls through, then you won’t be far behind it.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll call you when it’s time.”
The door swings open and a man in an expensive suit pauses when he sees us waiting outside, but only for a moment. He straightens his tie and shoves past.
What the hell was that about?
The office is large and obviously meant to be impressive. Everything seems over-sized from the rug to the desk to the paintings on the wall and even the ridiculous view. Everything except the man behind the desk, whose small size is amplified by the enormity of his surroundings.