by Nana Malone
The red-light indicator went on in the corner of the screen, indicating movement in Jessa’s flat. Luckily, she didn't have a pet, so we didn't get a lot of the false-read signals, but she was definitely on the move. “Why aren't you asleep, princess?"
The door to her bedroom opened, and out she strolled... naked.
My beer spewed out of my mouth. Holy fuck. She was naked. Very fucking naked. I meant to avert my gaze. I really did. That was the plan… any second now.
Me to eyeballs: Look away.
Dick: Don't you dare.
Eyeballs: I'm clearly not in charge here.
Why was she naked? Did she know she was being watched? No, you idiot. It’s her flat. She can walk around naked if she wants.
Since my eyeballs wouldn't cooperate, I forced myself to shut the laptop. I wasn't here to ogle her. I sat on my hands so that my dick couldn’t take control of those too. I was not going to watch.
Problem was just that glimpse had already left an indelible imprint on my cerebral cortex. Long, lean lines of muscles, full breasts, dark nipples, burgundy colored. My mouth watered.
That was knowledge I didn’t need. Knowing the exact color of her nipples could in no way be helpful to me. But I’d never forget it now.
You can have another look. You know you want to.
No. Yes. The problem was I was on watch. I had to have my eyes on the monitor.
"Whatever you need to tell yourself to get yourself through the day.” I muttered.
I opened the laptop again, teeth locked, jaw tight, ready for the pure torture of it. Sure enough, she was at the fridge. Peering in, still completely starkers.
Jesus, that ass. Tight, firm, rounded like a peach. I was so screwed. I forced my eyes over to her bookshelves until she went back to her bedroom.
As my imagination ran wild, I thanked my lucky stars that I was the only one monitoring surveillance tonight. I had to remind myself that I was not the kind of guy peopled wanted for their sisters. I was a soldier. She was a princess. Not going to happen.
I loved Sebastian and Lucas like they were my own brothers. What would happen if I made the mistake of touching their sister?
You’d lose everything that you worked so hard for.
So despite Jessa’s attempts to make me crazy, I wasn't going to give in. I couldn't give in. I knew that I was, basically, not good enough, so the little fantasies about the princess needed to stop. Now.
Dick: You can try, but you can't make me. I want her. I'm going to have her.
It was certainly a good thing that my dick wasn't in charge of my life.
Jessa…
After the week I’d had at work, I would have done anything I could to avoid having to do this. But I couldn’t avoid it anymore.
Luckily on a lazy Saturday, the drive out to St. Albans hadn’t been too terrible.
The assistant director of Hope House met me on the stairs. "Jessa, it's so good to see you. It's been a long time."
I swallowed the guilt. I knew exactly how long it had been. "Good to see you too, Lulu." Lulu Clement had been there throughout my father’s stay. It was residential facility for adults with mental illness.
The psychiatrist on staff hadn’t always known what to do with my father, but in conjunction with his old therapist from when I was a kid, they’d worked out a treatment plan. The director of Hope House was an old friend of his from Uni, so there had been some familiarity for him. And I could afford it. Granted, I would have paid anything. I hated not being able to look after him myself, but after a while, he’d become too much to handle on my own.
For him there had been a conspiracy around every corner. And I was always the trigger. Sometimes a visit from me could prompt him into a spiral where he thought people were trying to take me from him. He always called me the lost princess. I’d spent a lifetime being called a princess in a way that was nothing but negative. That’s why when Roone said it, it sent me into a rage spiral. I just wanted to be normal Jessa.
When my father was off his meds, he was convinced people with tattoos were coming for the lost princess and he had to save me. Growing up that had made things beyond difficult. He’d insisted I take martial arts, not for fun, but to defend myself against an unseen enemy. He’s insisted I know how to use a gun. I’d learned to shoot but refused to have one in the house given his state.
The last thing I needed was for him to shoot a neighbor.
“I should have come sooner.”
"Well it's understandable. You've had a lot on your mind."
Yeah, a complete avoidance of what had happened to my father. It wasn't as dramatic as maybe I made it seem. He simply walked out of the facility one day. He’d made it all the way to London to see me.
But when he’d called, I’d been at work and hadn’t gotten his message until an hour too late. By the time I’d gotten it, he’d been hit by a car on the road just four blocks from my office.
It was hard not to blame myself for that. That one hour. That moment that I was probably getting champagne or making sure some starlet wasn't caught without any knickers on, my father had needed me, and I hadn't been there.
The police had tried to convince me that from the time he'd made the call to the time that he'd left, only been about twenty minutes or so had passed. So there was no way I would've made it in time, but still, it didn't matter. I hadn't been there for him.
"His things are here. We held onto them as long as we could. Obviously, he was like family to all of us."
"Yes. Thank you so much. Is uhm, is James here? I’d like to say thank you."
Lulu shook her head. "No, James is in Devon. I know he wanted to see you."
I winced. "Yeah, I'm sorry it's taken me a bit of time. You know, I just couldn't come, I guess."
