Chapter Five
Emma
"Gran, I love you, but you're going to drive me to drink," I say, shaking my head at Gran, who's knitting on the sofa like I didn't receive a panicked call from Lottie, our neighbor, earlier today, informing me that they escaped and took the car again. "You and Bets have to learn to behave."
"Pah." She flaps a hand in the air. "We did that for almost eight decades. Now, we're old enough to do what the hell we want."
"You're never too old to be arrested," I remind her, chewing my bottom lip. "You can't keep driving without a license."
"Oh, hush, dear," Bets says, patting me on the hand. "We didn't even go far today. Just to Cookeville and back."
"Bets!" Gran turns a scowl on her, earning a sheepish grin from Bets.
"You drove to Cookeville?" I place my hands on my cheeks, staring at them in dismay. Cookeville is over an hour away. Way too far for the two of them to be going by themselves without a license between them. Gran got hers taken away after the stroke. I'm honestly not sure Bets ever had one to begin with. "Why in the world did you need to go to Cookeville?"
"I like the mall there," Gran says.
"Gran, we live in Nashville. There are malls everywhere!"
"They're full of tourists. I like to shop in peace and quiet, Emmaline."
I don't even want to know what she was shopping for today. There's no telling with her. My grandparents never had much. Grandpa worked every day for every penny they had. But when he died, he left Gran a millionaire. I don't think she even knew about the massive life insurance policy he'd taken out on himself until the day we found the paperwork.
What he couldn't give her in life, he's more than making up for in death. Gran and Bets shop like they're professionals and love every minute of it. It's terrifying, honestly.
"Oh! That reminds me." Gran sets her knitting aside and hauls herself off the sofa before hobbling toward the kitchen, only to return a few moments later with a bag under her arm. "I picked this up for you today."
I carefully reach into the bag, retrieving the book tucked inside. "Good Girls Get Punished," I read the title aloud, my eyes widening at the mostly naked man on the cover. "Good lord. I think the towel in front of his package may be the only thing keeping it from saluting the whole world."
"They really ought to make book covers like they do those moving images on your computer," Bets says, peering over my shoulder. "I'd like to see what he can do when he drops that towel."
"Bets!" I cry, shoving the book back into the bag as my cheeks burn.
Gran cackles, slapping her knee.
"Well, don't blame me!" Bets huffs. "If he's going to put it out there, I have a right to wonder, don't I?"
"You have got to stop reading dirty romance," I tell her before turning narrowed eyes on Gran. "And you have to stop driving. If you want to go shopping while I'm at work, all you have to do is let Lottie know. She'll take you."
Lottie helps keep an eye on Gran and Bets while I'm working. At least she tries to keep an eye on them for me. They tend to escape before she realizes they're gone more often than not. It's not her fault. They're crafty for old ladies.
"Lottie drives like she's got one foot in the grave," Gran says.
"And she listens to that God-awful screaming racket," Bets agrees, her lips pursed just like Grans. Aside from the fact that Bets wears her hair long while Gran prefers to keep hers permed, there's no telling them apart. They're identical, right down to the little birthmarks on their left earlobes.
"It's rap," Gran says.
"It is not rap. That sweet boy with the bad tattoos is rap. What's his name, dear?" she asks me. "Toast Throne?"
"Toast Throne? Do you mean Post Malone, Bets?"
"Yes! That's the one." She beams at me. "Such a sweet boy."
How does she even know enough about Post Malone to have an opinion of his character? I don't even know enough about him to have an opinion. Actually, I don't want to know how she knows about him. Some questions are better left unanswered.
"Maybe we should find you a nice musician," Gran muses. "You can't carry a tune in a bucket. Having someone around here who can sing would be nice."
"I don't want a musician."
"Doctor?" Bets suggests.
"At least they'd be useful if we keel over," Gray murmurs, picking up her knitting again.
"No."
"Lawyer?"
"That'll come in handy next time you get a ticket, Lou."
"No."
"Hon, are you sure you even like men?" Gran asks me, straight-faced. "It's all right if you don't, you know."
"Gran, I'm straight."
"Are you sure? You've never even been on a date with a man, let alone gotten busy with one."
"Are you suggesting she should sleep with a man to find out if she likes it?" Bets asks.
"I'm just making an observation, but if she wants to take one for a test drive before committing to a purchase, well, I suppose that's her prerogative, isn't it?"
"Yes, I'm sure!" I cry, hiding my face in my hands. Maybe I should take up drinking. I don't even like the taste of alcohol, but surely, it's no worse than listening to Gran and Bes talk about my lack of a sex life. "I met someone."
Crap. I didn't mean to say that.
"Oh, dear," Gran whispers. "You've gone and fallen in love, haven't you?"
