She noticed how tired I looked. She told me I was white as a ghost. I lied and told her I had an upset stomach. She believed me.
I drove to work with sweaty palms, checking my rearview mirror every three seconds. After going through security and making my way to my parking spot, I sat in the car for a few minutes, getting ready to turn on my fake smile.
I knew I needed to do something, to tell someone, but this morning left me completely shaken. They took Jack and I didn’t even know it. Yeah, he wasn’t hurt. This time. Could I take a chance like that again?
In the kitchen, I made it a point to work off by myself. First, I busied myself in the small kitchen office, planning out the menu for a dinner that was taking place next week. Yeah, I usually had this done by now, but it was a last-minute thing and I wanted something special. Once I was satisfied with the menu, I handed it off to one of the other kitchen staff and asked them to put in the grocery order so we would have everything we needed for it.
Then I decided to make some bread. It was a long process, it was a quiet process, and I figured the rhythm of kneading the dough might help me relax.
The bustle of the kitchen usually excited me, made me feel like I was part of a team. Today, I found the noise disturbing and all the people suffocating. All I wanted to do was go home.
I was thinking about my options, trying to get over the shock of everything that happened since the night before, when a familiar form appeared in the doorway of the little room where I was making the bread.
I looked up from the task to see Spencer leaning against the doorjamb, his shoulders nearly filling the doorway. His hair was slightly mussed and he had a cookie in both hands.
“I think you were the Cookie Monster in a previous life,” I joked, though the playfulness just wasn’t there in my tone.
He popped an entire one in his mouth and chewed. “I wouldn’t look good with blue hair.”
That got a small smile, but it disappeared quickly. Just the mere idea of smiling at a time like this felt so wrong.
“Making bread?” he asked.
“Yep,” I replied.
He pushed out of the doorway and waltzed into the room. The black suit he wore was completely wrinkle free. I knew he had a gun on his person somewhere. Maybe I should get a gun. When the men came back, I could just shoot them. It would be self-defense. Right?
“Earth to Elle,” Spencer said, stopping on the other side of the island.
I looked up.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, blunt.
“Nothing.”
He finished off the last cookie and brushed his hands off over the floor. “You’re lying.”
“Am not,” I said, kneading the dough some more and using it as an excuse not to look at him.
“You’re white as a ghost, your hands are shaking like a leaf,” he pointed out, “and you’re not staring at me with those bedroom eyes of yours.”
I jerked up. “Bedroom eyes?” I felt my eyebrow rise.
He grinned.
“I’m fine,” I said, returning to the bread. “Just having an off day, I guess.”
I felt his stare as I worked. He didn’t say anything. Usually by now he’d be gone. He’d come in, steal cookies, make a couple ornery comments, then disappear. I looked forward to those moments. It made me angry I couldn’t enjoy it today.
A sharp sound of something hitting the ground followed immediately by shattering glass made me jump. Adrenaline surged through my bloodstream, and I pressed a hand to my chest as I looked around for the cause of the disruption.
My eyes sought out every corner of the little kitchen, searching for some sign of attack. Had the men gotten in here somehow? Were they coming for me?
What about Jack?
Panic pretty much took over my entire body. Even though the room was empty, I still wasn’t able to gain control of my emotions. I backed up, skirting across the floor until my back came up against the nearby wall.
The bread dough lay on the island, forgotten.
Through the clutches of the panic attack, I saw Spencer’s mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear the words. I knew I needed to respond, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
Spencer leapt over the island like it wasn’t even an obstacle, his feet landing on the ground aptly. He rushed across the room, his face a mask of concern and concentration. His body approached mine as I plastered myself against the wall, desperately trying to breathe.
At first, I worried the way he crowded my space would make me panic worse, would make me feel like I was being cornered. But Spencer didn’t scare me. His large hand wrapped around the back of my neck and applied gentle pressure to the muscles that were completely locked up.
“Breathe in,” he said, his voice totally calm and reasonable.
It was that tone that seemed to break through the worst of my panic. With another squeeze to the back of my neck, I opened my mouth and air rushed in.
My body sagged against the wall, but Spencer kept hold of the back of my neck, still kneading the muscles.
He angled his body so he was directly in front of me. The only thing I could see was him and the broad width of his shoulders. He smelled good; his cologne, slightly musky, seeped into the edges of my senses, bringing with it even more calm.
Spencer was basically a professional bodyguard. He was totally calm right now. If something bad was happening, he would be reacting. He would be doing something. Clearly, I was safe. Clearly, he would make sure of it.
A few more minutes of even breathing and his scent so close and my body released its death grip it had over me. A fine sheen of sweat broke out over my skin, and I leaned against the wall because my knees felt incredibly weak.
When I was okay enough to speak, embarrassment washed over me. I looked up at Spencer. “I’m really sorry.”
“What are you sorry for, darlin’?”
He had a deep voice. A soothing voice. If he were a singer, he would for sure be an alto.
