Part 1 (2/2)
For one thing, there are a couple of photographers sitting on motorcycles on the other side of the gate.
But even worse than that, Cole Parker is standing on this side of it, and he looks p.i.s.sed.
Cole Parker. I think of him as the CFO of The Horus Group-CFO standing for Chief f.u.c.k-You Officer. I don't actually know his t.i.tle. The Horus Group probably doesn't do t.i.tles.
The four men came out of nowhere two years ago and buzz quickly swirled around them, branding them as the go-to crisis management team in the city. Probably got that reputation by getting bad people out of even worse situations. Hardly n.o.ble heroes, even if they look the part.
There are four of them, all various shades of bad-a.s.s super soldiers who turned in their uniforms for suits and smooth lines. Cole and Jason, both ex-Navy SEALs, according to my brother. Tag, an ex-cop, local to the Metro DC area. And Wilson...he looks like a computer nerd on steroids. Obviously a CIA hacker gone rogue.
And one of them is standing between me and freedom.
Part of me knew Cole would be waiting, because my father has them on speed dial. I just didn't expect him to be mad at me, which he clearly is.
Angry Cole is still incredibly good-looking, so I'm tempted to stand there and just look at him vibrating for a minute, but the last thing I need is a picture taken of me anywhere near Was.h.i.+ngton's favorite fixer. I grab the door before it even slaps shut behind me and as quickly as I stepped out into the damp January dreariness, I'm back inside.
But of course I'm not alone. That would be too easy.
Because this is the thing about Cole Parker. He's a f.u.c.king pit bull, and sometimes that's good, temporarily, when he's on your side. When you've p.i.s.sed him off, though, it's downright scary. He'll rip the heart out of anyone who crosses him, backed up by a carefully constructed non-disclosure agreement.
I should know. He made me sign one. It was the closest we've ever been, him leaning across the conference table pointing out the various places I needed to initial and sign. The delicate hairs on my arms had stood up as if they knew I wanted to say, Take Me, Mr. Parker. Totally inappropriate on a million levels, and the way he glowered at me, I knew he was thinking the same thing-never going to happen.
Six months, I've known Cole Parker. Well, known would be an exaggeration. My father hired The Horus Group to get him out of ”a bind”, as my mother would call it. Bile rises in my throat at the willful blindness there. A bind. For f.u.c.k's sake.
Six months, I've lived with the twin reactions of disgust and something...quite different than disgust. I don't want to name it, the way my skin p.r.i.c.kles when he's nearby. The way his dark gaze gets under my skin and takes up residence, leaving an itchy awareness that Cole Parker is not like other men. Not in general, and not for me.
So I should keep walking, up the stairs, through the office and out the front door, cameras be d.a.m.ned.
Instead, I stand there like a chump, waiting for him to lay into me. It doesn't take long.
”You're not answering your phone,” he growls, and I jam my sungla.s.ses on top of my head so he can see me roll my eyes and know that I'm not impressed. ”You're out of your f.u.c.king mind if you think I'm letting you be chased down an alley by thugs on bikes.”
”I was just going across the alley, and if my safety is at jeopardy, you could have called the police.” I take a step towards the stairs and he moves with me, closing the gap, so I stop. The last thing I want to do is get any closer to the coiled snake that is my father's personal crisis management expert.
”Ms. Reid, this is not a time to be principled.”
I'm sure that where Cole Parker is concerned, there's never a time to worry about such things as principles and morals and laws. ”It's okay. I'll go out the front.”
He narrows his eyes-still hazel flecked with gold, just like my stupid memory recorded them from our previous encounters-and backs me up against the wall. ”I've got men out front. We're taking you home, one way or another.”
”That's not my home.”
I'm pretty sure I can hear teeth grinding as he glowers down at me. ”Fine, then to your apartment.”
I'm the second of four children born back to back to back. Staring contests? Ha. f.u.c.k Cole Parker. I've got this in the bag. I tilt my head to the side as if to say, bring it, pretty boy.
