Bishop's Queen

by Cristin Harber

  Ella Does Wall Street. Ella Does Corporate CEOs. Ella Makes Friends with Corporate Greed. Ella Loves Styrofoam—the upload was complete. Using the torrent side of Monarch was almost too easy, and normal users would see the photos and have a PR field day. Tara and Ella’s day was going to suck.

  Proud of his accomplishments, Jay leaned back in his chair and stretched, eying his chessboard. All morning, he had played against himself, strategizing and analyzing his skills, determining which positions were the best offense and defense. It took a special kind of talent to be the grand master of his own games, internally challenging and initiating moves to outwit his own psyche. Chess was a thinking man’s game, one that pushed Jay to be brilliant in all things that he endeavored.

  Speaking of brilliance…

  “How’s that little addition looking?” he mumbled, flipping back to check the comment he’d left after he uploaded his trial picture.

  Wow. That one afterthought had 174 likes, proving people knew what they needed to do.

  “Time to go viral.” He swiped the screen to see his current uploads, adding the same comment to each newly uploaded picture. Ella’s cell phone number.

  ***

  Bishop threw his hand over the back of the passenger seat headrest, easing his truck into the parallel parking spot—the tiny one that Ella waved him away from—reversing, then dropping the gearshift into park. The drive to her condo had been filled with an odd, one-sided conversation of Ella talking to her phone, explaining to whoever was watching on a live video cell phone feed that his big, awful, gas-guzzling, earth-ruining ride wasn’t that depraved.

  If he rolled his eyes once, he’d done it fifty times. When she threatened to show the world her driver at one of his grumblings, he gave a strong enough glare that she quickly shut down that idea, instead flipping around and zooming in for an up-close-and-personal conversation with the ECO button next to his radio. All in all, it was an educational broadcast, though if he’d known the inside of his truck was going to be on display, maybe he would’ve shined her up a bit.

  “So, warriors, you know the drill. Post your comments, and I’ll get to them later.” Ella dropped the phone. “I didn’t think you’d fit in this spot.”

  “I did.” Now that she wasn’t talking to the folks posting questions, her phone buzzed and rang incessantly, grating his nerves. “I’m not your driver, babe.”

  She eyed him, the steering wheel, then back to his face again. “Well, I lost out on the driving opportunity. So I’m not the driver.”

  “Warriors?”

  “We have causes and a fight.”

  All right, Internet Badass. He stifled another eye roll and hopefully avoided a lecture about the definition of a warrior.

  “The word has more than one connotation, Bishop. You and your soldier buddies don’t have a lock on it.” Her phone vibrated in her purse, and with a slamming hand, she silenced it. “Ready?” She was a warrior secretly pissed off at that potato sack purse of hers.

  “Always.”

  Her phone buzzed again, and with another slap at it, she opened her door and hopped out, heading to the front door of her condominium.

  Crazy was on the move. She strutted as if she owned the world, white skirt drifting. Bishop liked her dark-blue tank top, mostly because, when her hair moved, he got peeks of her back and shoulder blades. When he’d hooked an arm around them earlier, he was struck with how deceptively forceful she was. It reminded him that long ago, he’d spent an inordinate amount of time with his hands on her back.

  Ella glided on the sidewalk, confident and carefree. Everything about her cadence and her easy nature-chic was picture perfect, except how she wrapped her arms around her bag. It didn’t hang on her shoulder. No, she was strangling it to her breasts.

  She twisted, staring at him in the truck. “Hey! Coming?”

  That was his cue to stop gawking. He pushed out and opened the dually’s door. “Hang on. Here I come with your skid of vegetation.”

  “We don’t have to bring it all in. Just a couple for me and my neighbors.”

  “Got it.” He pulled the first box from the truck bed and smelled the mint. Yup, he could see why she didn’t want to move these babies out of her car. They were tiny air fresheners. Even out in the open, they had a strong scent. He juggled them and a few of the lavenders as he caught up to Ella, finding his key fob to lock the truck.

  “Stop calling,” she mumbled.