“I panicked,” I said as if it hadn’t been totally obvious.
He loosened his grip on the back of my neck but didn’t release me. I was glad for that. His touch was grounding, and frankly, it gave me somewhere to focus other than the horrible thoughts forcing their way into my mind.
“Someone out in the main kitchen dropped something,” he said. “It broke.”
I nodded. “I guess I’m a little jumpy today.” I tried to give him a sheepish smile. I have no clue if I succeeded.
He was frowning when I stole a glance at him. His honey eyes captured mine, refusing to let go. I felt the way he searched my gaze, like he was able to extract all the info he wanted without asking a single question.
“What happened?” he whispered, shifting so he was just a little bit closer.
“Nothing.” I lied.
“You just had a panic attack. You look like hell.”
I made a scoffing sound and laughed. “Gee, way to make a girl feel good,” I said, tilting my head back against the wall and looking up at the ceiling. I kept my head back a little because tears were threatening to spill over and I wanted to keep them under control.
A change came over Spencer. His body became still and in that stillness, he emanated great tension. His hand withdrew from my neck and he lifted it, brushing at the side-swept bangs I styled myself with this morning.
“What happened to your head?” he said, his fingertips brushing over the butterfly bandage.
I winced. Of all the people to notice it.
“Just an accident,” I said, ducking my head so my hair fell over it. It was bruising around the cut this morning and still very sore.
He grabbed my chin and tilted my face up so he could scrutinize it. “Your lower lip is swollen,” he noted, his eyes narrowing into angry slits.
Without any notice, he grasped my bottom lip and pulled it out, rudely poking around on the inside.
“Hey,” I protested, my voice sounding funny because he was holding my face hostage.
“There’s a cut inside your lip,” he growled.
I jerked my face away and tried to slip around him, to get away from the close inspection. Spencer grabbed my upper arm and I yelped. Then I stiffened, pissed at myself for giving away yet another injury.
Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew his hand from my arm. I moved to rush away. He wasn’t about to allow it. Instead of grabbing me again, he wrapped his wide, solid arm around my waist, pulling me so my side was flush against his chest.
My stomach did little summersaults. I’d often wondered what it would be like to be in his arms. Even feeling scared out of my mind and trying to get away from him wasn’t enough to keep me from realizing that if felt damned amazing.
“Show me,” he murmured.
“No.”
“I will rip that top right off your body, Elle,” he warned.
I looked up at him. “Please, Spencer.”
“I know the look of a wounded bird,” he whispered. “You don’t look wounded, darlin’. You look downright beaten.” The southern twang in his tone took away any kind of sting I might have felt at his honest words.
I slumped against him with a shaky breath releasing from within me.
His arm tightened, supporting me, and for several long moments, I let him hold me. I let his strength wrap around me, and I let myself believe that everything would be okay. Hell, being in his arms like this, I almost thought it was true.
“You can talk to me,” he murmured.
I pulled away and stood there debating. It didn’t take long because the truth was holding all this inside was too hard. I felt like the glass out in the kitchen, ready to shatter at any moment. I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I felt alone and scared. Spencer was the closest person I had as a friend.
Yes, I realize how utterly sad that made me.
I was wearing a white button-up shirt. It was pretty standard and professional-looking. The sleeves were rolled just slightly so they didn’t get messy while making the bread. Normally, I would have them all the way to my elbows, but not today. I had bruises on my forearms.
Silently, I unbuttoned the shirt all the way down to my navel. I was dressed in a white tank top beneath my shirt so nothing of my body was overly exposed.
Once again, Spencer shifted, blocking me with his body so if someone happened to walk in, they wouldn’t see my state of undress. They would only get treated to the view of his broad back.
Without hesitation, I slid the shirt down, revealing my shoulder, upper arm, and back. He sucked in a breath between his lips. I didn’t bother to look down at the purple marks marring my skin. I already knew what they looked like and how they got there. I didn’t need to see them to relive the memory.
“Who did this to you?” Spencer said, his voice hard and cold.
I slid my shirt back up and worked on the buttons, unsure where to begin with my answer.
“Elle,” he said, reaching out to touch me, but he stopped. His hand hovered just above me, like he wasn’t sure where he should touch.
“I’m scared, Spence,” I admitted, my voice shaking. “I don’t know what to do.”
The muscles in his jaw locked up, protruding out the corners of his face. He looked angular and, frankly, a little mean.
“You tell me. I’ll make this right.” His voice was so sincere that I believed him.
“I don’t think you can.”
His hovering hand settled, wrapping once more around the back of my neck. Perhaps he thought that was a safe zone because he could see I wasn’t bruised there.
Or maybe he knew touching me there felt so damn good.
“I damn well will,” he vowed.
Some laughter drifted in from outside the door, and I glanced at the forgotten blob of dough on the counter beside us. “This really isn’t a good place to talk,” I said.
He made a frustrated sound.
“Can we talk after work?” I asked tentatively. I didn’t really know what his personal life was like. I had no idea if he had other obligations.
