Bishop's Queen
Page 5
Ella’s bottom lip trembled.
Shit.
He dropped his chin, vowing to tamp down their past and any memory that wanted to unfurl its ugly head. He needed this job like he needed a purpose in life. Titan was an end goal, and in truth, he wanted Eloise—Ella—safe. She deserved that. This would work if he boxed any loose reactions.
Bishop slowed his mind and reached for her arm, trying to offer some manner of compassion that was subpar and long past due. “I shouldn’t have brought that up, shouldn’t have gone there.”
“I, uh. We… we never really talked about…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed her arm once then dropped his hand, knowing he shouldn’t touch her. “You okay?”
Beth and Nicola crept quietly down the hall. As they passed, Ella painted on a perfect smile. Fascinating how well she could put up a fake wall.
“I’m okay …” She shifted her shoulder bag to the other arm. “Is this going to work?”
“Do you want it to?” he asked.
Ella chewed on her bottom lip then nodded.
He gave her a nod as well. “All right, then.” Talk about a change of plans. First thing he needed to do was loop his new boss in about his old girlfriend. So much for having a good first week. “Go back into the bathroom, El. I’ll find you when it’s time to rock and roll. Then we can figure out what our day’s like. Deal?”
Her eyes bounced up and down, assessing him as though she were fitting a suit. Not checking him out, but more like… measuring. “I have things to do. Then we can just do that and get going?”
Finally. Something they could agree on, after he talked to Titan about his history with Ella. “Absolutely.”
His gut churned, and he didn’t know if that uncomfortable sensation stemmed from her sane suggestion or the fact that he had to go explain how he didn’t recognize his hot ex in a file folder. “Give me ten to grab my gear, and we’ll head out.”
“I’ll be in there.” She gestured to the bathroom that he’d just wrangled her from. “I like it.”
“Right.” Ella was nuts. “I’ll knock. You’ll answer. It will work that way. It can be like your home away from home if you’re here at Titan for any reason. Deal?”
Her grin was less fake than any he’d seen thus far. “Deal.”
Turning, he wanted to find a piece of jerky and down it in private before Eco-Ella freaked out again. “See you in ten.”
“One more thing.”
Bishop pivoted but kept walking backward toward the jerky. “Yeah?”
“I have to drive. I have herbs in my car. The plants are important; I’m working my way through the neighborhood, handing them out—”
“I can move them. No problem.”
“I’d really prefer not to move them.”
“Why?”
“I’ve had success in cultivating an urban garden program. Arlington went really well, and we vlogged about it like crazy. People loved it. But now…” Her eyes lit as though she was waiting on a mouthwatering dessert. Even her voice jumped an octave to match her smile. “There are these local beekeepers that the DC Parks and Rec department partnered with. But I thought that it would be great to focus segments on pollen sources. Pollenating plants are basically bee protein and—”
“That’s not why I can’t move them.”
She pursed her lips. “My plants are fragile. You’re not.”
“That would’ve been a much faster explanation.” For a half-pint size of a woman, she didn’t waver when she decided she wanted her way, which was, as his luck would have it, every damn time.
“I can carry your plants, Ella.”
“They’re herbs,” she corrected.
He dropped his eyebrows. “Aren’t herbs plants?”
“Well, the lavender—”
“And isn’t that a flower?” Not that he knew shit about that.
“You don’t want me to get into the explanation of the nearly forty known species of lavender and how it’s both an herb and a flower, do you? Since your preference was for my more expedient explanation.”
Bishop smirked. “They’re green. Have roots. Drink water. Sprouted from a damn seed. We’ll call them plants.”
“They’re important. And you have to be careful with them.”
“Do you fight over everything these days?” he asked.
“I’m protective over things I care about.”
He could relate to that. But seriously, they were battling over garden items that he generally ate. “I’ll be careful while carrying your herbs.”
“Honestly,” she pushed. “We should just take my car.”
He waved an internal white flag, not pleased at the loss. Though it was only this round. “Fine.”
“Good.”
“Great.” Bishop ground his teeth, remembering she was part of the Jared Westin family-and-friends plan. “We’ll take your ride. No problem.” She was going to be a pick-a-battle type person, and he wasn’t jackass enough to demand to drive every time. Whatever. He would survive.
She tilted her chin in a move so opposite the stubborn behavior she’d just displayed that it struck him as… delicate. Decidedly not Ella-esque. Damn it. He could not get a read on her. One minute, she was tough, and the next minute, soft.
“But”—the corners of her lips quirked—“don’t sneak any jerky before we go. It’ll stink and make me sick.”
Then she had to go and open her mouth. Bishop turned, ignoring her and heading straight for his next ration of beef jerky.
This job would kill him—not from high-flying bullets or enemy tangos, just a woman who drove him mad. But he was going to die with a full belly of beef jerky.
***
“Rocco, hey, boss.” Bishop jogged down the hall to catch his team leader, who didn’t stop.
“What?” Rocco asked as he continued on.
“I have a situation.”
