Bishop's Queen

by Cristin Harber

  They had history heavy enough to make a moonless night moan. Their baggage was deep and devastating. Pain had forced them apart. She had agonizingly ignored the tears in his words and in her heart, until she never saw him again.

  Her chest ached for one quick second as he leveled her with the same shocked stare. The glance hit so fast and so hard, slamming so deep and true, that she couldn’t breathe. Her mouth fell open, but words abandoned their purpose and wouldn’t form.

  Bishop O’Kane stood large and broad. Life looked as though it had been as good to him as it had been hard. He’d roughened, hardened. But those eyes, the poignant greenness, were a well to his soul, counteracting the attitude that rolled off him.

  He was the same type as the Titan men who’d swept into Tara’s office—machine-like, mountain-like, with muscles made of boulders, and a corded neck. Long ago, Ella had touched and kissed those same spots, never noticing even the tendons that demanded her attention now.

  Everything was noticeable as he stood in front of her, stunned—the veins on his arms; the way he hulked.

  “Eloise?” Boots planted to the bathroom floor, Bishop stood his ground, showing a flash of uncertainty as though he needed permission to be in the ladies’ room.

  “Bishop.” Was he as confused about the situation as she was about him? Likely so. Because the last time he’d seen her, she’d simply been a kid.

  She’d been a kid who hadn’t dealt with trauma and loss well, who had panicked, who had hurt him. Because when they’d ended—no, they’d never ended. They had simply stopped. Ella had walked away because she was too broken-heartened, unable to deal with life. She just couldn’t…

  He snapped out of his trance before she did and stepped forward in a way that smacked of menace and anger. “Who the hell is Ella Leighton?”

  At that moment, the disgusting jerky taste roared back, its ugly presence on her tongue. The revolting meat taste stirred up her gag reflex again. With the damp paper towel, she mopped at the side of her mouth. “That’s me. It’s like a pen name, except I used it online. It was supposed to help me with being anonymous, like a social safety net. But a lot of good that’s done.”

  “El—” He stopped mid-word, mid-step, and rubbed his hand over his face as if he could erase his disbelief. When he dropped his arm, his palpable frustration had softened. “What happened back there?”

  She shrugged.

  “Eloise…”

  She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t stand there, feeling so different than how she used to be, saddled with guilt and… curious about who he was and how he’d been. “You know, pretty much everybody calls me Ella. I just use it. It’s who I’ve become. Eco-Ella. You know my real last name. But Ella? That’s who I am. Call me Ella.” She offered an explanation that she knew he wouldn’t get. “And I’m a vegan; jerky’s disgusting.”

  “You’re a vegan, and jerky is disgusting.” He repeated as though her words had been gibberish.

  She wanted to push him away. Wasn’t that what had worked last time? Inwardly, she cringed at her cowardly ways when everyone thought she was so strong. Outwardly, Ella lifted her chin and faked the strength. “I’m not who you think I am. So whoever you think you used to know, forget her. She’s gone.”

  “Obviously.” His eyes searched her up and down, landing on her face. “That old girl’s forgotten. No worries.” His raw words somehow stung. “So, Eco-Ella. Shall we start over?”

  “Please,” she whispered then cleared her throat. “Ella Leighton. I run Eco-Ella. I’m an environmentalist with a stalker problem.”

  “Bishop O’Kane. I’m with the Titan Group, and I’m the guy who will keep your stalker problems at bay.”

  ***

  At least Bishop’s offering of introductions seemed to take Ella’s edge down a notch. Because damn, that wasn’t just a wall. That was a solid fortress of fuck-you, all of which, he deserved.

  And now Eloise was Ella.

  Ohhh-kay. Weird, but doable. So long as Titan signed his paychecks, his ex-girlfriend could demand to be called a space cadet and have “celebrity” tattooed on her forehead, and he would be good with it—whatever it took for Bishop to keep his job with Titan.

