Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Keeping his eyes on her, he twisted at the waist and jabbed a finger toward the door. “You know those two guys out there?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“They have training you can’t comprehend. I’ve read their resumes and I don’t comprehend it. I know very little about the skills they need to hone to do their job well. What I do know is, they operate very differently when they protect someone who needs security because they generally live under threat, and one who is living under a credible threat. They did not have the information to do their jobs well, and in this instance, considering that means keeping you safe, do not fucking stand there, giving me attitude, because I’m pissed as all fuck you didn’t see to your own safety.”
“Says the man who only recently allowed himself to have a bodyguard.”
“We’re not talking about me, Elsa.”
“We weren’t, but considering you’re being a hypocrite, we are now.”
“I haven’t had a dead cat delivered to me.”
“Hudson says I’m receiving email from the same address, so maybe just a matter of time.”
“She wants me, she doesn’t want you to have me. The first is creepy, the second, obviously, is fucked right the fuck up. If she’s capable of doing that, Elz, what else would she do?”
She had no reply to that.
“Right,” he gritted.
They went into stare down.
She, the impatient New Yorker, lost.
“You’re mad at me because you’re worried about me. It’s being handled. Get over it.”
“I want all your email vetted by my security team.”
Her eyes went huge.
“This isn’t up for discussion, Elsa. You wanna know what people like us do? We have trained professionals that vet our email so when some crazy person escalates, and shares that with us, something can be done about it. This person escalated, not communicating to me. She, or he, or whoever they are, stopped sending messages to me because their focus turned to you. You’re doing weekly interviews on a big network. You have a huge prime-time special coming out in a couple of weeks. You’re gearing up to film your big series that will be streamed into hundreds of millions of homes. Congratulations. You made it. But sorry to say, nothing comes for free. And I don’t mean earning what you’ve got. I mean putting up with people being really fucking pissed they aren’t you, and willing to do something fucked in the head about it.”
“You’re right,” she said quietly, and he noted her expression had changed as well as her tone. He read remorse, and something else he didn’t know what it was. “Until I can find a service, I’ll be happy to use your team.”
He blew out a breath.
“I’m fine, honey.” She was still using that quiet voice.
He was glad he got through.
He still wasn’t over it.
She pushed away from the door, came to him, and fit herself to his front, her arms around him.
That was when he got over it.
He put his arms around her and dropped his face into her hair.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
She let him go long enough to hold her arms out to her sides, indication of him storming in and getting up in her shit.
Yeah. He could see that. He wouldn’t want to tell her either, if someone did something to him that was that whacked.
She then wrapped her arms around him again, and said, “Also, I think denial. I didn’t see what she sent, but we adopted Frosty and Cheddar this weekend, and it hit even closer to home. If I could pretend it wasn’t a big deal, I wouldn’t have to deal with the fact it absolutely is.”
And yeah. He got through.
Thank Christ.
“We’re on it now,” he assured.
“Okay.”
He pulled slightly away, and she looked up at him.
“You good to go home? Paul’s here. If you’re good, might as well go.”
“I could take off. Let me close down and grab my stuff.”
He bent and touched his mouth to hers then let her go.
She went to her office.
He went to the door and opened it. Rocco and Hudson filed in.
But it was Rocco who informed him, “We heard everything. Impossible not to. Just so you know, you were right about how we need to do our work. And we’ll get on that.”
Hale nodded to Rocco then texted Paul they were coming down.
Elsa came out, wearing her white trench coat and carrying her purse, her laptop bag over her shoulder.
And he paid a lot of attention as they walked from building to car.
The only threats he felt were the photographers taking pictures of them.
But she could be out there.
She probably was out there.
And he didn’t like it.
Heath
He had his orders.
So he made the call.
A man with an accent answered.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Vaughan?”
“Yes, Heath,” Rhys Vaughan, Corey Szabo’s man, replied.
“Mr. Szabo told me, if we have a situation, I need to phone you.”