Order of Protection

by Lexi Blake

  “My uncle was talking about Henry? He just found out about Henry. What could he possibly have to say about him?” She’d been surprised at her uncle’s easy acceptance of her kind-of-crazy, maybe-would-last-longer-than-one-night stand. He tended to be critical of any man in her life.

  And utterly accepting of any bimbo Trevor brought home. It was a nasty double standard.

  “Kip and I snuck into his office to raid his bar before we left.” Hoover made a face that plainly explained his feelings. “The network is trying to make us drink branded shit. I don’t care what they paid for advertising, that Scotch they’re making us drink tastes like shit. I switched it out for your uncle’s fifty-year. He’s so old he won’t notice. His taste buds have to be like dead, right?”

  There was the douchebag. Her uncle was barely sixty and he would definitely notice the difference between the thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch he nipped into at holidays and special occasions and the blended stuff from the company that sponsored the show. “I promise nothing, Hoover. If he comes after you, you’re on your own. Okay, you stole Scotch and that’s when he was talking about Henry?”

  “Yeah, we heard him coming down the hall at the last minute and Kip got out in time, but I played passed-out so I wouldn’t get caught. I kind of draped myself over that big chair in front of the fireplace. I’ve found if you look relaxed enough, they’ll believe you’re totally passed out. He kicked me a couple of times, but my muscles are stoked, if you know what I mean.”

  She didn’t. “What did he say?”

  “He was talking to someone on the phone about the fact that he didn’t like some lawyer sniffing around you. Does he really sniff you? ’Cause that’s kinky.”

  She bit back a groan. “Of course not. It’s a euphemism. And you must have heard him wrong because he was excited I was seeing someone who wasn’t in the entertainment industry.”

  He’d mentioned it again at dinner the night before, asking if she planned on seeing Henry again.

  She’d lied and said no because she didn’t want her uncle siccing anyone on Henry, and that was something he could do. He’d done it before. He’d been known to send private investigators to look into her dates, and he didn’t hesitate to present her with reports that showed how awful men could be. She did not mention to Hoover what his or Kipton’s own reports had said.

  Hoover shrugged. “I know what I heard. He said he didn’t want a lawyer around you. Maybe it’s because he’s the dude who divorced that hot piece of actress ass. Damn, man. Who would do that? That woman is on fire and her style is so on fleek.”

  “Well, at least three men we know of didn’t think she was so hot.” She shook her head. It didn’t matter because her uncle was on his way back to the city and he didn’t need to know about her affair with Henry. It would be over in a few weeks, and honestly, she kind of liked the fact that she would have something private for once. If she could keep Hoover’s mouth shut. “I guess my uncle is being careful. Did he say if he was going to do anything about it?”

  “I’m not sure who he was talking to. He sounded irritated, but he said something about how it would all be over soon because you were going to Duke and there was no way a guy like the lawyer dude would do some kind of long-distance thing. He said you would fuck him out of your system and get back to what you’re supposed to do.”

  Her stomach turned at the thought. “He put it like that?”

  “Well, he said something about things playing out emotionally and how distance would fix the problem, but I think you’re totally going to fuck him out of your system.”

  At least her uncle hadn’t put it that way. “Well, good for me. I should probably go and start my seduction.”

  “With cheese,” he said, picking up a wedge of cave-aged Gruyère. “Go with this one. It’s nice and nutty, and pretty much everyone likes the taste.”

  She took it out of his hand. “I’ve never seen you eat cheese that wasn’t on pizza.”

  He slapped his abs. “Dairy’s hard on the six-pack, but I know what I like. And I don’t tend to actually eat the pizza. Not more than a bite or two for the camera. Come by the new place and I’ll make sure the camera crew knows not to film you. But you should totally come and watch. Brie and I are scripted to have a big blowout over Kipton and then we start talking about getting married. You know how hard the fans ’ship us.”

  There were a surprising number of fan fiction sites dedicated to Hoover and Brie. Some writers made them sound way deeper than they actually were. Win had read a couple and been moved in a way the actual couple had never moved her.

  Which was precisely why she felt her jaw drop. Brie and Hoover had been “on camera only” for years. “Tell me you’re not going to marry Brie for ratings.”

  He smiled but there seemed to be no humor behind it. “People get married for worse reasons.”

  “Name one.” She couldn’t. Anything would be better than marrying for TV ratings.

  Hoover’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “To have kids. That’s one. They’re pretty gross. Not sure why people do that, but don’t worry. This is a long-term story line. It’s not playing out tomorrow or anything. This shoot is only a week, and it’s going to be a special before the actual season begins. The season is going to be off the hook. Kipton’s going to get with Brie’s new bassist and cause all kinds of trouble.”

  “Sounds like fun.” It sounded terrible. “I’ll make sure to tune in.”

  “But you’re never coming back.” It wasn’t a question. He held his arms open. “I’m going to miss you, Win. But I understand. You get out and get as far away as you can.”