"What?" I pull my hands away from my face. "No."
"Oh, she has!" Bets cackles. "That's why she's been so cranky lately, Lou!"
"Who is he?" Gran asks.
"Does he look like the guy on that book cover?"
"Oh, my God." There's no way I'm telling either of these crazy women about Zayne. Knowing my luck, they'll be on his doorstep within the hour, demanding to know his intentions. Or, worse, demanding to know the condition of his package. Gran wasn't lying when she said they were old enough to do what they wanted. It's her motto in life now. And I'm pretty sure it's always been Bets' motto. "Can we please talk about something else? This doesn't even matter."
"Why not?"
"Because it's never going to happen!"
Gran and Bets share a look before Gran reaches for my hand. "Come sit down with me, dear."
I reluctantly let her lead me to the couch, flopping down gracelessly only to grimace when a knitting needle jabs me in the butt cheek. I retrieve it, setting it aside.
"Why don't you want to talk about your young man, Emmaline?"
"Because he's not mine, Gran," I sigh. "He's just a guy at work."
"A client?"
"No. He runs a private security company that Camila contracts."
Gran nods knowingly. "And he has a stick up his butt and doesn't know you exist? Your grandpa was the same way when we first met."
I snort, finding that hard to believe. Grandpa worshipped the ground Gran walked on, and everyone knew it. The man didn't have a poetic bone in his body, but he wrote her the sweetest love letters.
"Zayne knows I exist," I mutter. "The man won't leave me alone."
Gran and Bets share another look. I swear, they've honed their twin powers over the last eighty years. They say more to each other with a look than most people say in an hour of conversation. It's terrifying, really.
I'm not sure what they're saying now, but Gran wraps an arm around my shoulders, running her fingers through my hair. "Then maybe you should stop fighting to resist him and find out why he's so keen to chase, dear girl. Before you miss out on something you can't get back."
"She's right." Bets bobs her head in an emphatic nod. "You don't want to end up old and alone like me, do you?"
"You aren't alone, Bets. You have us."
She smiles at me, but it doesn't reach her eyes like usual. "And I wouldn't change a minute of it. But there are some mistakes you can't take back, sweet girl. I know because I made the same one you're making now. I fought it until I chased my man clean out of town. He went off to war, never knowing how I felt about him."
"Bets." My expression falls. I didn't know that. I always thought she never got married because she never wanted to be tied down. She's always been independent, seemingly content on her own. "Did he did he die overseas?"
"What? Good heavens, girl, no. The man came home and decided to go to work robbing banks."
"Bets, I don't think this story is having the intended impact," I say wryly. It sounds more like she might have dodged a bullet if you ask me.
"War changes people, Emmaline. The man who came back from that war wasn't the one I fell in love with. Who knows how life would have turned out if I'd just bent a little?" she asks. "Maybe his life would have been different."
"Maybe you'd have been a bank robber too."
"It worked for Bonnie and Clyde, didn't it?"
"What? No! No, it did not work for Bonnie and Clyde," I say, laughing in disbelief. "Their story ended with everyone dying."
"Perhaps, but it ended with them together." Bets' eyes twinkle. "That has to count for something."
I never pegged my aunt as a hopeless romantic, but I think she may be the biggest romantic I know. I'm not entirely convinced she's right about dying together in infamy being the way to go, but maybe she and Gran have a point.
I've been fighting so hard to protect my heart from Zayne but what if doing it means leaving his open to be broken? Is that really the weight I want to carry for the rest of my life?
"We need to talk."
"We're talking now, Zayne," I say, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear while I work on proofing the press release Camila dropped on my desk a few minutes ago.
"In person."
"We just talked in person the day before yesterday," I remind him. "You cornered me in the breakroom and kissed me." He may have forgotten, but I certainly haven't. Ever since my talk with Gran and Bets, I've thought about nothing but him and those two kisses. They've become the star of very vivid, very frustrating dreams, as a matter of fact.
"That wasn't a kiss. That was a goodbye. When I kiss you, you'll know it."
"Your lips touched mine." I glance around furtively to make sure Camila isn't close enough to overhear. I haven't told her about the kisses yet. "That's the definition of a kiss."
"Yeah? Want to test that theory?"
The little bell over the front door chimes, pulling my attention. When I glance up, one very hot giant is standing there, looking incredibly smug. And way too hot in a three-piece suit. He makes the bodyguard uniform look way too freaking good.
"Hello, lamb," he drawls.
How in the world did he call from his office number if he's on a cellphone? This is not how phones are supposed to work!
"You're supposed to be at your office," I complain into the phone.
"Forwarded the number." He smirks, leaning against the door frame. "You think I've been answerin' the phone every time you call by accident?"