  Eloise… Ella… was a famous person, not that he’d heard of Eco-Ella or Under the Roof before. But she was famous to someone. Hell, he hadn’t heard the term “Internet celebrity” before today. Lots of people loved the woman he’d once loved, and that was odd. But not to know that she was well-known at all? That put into perspective how off-the-grid he’d been for the past few years.

  The military had been his world, the only thing he’d needed for what had been almost half his life. He’d gone deep—lived it and breathed it. Then it was time to be done. Re-acclimating back to the United States and all of its viral, political, commercial-driven bullshit hadn’t been on his to-do list.

  “Now that we’re acquainted,” he joked, not necessarily landing it by the way she tilted her head and smiled. Okay, tough crowd. Ella put the wet paper towel on her tongue. “Did you bite your tongue?”

  She arched an eyebrow accusingly. “I accidentally licked your jerky.”

  He laughed, and that bending eyebrow of hers almost jumped across the room and smacked him. He rolled his lips together to hide his humor—because honestly, she’d said that all wrong. Stifling his laugh didn’t work, so he cleared his throat. That was the stupidest, dirtiest, unintentionally hysterical thing he’d heard all day.

  “Are you laughing?” Ella’s angry eyebrow dropped, flattening and taking a whole new line of aggressive positioning.

  He ran a hand over his mouth. “No.”

  “You are!”

  “Come on. You have a paper towel on your tongue.”

  “Jerky is disgusting,” she mumbled over the towel.

  “Or delicious.” He stepped closer. “I’m a fan of it.”

  Pulling the paper away, she folded it neatly into a tiny, compact square before walking to the trash to throw it away. “You’ve developed a few poor eating habits since the last time we crossed paths.”

  Last time they crossed paths… That seemed a little harsh, considering their history, but fair. He’d been a dick. He hadn’t meant to be, but now he could see that. Age had given him perspective. Walking—or running—away from her at the shittiest low of their lives had been immature, and if Ella wanted to be a first-class bitch to him, no problem. She could get a couple of solid sucker punches in without his complaint.

  “So…” He shifted in his boots, uncomfortable on a dozen levels. “Do you want to head back to the war room?”

  She looked around the tiny sitting area and folded back onto the couch. “I like it better in here.”

  He blanched. “You want to stay in here?”

  “Yes.”

  “The ladies’ room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not where we were?” Because that would be logical, and clearly, Ella had dropped logic from her repertoire when she’d picked up superstar.

  “Really?” She shook her head, eyeballs popping out. “The war room?”

  “Yeah.” His skin itched to get out of the bathroom. But, semi-amused, he also wanted to watch the shit show that was this crazy-but-interesting woman he used to know. Maybe that was why she made such a good reality star. He would have to ask Rocco.

  Her little nose wrinkled. “I don’t think I like any room called the war room.”

  “Huh.” Ironic.

  “Huh, what?”

  “I like any room called a war room.” Bishop crossed his arms, and they stayed silent, assessing the other for what had to be forever. “All right.” He walked across the tiny sitting area to take a seat, and—shit—unexpectedly, the chair moved, sliding back and forth. A glider. Man, that was kind of sweet.

  She giggled, and he jolted his head up to see her watching him check out the side of the chair. “Glides.” He pointed out the obvious.

  “It does.”

  Yeah, he was going to have t
o check out the men’s room to see what kind of hidden gems were in there. Maybe it had a foosball table or something. Bishop shifted, trying to stop the chair from moving so much. It was comfortable, but not good for authoritative conversations.

  He cleared his throat, planted his boots on the ground, and slowed the chair. Time hung, though they were now both on equal footing.

  “Can we start over?” he asked. Again.

  Ella wasn’t going to give up easily, it seemed. Radio silence came from the pretty girl who had mental breakdowns over jerky.

  It was almost amusing… if she weren’t so damn crazy. With all of her turtle- and air- loving, maybe the sun had fried her brain. It had certainly lightened her hair and tanned her shoulders.