Lulu took my hand. Her hands had calluses, her knuckles were swollen from rheumatoid arthritis, and she had liver spots on her hands. But her hands were warm and firm, and exactly the reassurance I didn't know I needed. "You did your best love. No amount of you coming more often or being at his beck-and-call was going to change anything. Your father was ill. And off his meds."
"I know. I just—I wish—" I took a deep breath. "I wish a lot of things."
"That's normal sweetheart. But you know what? James is due to be in London in a couple of weeks. Shall I tell him to ring you?"
I would've liked to see James now, while I was here and it was convenient, and I wouldn't be yet again faced with the inadequacy of my duties. But I didn't want to have to face him when I no longer wanted to think about it. "Yeah, we'll see."
Lulu patted my hand as though she understood. "Well come on, I'll call some of the boys to help load his things into your car."
"I mean it's just clothes, right?"
She nodded. "Yeah mostly. He's got some stacks of papers though. You know how your father loved to sketch. I was pretty sure you would want to go through those things, pick out what you might like to keep and what you would like to donate or throw away. I would've done it for you, but you know…"
I nodded. She didn't know him. You did. Time to stop running away.
I hadn't exactly run. When I left Toronto to go to Uni in London, I'd done everything I'd needed to. I'd found us a flat and gotten a job with Evans lined up. I'd talked to my university advisor to attend part-time for the first term, until I could get a handle on everything.
Despite his illness, when Dad was lucid, he could work. He'd always been a great videographer, so there'd been some money to move with. Not a lot, but enough to get us started.
Things had gone well for the first six months or so. But then Dad had gone off his meds again. I wasn't sure if it was the environment that had triggered him again, or what it was, but he'd leave the flat every day, determined to prove that there was some conspiracy, that someone was trying to kidnap me. Someone was going to take me away from him.
My whole childhood had been fraught with this. When my mother died, he immediately moved us out of the UK. Out of Eur
ope. To Canada. First Vancouver. And then we'd hopscotched across the country for years. Six months here, a year there. One time I'd spent two years in Quebec. I loved Quebec. But after that stint, once again my father was convinced that someone was on our tail, and he’d moved us to Toronto immediately.
Making friends was difficult, never really knowing if I'd get to stay. But regardless, I tried. Because I learned in the first couple of moves that not trying made things far more difficult. Things would be difficult at home and at school, so I was the tryingest new girl ever. I made friends with anybody who would have me, just to have an outlet.
I opened one of the boxes that were stacked to about my chin level. "God, how many papers did he have?"
Lulu shrugged. "I mean he was always sketching or something you know. You've got some video footage in there as well. If he wasn't sketching, he was filming. Someone had an old donated camera. And on the days he was out, he'd take photos or shoot videos. I think it calmed him."
"Well, Dad was always an artist."
"Yeah he was. Come on love, let's get these to the car."
I left Hope House and St. Albans an hour later, the last of my father's worldly possessions in the back of my car. Several times along the way on the drive home, I was so tempted to just pull over, unload everything, and just leave it. Leave it all behind and never look back. But a little voice kept stopping me. "You can't do that. He kept you safe, for years. The least you can do is honor his memory."
But did he really keep me safe? He taught me to be afraid. He taught me to trust no one. He taught me that my life couldn't be my own.
But instead of being afraid of the Boogeyman now that I was grown, I was afraid that my mind would deteriorate like his.
When I reached my flat, I glared up at the stairs outside the main entrance. There was no way. So instead I drove around back to the garages. There were hand trucks in the garage that I'd have to drag to the service lifts. I was in no mood, but it had to get done. The garage lifts only serviced the main hallways, but for grocery runs, they came in quite handy.
Just staring at the boxes made my eyes sting. I blinked the tears away rapidly. I was not going to cry. I was too strong for that. I had this shit totally under control. Swear to God. But still, my eyes threatened to leak.
I had the trolley parked and was loading the first box when I saw the one person I didn’t want to see. Roone. For the love of Christ. I was too emotionally raw to fight today.
"Princess, you need a hand?"
There was that word again. The one that made me want to throw things. Accompanied by his swagger.
I sighed. “Maybe right now we don’t do the fighting thing? I’m knackered and really in no mood.”
He took the box I was unloading from me, then ducked his head to meet my gaze. I wasn’t sure exactly what he saw when our eyes met but suddenly, his softened, and he silently loaded the rest of the boxes for me.
“This all of it?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
He nodded and led the way to the lift. He still didn’t say anything, which was perfect as we stepped into the lift, but also awkward. It was also awkward that I’d been on the verge of tears one second and the next, I was silently admiring his muscles. God. I’d tortured myself enough today, right?
When we reached my flat, he waited patiently for me to open the door then wheeled in the boxes. When he was done, he gave me a smile. “You’re all set, princess.”
Dammit, just when I was feeling grateful. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”
But he didn’t answer, just gave me a crooked smile. “You good?"
I blinked rapidly. Why the hell was I off kilter with him? “Uh, yes.”