"No. I thought I was just unlucky," I grumble, earning an even bigger smile from him. "Why did you call me if you were already here?" And why am I still talking to him on the phone when he's standing in front of me? Jeez.
I drop the phone into the cradle a little harder than necessary.
He chuckles before pulling his away from his ear to tuck it into his breast pocket. "I called to distract you so you'd keep your pretty little ass at your desk this time until I made it in the building. Wouldn't want you losing another tampon under that desk, baby girl."
"Oh, my God. Please leave my office."
"No, can do." He sobers, the smile sliding from his face. "We have to talk."
"We've been doing that for five minutes now."
"This is serious."
"So is this." I swipe the press release off my desk and wave it in the air. "Have you ever tried to proofread for Camila? She throws commas around like they're glitter. And we need to get this out immediately."
Our new client, Gray Larsen, has had some trouble with the press recently after a disastrous Win-a-Date contest. His date got sloshed, and tried to proposition him. She then puked on his shoes while he was trying to get her into a cab to get her home, which a few lucky photographers caught on camera. It's been all over the gossip pages lately.
Everyone is poking fun at him. Which would be fine and dandy, except a few have started to question if he did something to get her to that state. He didn't, but it doesn't take much for an athlete to end up with a bad reputation, even if it's undeserved.
Gray doesn't deserve it. He's a great guy. He's also a fantastic hockey player. He just happens to be a certified disaster off the ice. He needs all the help he can get turning the press in his favor. Camila sent him camping with the Boy Scouts the other day to help rehab his tarnished image. It didn't go well. He ended up with poison ivy in unmentionable places.
He's very dramatic!
"Fine. Finish proofreading, and then we'll talk."
I narrow my eyes on Zayne. "I can't work if you're watching me."
"Why not?"
"It's weird."
"It's weird to read while I sit here quietly and enjoy the view?" He lowers himself into the chair across from my desk, keeping both eyes focused on me the entire time. There's no mistaking the heat in his gaze, as if he fully intends for me to know just how much he enjoys the view.
It's mind-boggling to me that a man who looks like him looks at me the way he does. He's completely gorgeous, but he stares at me as if I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. I don't think anyone has ever looked at me quite like he does.
I give up trying to get him to go away. It's pretty evident he's going to do the exact opposite of anything I say. When I said he was relentless, I wasn't kidding.
"How long were you a Marine?"
"Ten years. Why?"
"Just trying to figure out if they made you this annoyingly stubborn or if it's a requirement to join up," I say sweetly, earning a belly laugh from him.
"Baby, I was born this way. Ask my ma."
"You call her Ma?" I smile despite myself. Of course, he calls her Ma instead of Mom. He's about as Southern as they come. Why is that so attractive to me?
"She'd kick my ass if I called her anything else."
My smile turns into a full-blown grin. "You're scared of your mom."
"Hell yeah, I'm afraid of Ma. She's five-foot-nothing and meaner than a junkyard dog."
"No, she is not."
He cracks a smile. "Nah, she's sweet as pie. But she'd fuck me up in a heartbeat. She raised three boys. She doesn't know the definition of backing down."
"She sounds awesome."
"She thinks you sound awesome."
I fumble my pen, leaving a line of red ink across Camila's release. "You told your mom about me?"
"Mmhmm."
Oh, my word. This man really is going to be the death of me.
"Zayne! You can't go telling your mom about me like we're dating. We aren't dating."
"Trust me, I'm aware," he growls, pouting like a little boy who didn't get his way. "Ma is ready to kick my ass because you've shot me down seventy-three times in a row."
"Seventy-three Have you been counting?"
He jerks his chin in a nod. "Gideon thinks you'll make it a square one hundred. Zion has his money on one fifty."
"Wait. You guys are betting on how many times I'll turn you down?"
"Me? Fuck no. But they think it's hilarious that you're hellbent on givin' me a complex. I don't suppose you want to do me a favor and say yes so they shut the fuck up already?"
"I " I shake my head, at a loss for words. He told his mom about me, and she thinks it's his fault I won't date him. His brothers are betting on how many times I'll turn him down. He talks to his family about me. What am I supposed to say to that?
"Finish your proofreadin', lamb."
I leap at the chance to exit the conversation, my mind reeling. For weeks now, I've been trying to convince myself that I'm just a passing curiosity for him and that he'll get bored and move on soon. I've been clinging to that as if it'll spare my heart. But he just stole a big chunk of it anyway.
I haven't given a single inch, and he's already talking about me to the people who matter to him. If I were just a notch on his bedpost, I don't think he'd be doing that. Maybe it's not like that in most places, but in the South, getting families involved is serious.
Yesterday, when Bets raised the possibility that I could break his heart, I almost talked myself out of believing it. But the proof is right here, staring me in the face.