  “Hey,” he said to the doorman as they stepped into her building. Her mumbling alternated with a dose of looking at her phone and shoving it back into her purse. Bishop eased closer to her side as they moved from the open entryway to a wall. “I thought you loved that thing.”

  “Sometimes, it goes a little nuts.” Her cell buzzed nonstop, and Bishop watched the screen pop up with phone calls that she swiped to ignore, slowing down as she pulled up her text messages and typed something that, from what he could eyeball, included a ton of exclamation points.

  A response pinged, and Ella stopped and stared, before angry-typing back.

  “Or you can tell me what’s going on.” He put his hand on her back, urging forward momentum. At the elevators, he pressed the call button. “Floor?”

  “Three.” But she didn’t take her eyes off her phone, fighting or whatever, with someone.

  Ella’s building was modern to a fault, almost lifeless. Everything was metal and harsh. The natural light had bled into the entryway through a glass wall, but there was a harshness. The entire building had a contemporary feel.

  He hated cold, unfeeling buildings. Though, bonus, he appreciated the high-tech security and doorman. That made his job easier. Titan would know who came in and out, and Parker, the genius behind all things tech-related at Titan, had already outfitted her condo with upgrades.

  “This way.” She led them out when the elevator door opened, never once looking at her surroundings. Not the best moves for someone with a stalker. Then again, that was why he was there. He looked both ways, doing what she should have. At her door, she slipped the phone into her purse, pulling a key out.

  With one twist, she let him in. “Home sweet home.”

  She didn’t bother disarming the security system. It was set to DISARMED. Irritation ground at his nerves. There was only so much that could be done if she chose not to use the damn thing. He set the lavender and mint down as carefully as he could.

  Ella fretted over her plants. “Easy with those, please.”

  Hell. “Really?” If she wouldn’t be careful with her life, damned if he was worried about banging up some plants.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Not smart, babe.” He gave Ella a look, and she gave one right back. They’d been back in each other’s lives for a few hours and had figured out how to communicate with eyeball bulges and eyebrow lifts. Not bad. Except what hers said was something along the lines of bite me.

  “It’s a pain in the ass, Muscles. I’m sick of it going off for no reason. Speaking of which…” A little dog and kitten ran into the room. “Meet no reason. This is Furry Baby and Little Kitty. My other security system.”

  Her dog, mostly made of cotton balls, didn’t bark. Not what Bishop would deem a help-to-the-cause when he was an unknown in Ella’s condo. Brick, his mutt of a dog, would have smelled, growled, and barked loud enough that the neighbors a mile away would have been aware of the meet-and-greet process. “I think this system isn’t engaged either.”

  Her dog rolled over on its belly, asking for tummy rubs, and Bishop couldn’t have had a better example of what a guard dog shouldn’t do.

  “Oh, be nice, Bishop.” Ella dropped down and snuggled the rolling dog. “Furry Baby knows. If you were bad, he’d just love you to death.”

  The dog jumped up and smacked her with a kiss as if to agree. Bishop wasn’t going to call any animal Furry Baby or Little Kitty out loud. They clobbered her face, making her squeal, and Bishop laughed. “Another battle for another day.”

  “Enou
gh! Enough.” Gasping in laughter, Ella rolled as both animals crawled over her. “Wait—Is that a gun tucked under your shirt?”

  His eyes dropped to his side. “That would be a gun. Yeah.” The same one that had been there all day.

  “Why do you have a gun on still?” She batted the dog and kitten away, staring at the concealed carry that hadn’t been overly intrusive, but he sure as hell wouldn’t have left it in his truck or at work.

  He offered her a hand to help her off the floor. “Why do you worry about fledgling bee populations?”

  “Ha, ha.” She gripped his hand, letting him tug her up. “I mean, I get it. Bodyguard work or whatever. But we were just coming here. So… you always have a gun on you?”

  “Yes.”

  Ella scooped up the kitten and gave it a kiss before setting it down. “Always?”

  “Yes.”

  “Movie theater?”

  “Yes.”

  “Grocery store?”