  She hugged him, knowing it was unlikely she would see him regularly from now on. For years she’d had this weird family, but it was time to move on. They had been deeply dysfunctional, but there had been companionship there, too. “Any chance you’ll ever take over your dad’s company?”

  “And run the stock into the ground?” Hoover grinned and stepped back. “Not a chance. The minute I say a damn thing about being interested in management, the stock takes a dive. No, I have to respect what my father built. Besides, I’ll have a much better shot at keeping my trust fund well stocked if Stepmom Number Four knows I have zero interest in running anything but my liver into the ground. My stepbrother and stepsister are being groomed to take over. They both graduated top of their classes at Wharton. So fucking boring. I’ve agreed to not fight her and she’ll continue to make it rain.”

  It sounded like a hollow life. “I hope you find something that makes you happy, H.”

  He shrugged as he reached for a six-pack of carb-free beer. “Happiness is a state of mind, Win.” He started down the aisle but stopped and turned again. “And, hey, watch out for Brie. She’s been weird lately and I think it’s got a lot to do with you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. She’s weird. Secretive. She disappears and lies about where she’s going. I wondered for a long time if she and Kip actually had something going. Maybe they do, but I don’t know. He’s usually not a good liar, even when Brie is excellent.”

  She did not want to get dragged into drama. Certainly not Brie’s rotating bedrooms. She’d known Brie and Hoover had been on the outs for a while, but she couldn’t see her picky bestie with Kipton. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Timing, I guess,” he offered. “And a feeling. After you left she started doing some weird shit. She was pissed that you were gone.”

  Win knew exactly why Brie had been angry. In Brie’s mind, everything in life should be shared on camera, and Win hadn’t seen things that way. “She thought I should play out the story line for the cameras. I disagreed.”

  Hoover was quiet for a moment, as though thinking the problem through. “Maybe, but most of us understood what you were going through. Not many people fought you leaving the show. Not even Kip. Brie did, but I d
on’t know how serious she was about it. She and Sully had some shouting matches, and I thought for a while that he would shut the show down. Then she went away for a few days, and when she came back she was cool again. Said it didn’t matter that you were gone. Said she’d found another way to make some cash off you. That’s the part that worries me.”

  Win rolled her eyes. At least one mystery was solved. “It’s okay. That threat has already passed. She wanted to do a fashion line. She talked to me about it after I came home. She said my personal truth would sell clothes. She’d gotten together with some dumbass designer who thought my size eight was a plus size and that she could use my eating disorder to sell clothes. Obviously, I turned her down.”

  Hard. And was ready with a lawsuit the minute the insensitive bitch tried to mention Win’s name in her ads.

  No one was using her pain to sell clothes. She would use it to help people, to open herself to others like her, but she wasn’t selling this piece of herself. Not ever. That pain, that insecurity, was sacred because it had led her to healing. She had learned to honor it by not allowing others to pick at it, to use it.

  “That explains things,” he said. “Although I still think Brie’s keeping secrets. Anyway, it probably doesn’t matter. I know we’re in our last seasons. We might get one or two more specials out of this, but there’s always someone richer and younger willing to do even worse shit to get on the air. I wanted it to go smooth, to relax and enjoy the rest of the ride, but I don’t think Brie is going to let that happen.”

  “If she thinks her career is going down in flames, she’ll try to make them count.” It was part of who Brie Westerhaven was, always had been. When they’d been younger, Brie had been a force of nature, protecting her friends with a ruthless will. In the last couple of years, she’d started protecting herself in the same way.

  “Well, I’ll watch for that and you watch your back, too. She’s not always nice when she talks about you. I know you two are besties and all, but she knows you’ve moved on, and when Brie feels like someone’s leaving her behind, she can get nasty.” Hoover stepped back. “Have fun with the lawyer dude. Do I still get an invite to the big gala thing?”

  “As long as you play by the rules.” She’d had them in place ever since she’d started bringing her friends along.

  “No cameras. No groupies. No drama.” He winked her way. “Got it. As long as I get some of those little tart things Mary makes, I’ll be happy. Peace out, my sister.”

  Those were the new rules of her life. No drama.

  Was she creating drama by going after a man who would likely hate her if he knew who she was? It wouldn’t be fair of him, but it was the likeliest outcome of Henry finding out who she was.

  It would ruin their time together.

  Two whole weeks in a place where she could be exactly who she wanted to be. Two weeks with the most fascinating man she’d ever met. Two weeks of pleasure before years of hard work.

  What could it hurt?

  She picked up the last of her items and paid for her groceries. She was doing this.

  When she walked outside, she noticed Hoover and Kip hopping into a ridiculously expensive convertible that had almost certainly been expensed. That was when she noticed her Jeep. She kept a Jeep here on the island. It was the best car for moving around on the beach. It wasn’t the most expensive of vehicles, and she liked the fact that it was a normal car that didn’t cry out for someone to look at it.

  Except it did now because there was a long mark down the driver’s side of her car. Someone had dragged a key all the way from the front to over the back tire.