And that's somehow even more terrifying than the possibility of him breaking my heart. I know nothing about love, relationships, or dating. I've avoided all possibilities of them, throwing myself into caring for Gran and Bets so I didn't have time to think about it. So long as they were my priority, I could convince myself that there was no room in my life for anyone else. I didn't have to face reality.
And the reality is this: everything I know about love ends in grief. My dad loved my mom fiercely, right up until she destroyed him and then got them both killed. Gran loved Grandpa madly, right up until he died, leaving her spinning like a top. I run because it's easier than facing the possibility that I might end up facing the same thing. Or, worse, that I might be just as destructive and selfish as my mom.
The last thing I want to do is hurt this man. But what if that fatal flaw was encoded in my DNA, passed down from her? It's a terrifying possibility, the one that keeps me up at night.
I have to read through the press release three times before I manage to successfully proof it. My mind keeps bouncing back to the man sitting across from me, patiently waiting for me to finish. But on the third pass, I've given up trying to figure out what the right thing to do is here, and I'm mostly confident I finally got all of Camila's wayward commas. I reluctantly set it beside a paperweight shaped like a hair bow, blowing out a breath.
"What do you want to talk about?"
"You're in danger."
I blink at him. "Excuse me?"
"You're in danger," he says again.
"I'm in danger? What are you talking about?" I narrow my eyes on him. "Did you hit your head or something?"
"No."
"Are you on drugs?"
"Fuck no," he snorts.
"Then you're just plain crazy. I'm not in danger, Zayne."
"You are. Someone hired me to provide security services to you because they have reason to believe you're in danger."
"What? Who hired you?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss that information."
I gape at him, incredulous. "You're kidding me right now. Did Camila put you up to this?"
"No. I haven't spoken with Camila about it yet. Her office is my next stop."
"Tell me who hired you." I narrow my eyes on him. "Zayne Carmichael, did you hire yourself to follow me around?"
"No."
I scrutinize his expression, trying to figure out if he's lying to me or not. His level expression doesn't change, though. Either he's telling the truth, or he's impressively good at lying with a straight face.
The only people I know who would even think of hiring him to follow me around are him and Camila. Him because he's crazy and her because she's dying to know what's going on between us.
I'm not sure who that leaves.
My eyes widen. "Holy crap. Did my grandma or aunt talk you into this?"
"No."
"Did you talk them into it? Because I swear to God, I will strangle you if you've got them thinking I'm in danger!"
It took two months to convince Gran to give up the expired bear spray she's been carrying in her purse for the last decade. God only knows what she'll do if she thinks I'm in danger. And Bets wasn't exactly on the side of rationality yesterday when it came to Bonnie and Clyde. Who knows what she's capable of doing?
"I've never even spoken to your grandmother or aunt, baby girl," he says quietly.
So he's making it up then.
Why?
I don't understand why this man is willing to go to such lengths to spend time with me. He doesn't even know me. And yet and yet he's telling his family about me. And yet he still shows up here with excuses as to why he needs to see Camila even though he rarely even makes it to her office. And yet, he hasn't given up.
"What does having a bodyguard entail, exactly?" I ask, not entirely sure what I'm thinking. Not entirely sure I haven't lost my mind, too. But I'm tired of trying to resist this man when every cell in my body screams for something different. So maybe it's time to switch tactics.
If he wants to invade my life maybe it's time I let him. Once he sees exactly what he's up against, he'll leave me alone, or he won't. One way or another, I'll know, right?
God, why is that such a terrifying prospect to me?
"A bodyguard makes sure you have everything you need to ensure your safety. He deals with any threats and handles anything or anyone that needs handling. Most importantly," he says, his eyes roaming down my chest, "a bodyguard guards your body."
Oh, really?
"Then I just have one question." I wait until he meets my gaze again to ask it, making sure he knows that I know he's full of it, and I'm willing to fight just as dirty as he is. "Which of your brothers is it going to be?"
The dark growl that erupts from his throat is as menacing as it is hot. "If either of my brothers even thinks about guarding your body, Ma won't ever find theirs, lamb."
Well, okay then.
He rises from his chair, circling around the desk to me. I spin in my chair, trying to keep two eyes on him just in case he tries to kiss me again. But this time, he simply leans down over me, putting his mouth next to my ear.
"Keep fucking with me about other men, and I'll tie you to the bed and turn your curvy ass red," he growls. "Right before I wipe the memory of every name you could even think to suggest from every inch of your mind. You're mine, and I don't share."
Did he just threaten to tie me up and spank me? Better question. Did I like it?!
Crap. I did. I really, really did.
His lips brush my cheek before he snatches the press release off my desk. "I'll take this to Camila while you finish up for the day."