  “Yes.” He walked farther into her condo and turned. This wasn’t how he’d pictured Eloise—Ella—as an adult. Not that he’d pictured her. Well, he had had a thought or two, or ten, about her over the years. Who didn’t think about an ex? Especially when they broke off under circumstances like theirs. But this was Ella as a very green adult whose living space was perfect. Every cushion and picture frame looked expertly placed. All things matched and, oddly enough, reminded him of Eco-Ella. The woman took branding to a whole new level. She lived it. “I’m armed at all the times.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she watched him assess her collection of knickknacks from what had to be many different trips to various parts of the world.

  “What about during sex, Muscles? Bet you’re not armed then.” She didn’t even bat an eye. Not a wink. Not a blush.

  Nothing like the choked laugh lodged in his throat. “You win. Not on me.”

  He turned back to the wall of travel memorabilia, because he wasn’t one to put his hot cheeks on display. Ella had made him blush? He could blush? That was news on several levels.

  “I don’t like guns,” she explained. “Actually, I loathe them.”

  “Well, I don’t like to shoot people, El, but there’s a time and a place for everything.”

  “Well, this is my home,” she murmured. “No shooting in here please.”

  Time for a subject change. Guns could be a hot-button issue with certain people, and he had a feeling Ella was the leader of that group. Besides, he was more interested in her cell hidden in her purse. “What’s the deal with the calls?”

  She groaned, taking his invitation for a shift in topics, and dropped her head back. “Some asshole gave my phone number out.” She twirled, and her skirt flared as she flopped down on her couch. “I hate calls to begin with. So having my phone ring nonstop is maddening.”

  Instinct on high alert, Bishop shifted his weight and rubbed a hand over his jaw, catching the scent of lavender and mint. He tried to hold that herb-scented breath in for a five-count as his patience had officially worn thin. One, two, three, fuck it… “Think that’s something you should mention?”

  “To you?” She pushed upright on the couch, and her dog jumped next to her. “You’re upset about the calls?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Maybe they needed a roadmap or a strict set of rules that she needed to follow.

  Use your security system.

  Report harassing phone calls.

  Somehow, the woman in front of him seemed unable to see what he clearly could.

  “First, stalker boy isn’t calling me.” Ella ticked off while pointing on a finger.

  A headache scratched at his temples. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do know that. I’ve been doing this Eco-Ella thing longer than you know.”

  “I know exactly how long you’ve been doing Eco-Ella. I read your damn file, El.” Mostly.

  “Well, not in enough depth to realize who I was, genius. Second—”

  Round three, point goes to Eloise—Ella. “When death threats are involved, you and your people are not the ones who filter threats anymore.”

  “Bishop,” she snapped. “Someone put my phone number on the Internet. That’s it. It’s out there. It happens all the time. I’ve changed my number before, but I’d rather wait it out. Updating the people who should have my number with the new one is a pain in the ass. This is my life.”

  “That you brought on yourself.”

  She threw her arms out. “Have I given you the impression that I don’t like it? Because I do. I love it. More than you can ever imagine. It’s taken me places, brought me my dreams, saved me from a hell that you don’t know about, and I’m not changing it because some asshole out there doesn’t like what I’m doing!”

  “Damn it, Ella.” Truth was, he didn’t know the woman in front of him. He didn’t know her wants or goals, and he had no clue what her dreams were. No idea what Eco-Ella had saved her from. Bishop cleared his throat. She was a Titan VIP. That’s the only thing that mattered. “Fine. Agreed. I don’t get this.”

  She nodded, the coloring on her cheeks fading. “Fine.”

  The kitten and dog sat on either side of her, and Bishop stood awkwardly in her living room. “Why don’t you turn the volume off and vibrate off?”

  “I might miss a notification I need.” Her dog licked her neck, and for one vulnerable second, the pissed-off chick, who was having none of this conversation, relaxed and lay down on her couch.

  “Only on phone calls,” he countered.

  “Yeah.” She laughed as the dog tickled her until she shoved him away. “I’ll go into my settings and auto-reject any call from unknown numbers.”