“Have a good night, princess.” Then he closed the door behind him and left me with my memories.
7
Roone…
I still didn’t know what had sent Jessa to St. Albans on Saturday. We’d had one of the team watching her. Hope House was a residential facility for the mentally ill, but her father had passed a year ago, so why had she gone now?
More importantly, she’d been on the verge of tears when I’d taken the boxes from her. I wanted to know why. And there was a part of me that had wanted to hold her and keep away the sad things. But a guy like me did not get to comfort the princess.
I dragged my attention back to Evan Millston, who had dragged me into his office first thing Monday morning. "So, you're Rick's pick."
I lifted a brow. "I guess so." I didn't know where this was going, but he was in a bugger of a mood.
Obviously, when I had interviewed with Rick, I was given the job. I had references from Sebastian and the Queen Mother herself that said I'd been invaluable to the royal family in managing their press affairs. He’d eaten that shit right up. Not to mention I was also an Ainsley. I hadn’t advertised that I was one of those Ainsleys, but Ariel had told me Rick had done the deep-dive on me, so he’d known.
I had a great résumé, so why was this asshole pulling me into his office?
"I couldn't help but notice the interaction with you and Jessa last week."
Ahh, so we were going to have that conversation.
"Yes sir. I'm never one to shy from a little competition. I welcome it. I think it makes both parties stronger."
He leveled flat eyes on me. "You two met at the Chase party, am I right?"
I was still waiting for him to get to the point. “That’s right.”
He crossed his arms and lifted a brow. "I don't think I have to say this, because obviously you've read the employee handbook, mate."
I could barely keep my lip from curling. "Why don't you lay out for me what I'm supposed to know?"
His gaze narrowed. "Well, if you were paying attention, you would note that there is to be no fraternization between employees. That's a pretty important rule here at Evans PR. We want every employee to feel comfortable in the environment."
Interesting. "Of course. Jessa and I are having a little friendly competition, that's all. Nothing untoward is happening." Whatever the hell that meant. Why did he care so much about fraternization with Jessa?
Unless he wants her, you knob.
Well, that added a new dimension. I’d have Ariel go ahead and run an extensive background check on him. I could handle his posturing, but I was here to remove all danger from the princess. Including over attentive bosses.
“I hear what you’re trying to say. Stay away from Jessa. Not a problem.” Over my dead body. “I’m sure she understands the rules as well.”
“You don’t have to worry about what rules Jessa understands or doesn’t understand. I’m talking to you. Keep it professional, and there shouldn’t be any problems.”
Okay, Arsehole. “I hear you. I’m nothing if not professional.” I inclined my head, giving him a very direct glare. “Am I free to go now?”
When he didn’t answer, I stood, and it didn’t escape me that I was a good several inches taller than he was. He was forced to look up to meet me directly in the eye. This little friendly chat had put him at the very top of my suspect list for assholes fucking with her. It wasn’t a list anyone would want to be on for a very long.
Jessa…
“So... are we just not going to discuss just how hot the new guy is? Or are we just going to pretend he doesn’t have a shag-me smile? I wish that app would pair me with him. I know he’s after your clients, but that does not preclude us objectifying him and his very fine ass.”
“Chloe!”
“What?” She shrugged. “I mean, come on. He’s gorgeous. Even your vajayjay is not so broken you can’t see it.”
“My vagina is not broken, thank you very much.” I sniffed indignantly. “He’s pretty… if you like that sort of thing.”
“Love, everyone likes that sort of thing. But he’s persona non grata if he’s trying to take your clients. I’ll help you bury the very pretty body.”
“It’s not pretty.”
Liar. Okay fine,
I was lying. So pretty.
Chloe shook her head. “Still though, I cannot believe you are not all over that.”
“Whose side are you on? And have you forgotten that little dealio I told you about with Madison Jeffries? She looked like she wanted to eat him alive, and he looked like he wanted to let her. I have to be smarter. I’ve got this.”
“Okay, well, yes, you told me. And that is pretty gross. I don't blame her though. Have you seen shoulders like that before? He could block a doorway with those shoulders.”
“Chloe, focus. He's arrogant, remember?”
My best friend was forgetting the one simple rule; ‘Thou shall not lust after thy bestie’s enemy.’ Though, who could blame her? Because she wasn’t wrong about him being hot.
“You don’t know him. I can tell he's going to be a pain in the ass.”
“Maybe. But if he looked at me like he looks at you, I'd let him be a pain in my arse,” she chortled.
“He's not that sexy.”
She tossed her head back and laughed. “The hell he's not.”
Whatever. “I just have to figure out how to deal with him.”
“You could just lean into it. Make the man crazy. He already looks at you like he wants to know what you’re wearing under your sexy little pencil skirts.”
“Oh my God. I do not need to do that. I just want him off my case and on to his own clients who didn’t first start as mine.”
“I’m not saying you should shag him. Though, I volunteer as tribute. I’m just saying use your assets to get him to be less annoying. Everyone knows you're the best. He’ll stop fighting you if he’s distracted.”