  They teeter-tottered in a silent showdown. He almost said something again—almost, because even in the quiet, she looked as if she had something she wanted to say, and he was curious about what it might be.

  If only she would acknowledge this was a game of who would give in first. If he could get her to say that… But then he would lose, and Bishop O’Kane never lost. That was a fact. Then her lips quirked. Ella was a breath away from giving him the win, and if this arrangement were to work—him watching out for her—there had to be some semblance of respect and give-and-take between them. There also had to be a winner at the moment. Though why, he had no idea.

  Still, with Crazy, he would keep score. That nickname fit her better than Eco-Ella any day of the week.

  Pretty pink lips, which could’ve been a distraction, turned upward, and he knew he had the win. Whatever she was about to say would work in his favor. Mentally, Bishop readied to give himself a high five.

  “Yes,” she said. “We can start over—”

  The bathroom door swung open, and Beth and Nicola, two Titan agents he had met in passing, walked in and stared at them. Whatever the women’s conversation had been, it was now muted. All Bishop could do was thank God that Crazy had ditched the paper towel she’d been licking.

  To Beth and Nicola’s credit, neither agent gawked for too long. One of them mumbled over her shoulder, “Hey, new guy.”

  Both ladies hit bathroom stalls around the corner. The doors opened, the locks slid into place, and they started to pee.

  He tried, really tried to maintain a blank face. Then he tried to imagine they were in combat. He didn’t give a shit if there were women in the battlefield or if they were mucking through a jungle. He didn’t care when people had to go. But those agents were the wives of some of his teammates, and he could hear them peeing.

  His molars ground down as he tried to focus his unwavering attention on Ella. “Can we leave?”

  “Are you uncomfortable?” Ella was apparently aware they were keeping score in their newfound situation. She was on the hunt for a point of her own. “Truthfully, I think we should hang out here a bit longer. I like people watching, and this is a comfy couch.”

  She wiggled back as though she needed to get more comfortable then took out her phone. Her fingers flew on the screen, and for the moment, it looked as though she’d set up shop—checking emails or blog posts or whatever Internet celebrities did.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Seeing what time I told my publicist I’d post my vlog.”

  “What the fuck is a vlog?”

  “A video blog post.” Her forehead scrunched as if he’d asked the eco-girl whether she’d seen the color green before. Then, as serious as the threats that had been made against her, Ella asked, “Do you think we can have lunch delivered here?”

  They were in a bathroom. A bathroom. Had she lost her ever-loving mind? There was no way. Fifteen years, or however long it had been, might have changed her, but just… no. He prayed she didn’t actually want to eat in there. “Are you screwing with me?”

  She cracked a smile, and for a moment, he saw the silly girl playing with the carefree guy, just like they used to be. “Maybe.”

  He choked on a chuckle, shaking his head, because this was all a joke. Titan was the best in the world at pretty much everything. Why wouldn’t they dig into his past, find an ex-girlfriend, and throw him into the bathroom with her. It was epic. “You’re in on this thing with the guys, aren’t you?”

  Ella’s eyes narrowed, twinkling with a dose of curiosity. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “This is a beast hazing job.” He would give them that. Sugar had to have something to do with this, and it was total payback for tying her up with a jump rope at the job he’d completed before starting at Titan. “And—”

  “No one is hazing you,” one of the women said from the stalls.

  Gah. Bishop dropped his head into his hands and rubbed the shit out of his face, trying, for the life of him, to not feel as if this was an insane moment as he heard Beth and Nicola flush and exit their stalls.

  “All right.” He dropped his voice several octaves lower. “Ready?”

  He pushed out of his glider and extended his hand. Ella eyeballed his hand, analyzing the peace treaty that it was. Come on, babe… Their distance hung, unsteady for a moment, and hell if he was going to let this waif of an uncertainty dangle without an anchor. “Take my hand, Ella.”