“Deal with her. She’s hot. A model. A vegan. A tree hugger. Whatever. Deal with it, O’Kane. Don’t make me deal with you instead.” They rounded a corner, and Rocco never even looked his way.
This wasn’t going to be easy. “Right. I get all that—”
Rocco stopped abruptly, aggravation oozing from every pore. “Then what is it?”
Yeah, this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. “I didn’t connect the dots because she didn’t go by Ella.”
Lines deepened across Rocco’s brow as he groaned. “Excuse me?”
“Ella Leighton was Eloise Lewandowski, and I used to date her when we were in high school and college.”
Intel like that seemed best to throw out all at once. Though Bishop hadn’t known Rocco for long, so maybe his ass should be ready to duck and cover.
“You and the tree hugger?” Rocco’s face scored through shock to annoyance in a millisecond. “Were a thing?”
“We were drastically different people back then, as evidenced by the fact that she used to use a different name.” That counted for something, right?
“Did you not read any of that file?” his boss snapped. “Eloise Lewandowski was in there. Listed under birth name.”
“I read the first few pages…” Or the first one… or two.
Bishop rubbed the back of his neck. On top of this, he wasn’t sure about his comfort level that everyone had likely checked out Eloise—or Ella, or whatever this crazy lady wanted to be called. For whatever this crazy anti-meat, anti-normal food, possibly anti-common sense—albeit still extraordinarily attractive—woman was, she was in his dating history.
“Dated, how?” Rocco grilled him.
Bishop blanked. “Excuse me?”
“Dated, and you fucked her a few times? Some one-night stands, promising her true love? And now that she’s seen your ugly mug, she’s on her way to Jared’s office, traumatized, and will be sending us a bill for her therapy?” Rocco paused to let the full effect of that scenario weigh heavy. “Or are we talking dated
, she wanted to marry you, but you, I don’t know, joined up?”
“Err…” Bishop cleared his throat. “Closer to the latter, but, um, I think that…” He rubbed his hand over his jawline. “I…”
Rocco’s jaw tightened. “Does she hate you?”
“The… well… it’s complicated.”
“Shit. I am low on men this second,” Rocco growled. “Do you want this job?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. This is your job. Do not lose this job. Do not get fired. And do not, under any circumstances, repeat history. Do you understand me, O’Kane?”
Bishop nodded. “I don’t plan on it. Just wanted to offer up everything in terms of full disclosure.”
“I appreciate that.” Rocco crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “Locke will be more available by the end of the week. He’s going to be number two on this assignment. Work your schedules together with him so when you need a break from Ella, he’s on her. If you need to do something to keep your sanity, Locke is your man. If you need to do anything to keep this job, if you need any R&R, he is your guy.”
Bishop tilted his chin up. “Thanks for understanding.”
“Do not screw the job.”
“I won’t screw up,” Bishop pledged.
Rocco took a step forward. “Not what I said, O’Kane.”
Bishop ran the words back in his head. Don’t screw Ella. Those were the instructions. “Ten–four.”
With this version of that woman, sex wasn’t on the table, or anywhere else.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The plants took up half of the space in Ella’s car. Literally. That was how small her car was, and as Bishop stared at the contents of her ride in Titan’s parking lot, he wondered if anyone of his size had ever been in one of these tiny-ass cars. Forget that they were death traps; he wasn’t sure he could fit.
“All right, Muscles. In we go.”
Bishop’s arms crossed his chest. There were some lines that couldn’t be crossed. This was one of them. “No.”
Ella’s nose wrinkled as she dangled her key ring on her finger. “Get in. We had a deal.”
“I don’t think I can get in.” Bishop stared at the Smart Car. His arm span could reach both sides, and without a doubt, he could toss the thing. She hadn’t been checking him out in the hallway; she’d been measuring him. “This thing’s a death trap. You have a better chance of someone smashing you to death on the Beltway than some angry anti-Ella hater finding you and smothering you with wheatgrass.”
Ella rolled her eyes. “Well, no shit, Bishop. No death threats mentioned wheatgrass. Get in the car.”
“I’ll follow behind.”
“Get in.”
He dropped his head back, trying to regain his composure, then focused on her. “We can put your car in the bed of my truck.”
She smirked. “Very funny.”
“You can sit in the driver’s seat. Pretend you’re driving, and I’ll just drive us there. Your herbs will be fine. Your car will get to where we need to go. Problem solved. Everyone will be happy.”
“You’re being an asshole.”
“There’s no fucking way I can fold myself into that car.”
Her pink lips pressed together, matching the irritation in her light-blue eyes. “I don’t think I like you very much, Bishop.”
“Lady, you don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to thank me. But each breath you get to take, that’s on me. My job is to apparently keep you alive since you’ve pissed off tree huggers to the point that they want to kill you.” He leaned into her space, throwing his arms out. “In what world does that happen?”
She ducked under his arm. “I’m done. You’re fired. This is ridiculous.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Bishop hooked her with an arm around her waist. For as short as she was, she hid some muscles under her hippie-hempy, flowy clothes. “You’re ten shades of off your rocker if you think I’m losing my dream gig over this. In you go.” He opened the driver’s door, deposited her inside, and semi-ignored how her lacy white skirt caught with the wind as he let her go. Her hands fought to smooth it into place as he slammed the door shut. Cursing every step on his way to the passenger seat, he shook his head. “Someone somewhere is making a YouTube video about this right now.”