His shoulders relaxed a little. “Yeah. Of course we can.”
“I don’t know what time you get off,” I said, moving away from him. I loved his close proximity, but I couldn’t allow myself to lean on him too much. I needed to stand on my own two feet. “I actually don’t know much about you,” I added.
“Not much to tell,” he said.
“You must work long hours.” I moved back toward the bread, hoping the dough hadn’t begun to dry out already. I picked it up and flipped it over to knead it some more. It seemed like Spencer was always here. Here when I got here, and I’d seen him a couple times as I was leaving the building when my day was over.
“I’ll be available when you get off.”
I pounded the dough and a wave of dizziness came over me. I swayed on my feet.
“Whoa,” he said, reaching out to steady me.
Marla, the kitchen manager, appeared in the doorway.
“Elle?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”
“She’s not feeling well,” Spencer answered for me. “I think she needs to go home.”
Marla came farther into the room, her eagle-eyed gaze taking in my face. “You certainly don’t look like you feel well.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, not wanting to inconvenience the staff. “I’ll be fine.” The last thing I needed was to lose this job. I’d work so hard and sacrificed so much to get here.
She waved her hand. “You’ve never missed a day since you started here. Go home. Rest.”
“But the first family will need dinner tonight.” I protested.
“And they will get it. But if you are ill, you shouldn’t be preparing their food anyway.”
I wanted to tell her what was making me sick wasn’t contagious, but I didn’t want to explain.
“I already gave Mark the completed menu for next week’s dinner party. He’s ordering the items we need this afternoon.”
“I have every confidence that you missing half a day of work will not mess up your tightly run kitchen in the least. Now go on home.” She pointed to the door with her thumb.
I wiped my hands on a nearby white towel. Relief chased away the worst of my anxiety. At least this way I could see Jack and be with him all day. I would know he was safe. “Thank you.”
“If you’re still ill tomorrow, call in and let me know.”
“I will.” I promised.
Marla turned her attention to Spencer and a twinkle came into her eye. “Down here stealing cookies again, are you?”
He grinned, a dimple on either side of his lips. “Gotta have my sugar.”
Marla chuckled. “I think I’ll send an entire tin upstairs with you. That way all the others can have some sugar, too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.
“There you go with that southern charm,” she called on her way to presumably get a tin full of cookies.
She’d forgotten I was here already. I didn’t blame her. Spencer had a way of taking all the attention in a room.
I pulled off my apron and hung it on a hook, then went to get someone to come and finish the bread I was making. The back of my neck prickled a little as I felt his stare, but he didn’t say a word, and for that I was grateful.
I’d left my bag in the small office this morning and when I came out with it draped over my shoulder, I was surprised to see Spencer lounging against the wall, holding the tin.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“We’re supposed to talk.”
“I said not here.”
He pushed off the wall. I couldn’t help but notice the way the black jacket of his suit hugged his shoulders.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“No,” I said quickly.
His eyes narrowed.
I couldn’t let him do that. What if those men were still watching? They might suspect that I told someone. They could take it out on Jack.
“I can drive myself.”
“Yo
u almost passed out,” he pointed out.
“I’m fine,” I growled.
“Down, girl,” he said, giving me a grin. Then he walked off down the hall. “I’ll meet you outside.”
I stared after him. Did he think I was just going to listen? Maybe he was used to women doing what he wanted. I might be charmed by him, I might think he was totally hot, but I wasn’t about to do as I was told.
As he went another member of the staff came around the corner and stopped when he saw Spencer. He was dressed in an identical suit so I knew he was also part of the Secret Service. “Spencer, did you forget about the meeting?” the man said.
Spencer’s back stiffened. I heard a low curse. “Yeah, sorry I’m late.”
The man shook his head and looked down the hall at me. I felt my cheeks heat because I basically got caught eavesdropping.
Spencer followed the man’s eyes and glanced at me. Then he looked back at his co-worker. “Can you fill me in later? I need to be somewhere.”
“Yeah you need to be at the meeting. The security at that dinner next week is a big job.”
Spencer sighed.
“It’s okay,” I called out, not wanting him to feel torn. I wasn’t his responsibility anyway. “We can talk later.”
I didn’t wait around for him to argue. Instead, I hurried around the corner and went outside to the parking lot, dialing my mother’s cell phone. She answered on the second ring. “Elle? Is everything okay?”
I could hear a lot of noise in the background. “Hi, Mom. Are you and Jack at the zoo?”
“Yes, he’s having a great time.”
I smiled. He loved the zoo. His little eyes always lit up when he saw the animals. “That’s great.” I cleared my throat. “My stomach isn’t feeling any better so I’m coming home. It’s better I don’t work with the food today.”
“I can leave right now and meet you.”
“No,” I said quickly. I wanted her to be there in the crowd for a little longer. “Don’t rush. Jack loves that place. I’m just going to lie down anyway.”
“I’ll bring him home afterward,” she said, relenting.
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