  Good. Compromise. Teamwork. They were heading in the right direction. This was something they could do. “Second, I need to know these things so we can rule out that it’s not who you’re calling stalker boy.”

  She propped up on an elbow, ready to protest, but he shook his head. “Ella, I know you’ve been doing this on your own.”

  “I have a team.”

  “Then with your team. And that you have a gut feeling on it, but now you have my team too.” The team. The best in the world. Didn’t she know that? “We need to be looped in for no other reason than to take out the noise as we monitor the chatter.”

  She focused on the dog. “It’s not him.”

  “Glad you’re an expert on stalkers and all—”

  “You’re not an expert. You’re mister military gun-strapping, jerky-eating guy. With big muscles and stupid hair.”

  “What is your problem? Did we not just say team?” He cracked his neck. “And what the hell is wrong with my hair?”

  “I don’t know. The first part of my list, I hate. The second two just came out.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Bishop sucked in his cheeks, semi-self-conscious, no matter how she’d meant it. He’d already mentally given her permission to throw cheap shots and be a jerk. He’d earned it, one of the reasons he would put up with it. She wouldn’t be in this situation if he hadn’t left her. They’d likely both have very different lives. But he didn’t see the angle of her backhanded compliment and didn’t like the way it settled in his chest.

  He ran a hand into his stupid hair, needing to bring the conversation back to the expert talk. “Touché. But I am more versed with the criminal sect than you. I know the experts. So we play by my rules until no rules are needed.”

  Ella didn’t budge.

  Stifling the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, Bishop moved to the edge of her couch, lifted her feet off, and dropped them. “Sit up a sec.”

  “Those were my feet,” she said, pointing out the obvious.

  “Give me a break.” But point made. That was probably far too personal a touch than he should’ve made. But he was drawn to do it again, damn it.

  “I would rather lie here with Furry Baby and Little Kitty.”

  He patted her skirt-covered knees, that half-hung off the couch, then pulled his hand back. “What aren’t yo
u telling me?”

  She shrugged. Demanding that she spit it out wouldn’t work, and his temples throbbed. Bishop rubbed his forehead, and the instant scent of lavender and mint met his nose. He brought his hands closer and inhaled. They’d scent-stained his hands but now offered somewhat of a calming effect or, at the very least, a distracting one.

  He wasn’t a shrink and didn’t know the first thing about getting Crazy to talk. But he knew that she had to say it. Whatever it was. “Do you want a beer, babe?”

  “Ha!” Ella dropped her elbow over her face as her dog heard something imaginary and took off, the kitten chasing after it. “I could probably use one.”

  “You’re wound a little tight. I’d say you could use a six-pack.”

  “I’d die if I drank a six-pack. Then you’d get fired.”

  “No six-pack for the lady.” He patted her knee again, drawn to touching her. The soft skirt smoothed against his palm, and he let his hand rest.

  Across the room, her kitten rolled over itself and a little toy, and her dog watched him. Ella hadn’t removed her arm, which acted as a blindfold, and the whole scene was like a circus. Maybe he was the one who really needed the beer. He stood and walked toward the kitchen attached to her living room.

  Ella hummed. “You’re about to be very disappointed.”

  He pulled the obviously energy-efficient fridge open, and—No. Shit. Not only was there a lack of beer. There was also a lack of what he would call food. “I’m all for healthy eating and all, but…”

  “I could use a trip to the grocery store. And I eat out.”

  That surprised him. He eyeballed the lack of edible options and unrecognizable labels. “Probably not where I do.”

  The fridge wasn’t just filled with organic packages and the expected tofu. There was actually grass in her refrigerator. Ella had a patch of live, growing grass on the top shelf. Some parts were snipped down as though she’d… eaten it?

  Bishop was a gym rat. It wasn’t a moniker he owned, but he wasn’t stupid. He clocked enough hours at enough gyms, lifted enough weights, worked out enough, traveled in enough circles, and ate healthy enough that he knew what wheatgrass was. But never in his life had he known someone who actually owned what he assumed was wheatgrass and actually cultivated it in their fridge.