He really is. Pretty, I mean, in a masculine, made of steel kind of way. Dark brown hair, thick dark lashes around those tiger eyes of his. A chronic case of s.e.xy stubble that a really good razor could probably fix, but wouldn't that be a shame.
If he was anyone else, I'd take this staring contest as an opportunity to eye f.u.c.k him. Run my fingertips along his jaw and- ”Stop it.” He jams his hand on the wall next to my head and leans in close, his harsh words reverberating between us. Close enough that I get my first whiff of his spicy sweet cologne. It brings with it the dawning realization that I did exactly what I really meant not to do-I let him get close.
f.u.c.k me. I swallow hard and pretend I don't care. ”You blinked.”
”This is not a game, Ms. Reid. You might not like the drama that your family members face from time to time, but my job is to make sure you're safely escorted home.”
”I thought your job was to-”
”Uh uh uh.” He shakes his head as he presses his index finger against my lips. A s.h.i.+ver wracks through my body at the touch, and I fight to keep my eyes their normal size. Controlling my pulse is a lost cause, it's hammering away like a Habitat for Humanity crew on speed. ”You keep your feisty little comments about what I do to yourself. I do the job that needs to be done, regardless of whether or not I like it. And I don't blink. Let's go.”
He drops my sungla.s.ses back into place on my face, then somehow he wraps his arm behind me and is easing me out the door before I have a chance to protest again. Since we're in view of the photographers, I give up the fight. He can take me to my apartment. Point, Cole. I'll slam the door in his face as soon as I'm inside. Future point, Hailey.
I slide a neutral mask of indifference over my face as Cole maneuvers me around the cameras and motorbikes, keeping his body between me and anyone else at all times. He's tall enough that it literally feels like I've got my own brick wall around me. I hate to admit how nice that is for a change, not having to construct one out of wishes and denial and principled hot air.
He gets me into the pa.s.senger side of a giant black SUV and before I have a chance to take a breath by myself, he's around to the other side and we're off.
”You don't listen to music?” It's weird how quiet the car is. And how clean. It looks like a rental car on the inside, but it doesn't smell like one.
No, Cole's car smells like the man himself. Sinfully delicious. Stop it, Hailey. I can't. Desire is apparently my stress response, because I'm not normally like this. But every six months, my family hits the evening news, Cole storms into my life, and I get all achey in the good places.
”Not when I'm escorting a client.”
”I'm not a client.”
”Same thing.”
”I don't need your help.”
He doesn't answer.
”Are you afraid I'm going to make fun of your terrible taste?”
He stares straight ahead, as if my question has no effect, but after a beat he taps his finger against the stereo. Nine Inch Nails. Okay, he doesn't have terrible taste. Point, Cole. It's a good thing he doesn't know I'm keeping score.
I give him a sideways glance, which I'm sure he notices but doesn't acknowledge. He's driving quickly, not speeding exactly, but moving faster through traffic than I feel should be possible. And he does it with ease, which is...concerning. And hot.
He cuts around the university and heads north. Of course he knows where I live, but I'm annoyed that he didn't even bother with the pretense of asking for my address.
Out the window, everything is cold and dreary. I hate January. Even though it's mid-morning, it doesn't feel bright out yet, like the day is sluggish to get started. Ridiculous, because so much has already happened today.
I know what we'll find at my apartment-another minor swarm of photographers. I must have just missed them this morning because I went to the gym before work. Taryn dragging me to early morning yoga finally paid off. But I've been through this once before, although six months ago I didn't decide to ride out the drama in my own s.p.a.ce.
This time would be different. I clear my throat and brace myself for opposition. ”I'm not going to my parents' estate. You can't make me pack a bag and leave again.”
He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. Disapproval rolls off him in a palpable wave, making the last minute of the car ride incredibly uncomfortable. He parks half a block up from my low-rise apartment building, turns off the SUV, and just sits there.
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