  He’d said her name the way she liked it and left his hand outstretched. There wasn’t much more he was going to offer, and that included lunch in the bathroom. Saying “Ella” brought her eyes to his, and it was that simple. They’d always had a connection, and it was good to know the lines of communication had never truly disappeared.

  Ella placed her much smaller, surprisingly familiar, hand in his, and he pulled Crazy Eco-Ella to her feet.

  “Come on.” Bishop tugged her fingers that cautiously wrapped around his, and the touch triggered a faint memory, tickling deep in his chest. Before her hand fell away, his mind cataloged several startling unknowns. Her handhold exuded strength and confidence, even though it was a passing touch. For everything eco-this and enviro-that, he would’ve thought she’d blossomed into some kind of delicate flower—but no. Ella was decidedly, unpredictably, powerful.

  He cleared the eco-miscalculation from his head and turned toward the sinks, where Nicola and Beth were involved in the slowest handwashing process known to man, also known as obvious spying. “We’re out of here, ladies. The bathroom is all yours.”

  Two good-byes mixed with laughter rang out.

  Bishop grumbled, but focused on controlling the situation. On the upside, he no longer had a running, crying, paper-towel-licking Ella. On the downside, where the hell should they go if not the war room? He didn’t know this building, and even the conference rooms looked lethal. “If not the war room, where to?”

  She stopped in the hallway. “This seems benign enough.”

  Annoyance ticked at his patience. No way would she want to set up shop there. No way would anything that had happened in the last twenty minutes have actually happened, but it had. He gritted his teeth. “If we could just go over the day, then we can get a move on.”

  She dropped her line of sight to the gun holstered on his hip, as if she had just noticed it, then dug through her purse as her phone rang. “If you think I dislike jerky, I have a running list of things—” She stared at the screen before silencing it. “I forget what I was saying. Never mind.”

  “Not an important call?”

  “I don’t talk to numbers I don’t know.”

  That sounded pretentious as fuck, just as pretentious as choosing a new name. “What happened to you?” He turned and walked away before spinning back. “You aren’t the girl I knew.”

  And why had he opened his mouth? He shouldn’t broach the topic of their past with everything that had happened to them.

  Surprise rounded her eyes because, finally, one of them had said it. Her lip curled as though indignation and disgust battled to take a swing at him. “You think I expected to see you like this?”

  “I don’t care,” he lied, but they both knew his nonchalance was total bullcrap. How wa
s this what his Eloise had become? A television princess mixed with an Internet goddess. A new name without a past.

  “The girl you knew was young and lost. She didn’t have a way to make sense of how unfair life could be, and she was lonely. So damn alone, you have no idea.”

  “Now look at you.” Guilt and anger spiked in his throat. “Not alone anymore, are you?”

  “Yeah. Look at me, Bishop.” She stepped even closer, throwing out her arms. “Happy and formidable.”

  “In danger and stupid about it—” Her phone rang again, cutting him off, and he shook his head. “That thing is going to kill you too.”

  Ella slapped him instead of silencing the ringer. “It only took you an hour to get that out. Bet you’ve been waiting for your opening.”

  Stunned, Bishop could have outlined her hand mark on his cheek. The sting bit into his flesh almost as sharply as it reminded him he had no ground to respond. “Screw this gig.” He stormed away, done with all this—her, Titan, everything. Screw it all.

  “You used to like me,” she shouted. “You weren’t such a jerk.”

  Bishop seethed and charged back until he was inches away from her. “Hell, Eloise, I used to love you.”

  Her mouth hung open. “Don’t call me that.”

  The hallway walls closed in, and he moved a head’s distance from her lips—lips that he knew the taste and feel of, how they melted and came alive. His heart surged as he closed the distance between them, but then his boots stepped away from her, somehow thinking on his behalf. Almost every part of him wanted to be up against her. Thank God for boots that had experience running like all hell.

  His gaze swept down. Where the hell had he just gone? Nowhere he was supposed to, that was for damn sure. Knowing he’d crossed the line on just about every topic between them, he bottled it up and faced her.