And what the mother hell? Ella pulled her phone out and was talking into it before he reached his seat. He threw his door open. “What were you doing?”
“Vlogging. I told you; I’m documenting the process.”
“Right.” He reached for a button on the side of the car seat, and they listened to the tiny whir as the seat moved as far back as the car allowed.
Ella beamed. “I could put that on my blog too.”
With one eyebrow up, he silenced her amusement with a glare and forced his frame to fit into the little car. “Honest to God…”
A sly smile lit her face, and her giggle came back. Even his death glare didn’t silence her this time. “Honest to God, you fit.”
“I don’t,” he shot back.
“You’re in my car.”
“Barely.”
“The door shut.”
“Ella.” He dropped his voice, which wasn’t hard with his knees up to his chest.
“Yes?” she asked sweetly.
“What is your deal? No bullshit.”
“I—”
“No. Bullshit.”
“I try to live with as little of a negative carbon footprint each day as possible, and two cars, or your truck… that leaves a larger one.”
“That’s why we’re packed like sardines?”
“Yup,” she quipped.
“Isn’t there a quality of life that you’d like to also live?” He hoped to whatever her higher authority was that she said yes.
Her chin dropped as she fidgeted with the keys. “My quality of life is fine.”
The way she said it… where had all the sass gone? He recalibrated his approach, obviously hitting on something that wasn’t in her file, like a mental health check. “Well, mine might be a little better if we took my ride.”
The stoic look worked for her as she remained silent. He could see how thousands of people would follow her all around the world, trusting her when she leveled her serious stare. Even trapped like a gorilla in a hamster cage, he almost wanted to put up with their planned forty-five-minute drive. His leg cramps said otherwise. “I’m getting a charley horse, babe.”
She grimaced on his behalf, and there it was. He was making a little bit of headway with her, even if he couldn’t get her to say it. Whatever her issue was, she wasn’t a cramp-giving client from hell—just a crazy one.
“I just looked at your blog.” He tried again, hoping to find common ground. It was the truth too, even if it had only been two minutes of fast skimming, solely for the purpose of opposition research. “You don’t want people to live and suffer. You want them to adjust their lifestyle so the world is a better place. This. Sucks. I’m not adjusting anything based off this.”
“You were on Eco-Ella?”
“Bits.” He tried to shift, and the mouth to the seat belt dug into his side. “You wouldn’t video this and put it on there. You’d be off message.”
Her mouth dropped.
“It’d be against everything you say you want.”
Pink lips dropped a little more.
Bishop went in for the final offer. “Two cars, or I’m more than happy to drive with that eco-button pushed in my truck.” Who knew that thing would ever come in handy? “Eco-button for Eco-Ella?” She slid him a sideways glance, but was a moment away from giving in, he could tell. “Who knows? Maybe I should’ve had it pushed in all the time. I never thought about it before now. Come on, better than two cars. Or your car in the bed of my truck.”
She laughed quietly. “You know it won’t really fit.”
“I know.” Though it might.
With a tiny breath, she slumped back. “You win round one, Muscles.”
A flash of awareness danced in her eyes. “You did too.”
He leaned closer, letting the seat belt bite into his side. “I win round two. Round one went to you and the jerky-paper-towel fiasco.”
Blue eyes lit—all the confirmation he needed—and Ella pulled her buzzing handbag from behind her seat. “You’re right.”
Bishop reached for his door, and she pressed a button on her remote to pop the trunk.
“We should keep better score,” Ella said as she hopped out of her micro car and shut him in alone.
Yeah, sure. It was all a game. No death threats or stalker, who apparently wanted her dead. “You got it, Crazy.”
CHAPTER NINE
Jay pressed the rewind icon on his computer screen and tapped it to pause, zooming in on Ella. With a few quick snips and snaps, gone were her pristine picture and the beautiful background he’d snagged from Eco-Ella’s homepage.
He leaned back to analyze his creation and scrolled through the last few pics: Ella in the middle of commercialized hell, surrounded by neon lights. Then she was in a landfill mecca. Gone was her recyclable water bottle, professionally replaced with a Styrofoam container from some fast food chain. He smirked. That would make Ella sick. As he paged to the next picture, disgusted with the images, he knew Eco-Ella fans would go insane. One picture showed her next to an ashtray overfilled with non-biodegradable cigarette butts, while she casually chatted to Wall Street-looking suits. “Yeah, this is the money shot.”
Tara would go ballistic, and Jay couldn’t contain a chuckle as he imagined her going into uber-publicist mode when these surfaced. He’d already posted one picture to see how folks would react, and true to the Internet behavior, those who saw it believed it without so much as a questionable comment. Tara had said that his Photoshop skills were subpar. “Well, subpar this, Tara.”
He uploaded the new photos through another Monarch account, using an undetectable profile. Each picture had spectacular file names too.