“Makayla, who’s this?” He asks. I recognize the voice. He’s the one who was just saying he would get someone money. Money for what though? And what insurance policy was he talking about?
“My bodyguard” she says. She turns to me next, giving a sarcastically grand wave of her hand toward the small man behind the desk. “Bodyguard, let me introduce Hubert Walsh, my stepfather.”
I try not to let my irritation show. I’m personal fucking protection. Not some low-rent bodyguard.
There’s a man standing in the corner of his office wearing a suit that’s a little too big. He’s so burly that he’s probably more for show than for effectiveness, but he’s clearly security--no, a bodyguard. What is a businessman doing with a bodyguard? Most businessmen would obviously have security for the building, but only someone with a lot of enemies would feel the need to have a bodyguard stationed in his office.
There’s a look on Hubert’s face as he sizes me up that I can’t place. I can tell he’s impressed with me, but it almost seems as though he’s irritated. “A bodyguard? He looks expensive. What happened to my frugal little flower?” He smiles adoringly at her, smoothing over some of the accusation in his question.
Makayla straightens self-consciously. “He was actually very cheap. Practically free.”
I shift in annoyance.
Hubert purses his lips. “Sweetie, why didn’t you just ask? You could have had your pick of any of my men.”
“If your men are all like him, I don’t blame her,” I say.
Hubert’s face is deadly calm as he slides his eyes to rest on me. He makes a show of sizing me up and then huffing dismissively, looking back to Makayla. “Does he always speak without permission like that?”
My fingers itch for his fucking throat. It would be so easy. Hell, I could just flip his massive desk and let gravity do the work of crushing his skull. The bodyguard probably wouldn’t even be fast enough to draw his gun in time to stop me.
I’m not usually like this on the job. I put protection first and my own pride second. I just can’t stand seeing this fucker push Makayla, even if it’s just a little. The way he chided her for not using one of his men reeked of a controlling personality, like she’s obligated to run her decisions through him. Fuck that. She’s a grown woman and shouldn’t have to answer to a prick like him.
“What was it you called me here to talk about again?” asks Makayla, clearly attempting to diffuse the tension. “And where’s Maria?”
“Julia,” he corrects with an easy smile.
Makayla makes an innocent face and shrugs.
Hubert sighs, templing his fingers in front of his mouth. “I just got through talking with my good friend, Police Chief Watts.” He pauses to see if we’re impressed by the name he dropped.
“And Chief Watts told me there is reason to believe these stalkers are more organized than the media would indicate. He thinks they are backed by a wealthy individual, and that their numbers are growing every day.” Hubert clears his throat. “My first thought was keeping you safe. So I made arrangements to have personal protection provided for you. I want you to cooperate with them, even if you did hire this… thug. You can keep him, but make sure he doesn’t get in the way of the professionals.”
My jaw flexes and I’m a breath away from putting this soft businessman on his back and breaking his bodyguard’s nose. My voice is tense when I turn to Makayla, speaking low. “No way,” I say. “I work alone. They will get in the--”
“I’ll cooperate with them,” she says to Hubert. “The more the merrier. Right, Jesse?” she asks.
28
Makayla
The look on Jesse’s face is worth whatever I have to put up with by letting Hubert’s men protect me. His face doesn’t betray much, but his eyes are slightly narrowed and his nostrils are flared. I can practically feel the hot anger radiating off him. It feels good to get him back, even if I’m being a little childish to do it.
But as quickly as the anger in his features came, it’s gone. His lips curl at the corner and his eyes relax, as if something funny just occurred to him. “Of course, the more the merrier,” he agrees.
“Well, thanks Hubert,” I say, knowing he still wants me to call him dad. I see him flinch every time I use his name, but I can’t make myself do it. He’s not my dad. He has been nice to me and I don’t have anything real to complain about, but calling him dad wouldn’t feel right. It would be a betrayal. My dad was one of the few good things in my life before he passed. Hubert can be overbearing, possessive, and ruthless, but he does love me in his own way. It’s just impossible not to compare him to my father, not to catalogue every shortcoming.
“Be careful out there. Call me if there’s any trouble.”
We’re met by two members of my “team” right outside the door. They are the big beefy types, like men I would expect to see watching the door of a club. One is bald and the other has a closely shaved head.
“I’m George,” says the bald one. “I’ll be your driver.”
“I’m Rafal,” says the one with the shaved head. He has a thick, almost Russian accent. “I hurt anyone who try to hurt you.”
I glance at Jesse and don’t like the way he’s still smirking. I’m sure whatever he thinks is so funny isn’t going to amuse me, and I’m not looking forward to figuring out what it is.
“This way, Mrs. Pierson,” says Rafal. “We take back exit.”
I look at Jesse, but he only waves me on, falling in behind us. Rafal holds the door for me and I’m followed into the staircase by George. The staircase is bringing back memories of the man in the gold mask, but I push down my fears. I want to get under Jesse’s skin by doing exactly what these men say. I want him to see I was only obstinate with him.
I hear an abrupt shuffling sound from behind me and the door closes. Jesse straightens the sleeves of his jacket and checks his cuffs as he steps through, pushing a stray hair from his forehead. He’s alone. Where’s Rafal? I frown at Jesse, but he just shrugs, eyes full of laughter. Rafal probably just took the elevator to check downstairs before we get there. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that Jesse is up to something.
Climbing down the thirty flights of stairs has me huffing and puffing by the time we’re done. George looks even worse than I do. His bald head is shining and dripping sweat, cheap suit staining through with sweat. To my annoyance, Jesse isn’t even out of breath. We’re about to step into the building’s lobby when Jesse steps in front of the door. He bumps into me as he pushes past and I can’t help noticing how unbelievably hard his body is. It’s like bumping into a life-sized G.I. Joe.