Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
For the first time in four years, I have a personal purpose. I want to be here, if only to look at her every day.
I drop to a nearby chair and stare at the door. This isn’t just about her needing me. This is more me needing her. Young, strong-minded, determined, and brave.
I’m mad for her. I need to keep her. I need to protect her.
* * *
It’s the longest few hours of my fucking life, waiting for them to wrap up on the shoot. But strangely, my torture has nothing to do with what initially put me on this side of the door and everything to do with my mind whizzing with how best to approach my imminent situation.
Camille appears, her hair still wet, but now bundled in a messy knot atop her head, her makeup still in place, but, thank God, she’s back in her baggy trousers and oversized T-shirt. The fact that she insists on wearing clothes that are ten times too big for her just makes me admire her all the more. She has a body to die for, yet doesn’t flash it. I stand as she pulls the door shut behind her, looking pensive. It takes my mind a few moments to catch up. The last time she saw me I was tripping up all over my big feet.
“Go well?” I ask as I take her bag.
She narrows her bright eyes onto me accusingly. “What was that?”
“What?”
“Your funny little turn in there.” She waves over her shoulder.
“Like I said, a call.” I avoid her eyes, certain she’ll nail me and my white lie.
“Your phone wasn’t ringing,” she points out, scuppering my coolness.
“It was on silent.” I mentally cheer to myself for my smart thinking.
“And who was it?” she presses, obviously still suspicious.
This one is easy, because I did actually take a call. Just not when she thinks I took it. “A colleague.”
Now would be the perfect time to give Camille the heads-up on what might be on the horizon. No more shadow. But I don’t, and I have no idea why. Because I don’t want to accept it? Because I don’t want to upset her? Will she even be upset? “Just updating me on a few details.”
“And is there anything?” she asks, walking on when I motion for her to lead the way. She sounds casual, yet I can hear her uncertainty. Has she thought about what comes next, too?
“Nothing,” I say, passing up on another opportunity to share the news.
“That’s funny, because Dad just called and mentioned that he’s getting to the bottom of the threats. Said they’ll probably have it all sorted by the end of the day.” She says this all very quietly, peeking up at me discreetly.
I force my eyes not to widen. He did, did he? “Nothing’s certain,” I say robotically before going for subject change swiftly. “Are you hungry?” She must be. I didn’t see her eat any breakfast this morning, and it’s way past lunchtime. I’m not all too fond of her eating habits at the best of times, but her tradition to starve herself for twenty-four hours before a shoot is a massive bugbear. It’s not healthy.
“No, I’m good,” she answers thoughtfully, pushing her way through the doors into the reception area. “Dad also reminded me that it’s Chloe’s birthday garden party this evening.” She sounds less than enthused. “I need to be at his place in the country by seven.”
“A garden party?” I muse. Sounds fucking awful. “Sounds exciting.”
She throws a tired look up at me. “Don’t be sarcastic. You’ve got to be there, too, remember?”
I hum to myself. I’d like to see anyone try to stop me.
Like her father. Kind of convenient that Logan’s probably going to pull my protection after I casually pointed out that there was no courier on the day he claims the threat was received.
“Let’s go get some iced tea,” Camille suggests, carrying on her way.
I close my eyes briefly and follow. I’m trying not to let my edginess show. I want to take her home and lock her up, not go for fucking iced tea.
* * *
“Sit,” I say, pulling a chair out for her and instinctively scanning the surrounding area. For the first time since I started shadowing her, I take a seat at the same table as Camille, my move not costing me a thought. Then I pick up the menu and wave the waiter over. “One of those iced lemon teas, a black coffee, and a tuna salad.” The waiter nods and goes on his way, and I settle in my chair, looking up to find Camille with raised eyebrows. “What?”
“I thought you were my bodyguard, not my personal caregiver.”
My elbows meet the table and I lean in. “That changed the moment you let me inside you.” I take the best of pleasure from her creamy cheeks heating under my fiery stare. “Anything more to say?”