  Fucking Kipton. It had to be him. It was why he’d smirked her way as they’d driven off.

  She was well rid of that group. Hoover could be all right, but he would also have waved this off, saying it didn’t matter. He would say Kip was just Kip and he hadn’t meant anything by it, and hell, she had more money than she knew what to do with, so what was the problem?

  She settled the groceries in and hopped into the driver’s seat. It didn’t matter. Kip was an asshole and she was out of that world for good.

  She backed up and started toward Henry’s, promising herself that she wasn’t doing anything but spending some time with a man who needed someone to talk to. And to do other things with.

  She wasn’t lying to him. She was exactly who she said she was.

  She stopped at the light, an eerie feeling skimming over her. Like she was being watched. It was an instinct, probably one more sensitive after what had nearly happened to her in Stockholm. Win glanced around, trying to see if there was anyone odd on the streets, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  Deep breath. And a second. She closed her eyes and forced herself to center before taking the turn that would lead to Henry’s.

  And hopefully to a few weeks of peace.

  * * *

  Henry sealed the box and marked it. Books.

  He would have them shipped back. He knew he should donate them or leave them here as part of the package along with the furniture and kitchen stuff, but there was something personal about his grandparents’ books that had him packing them and making them ready for transport.

  He glanced up at the clock. Two thirty P.M. Somehow he’d expected Win to show up bright and early this morning. He’d woken up and made a pot of coffee, and he’d gone over all the ways he would explain to her that this was a bad idea.

  Because it was still a bad idea.

  Alicia might have given in to Noah and Drew Lawless’s blackmail, but she would be back at some point. Then there was the fact that he dealt with unsavory clients on a daily basis. He took on high-profile cases and often got dragged through the mud along with the client.

  There were plenty of people out there who hated him. Loathed him and despised the very fact that he existed and cheered if he failed. He was used to it. Sweet little Win was not and would be horrified.

  So he was going to tell her how amazing their night together was and then turn her down gently.

  Except she hadn’t shown up and that bugged the hell out of him.

  She’d been the one to claim she would be here despite the fact that he’d told her not to come. She’d told him she didn’t care what he thought.

  It was perverse, but if he’d had her number, he might have called and said a few things about setting expectations and then not meeting them.

  He started another pot of coffee. This was completely foolish. She’d put some distance between the two of them and realized how little they had in common. At least one of them had some sense.

  The scent of French roast hit the air and he realized he was procrastinating. He was putting off the moment when he had to step back into the city and face the music. He would have to work his ass off to find anyone who wanted to hire a lawyer with his tarnished reputation. It didn’t matter that his addiction issues had never cost a client a dime. The perception would be there, and perception was over half the battle in life.

  He should pack up tonight and leave it all to the agent. It’s what he should have done yesterday, but he’d enjoyed spending time with David, showing him places on the island and telling him stories.

  It was time to go home now. Time to forget about pretending to be someone he couldn’t afford to be anymore. Time to put away thoughts of quiet and peace and get back to being the Monster of Manhattan. That was the only way he was going to survive.

  The Monster of Manhattan didn’t give in to urges. He plowed through all problems with a single-minded, ruthless intent. The Monster didn’t need attention, though he tended to get it. Attention didn’t matter to the Monster. Money mattered. Power mattered.

  He would get them both back.

  The Monster certainly didn’t need some do-gooder in his bed. He would select a woman, rationally discuss his needs with her, and pay her for her services, whether they
be as a plus-one to gatherings or as a body in bed. That was how he would view it. Transactional.

  Transactional was safe.

  So he was going to stop being such a whiny asshole and be grateful that Win had some sense.

  A knock broke through the quiet of the house.

  He practically ran for the door.

  He opened it and there was Win, standing in the soft light of the afternoon, her hair up in a ponytail. She was wearing denim shorts and a blousy, feminine shirt. She had a bag of groceries in one hand and what looked like a duffel in the other.

  “I know you said I shouldn’t come back, but you’re wrong and I’m going to give you all my reasons why.”

  He didn’t care. She was here. He walked straight up to her and cupped that pretty face in his hands and kissed her for all he was worth.

  Fuck transactional. He wanted something real for once in his damn life.

  When he came back up, he was rewarded with a soft look in her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile.

  “No arguing with me?”

  He did have some problems they should discuss. “You’re late.”

  Her smile went brilliant. “I had some things to clear up. I thought if you didn’t mind, I might stay with you for a few nights.”

  He took the bag of groceries out of her hand and led her inside. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

  “This is way easier than I thought it would be,” she admitted. “Have you had lunch? I could whip up some sandwiches and we could have a picnic.”

  He stashed the grocery bag in the fridge. She set down her duffel, and that made it much easier to scoop her up and into his arms. “I know exactly what I want for lunch.”

  Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t struggle at all. Her arms went around his shoulders as he carried her to the big bedroom.

  It had been cozy in his old room, but he needed more space if she was going to live here with him for a few weeks.