Chapter 17
By the time they returned to their hotel suite, Casper's head was spinning from the sheer number of people in Willow's orbit and the growing list of individuals with varying degrees of access to her personal information and potential motives to disrupt her life.
The evening had been professionally illuminating in ways he hadn't anticipated.
Watching Willow navigate her social and business relationships had given him valuable insight into her world, but it had also significantly expanded his suspect pool.
Trevor Ashworth lurking in the lobby, Max Sterling making legal threats, and now this blogger James Kellerman, who seemed to know far too much about her current activities.
The coincidences were piling up in ways that set off his military-trained instincts.
"I'm going to change into something more comfortable," Willow said, slipping off her heels with obvious relief. "These shoes are beautiful, but they're instruments of torture after a few hours."
"Take your time," he replied, already pulling out his tablet to make notes while the evening's conversations were still fresh in his memory. "I'll order some dinner. What sounds good?"
"Something simple and comforting," she called over her shoulder as she headed toward her bedroom. "I've had enough rich hors d'oeuvres to last a week."
Casper grinned as he scanned the room service menu, finding exactly what would hit the spot after an evening of pretentious party food.
He ordered grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup, a simple green salad, and chocolate mousse with fresh raspberries for dessert.
They both needed comfort food that would remind them that not everything had to be complicated or sophisticated.
After changing into dark jeans and a comfortable T-shirt, he felt more like himself again. The formal suit had served its purpose for the evening, but he was always more comfortable in casual clothes that didn't restrict his movement or make him feel like he was playing a role.
When Willow emerged from her room wearing soft leggings and an oversized cashmere sweater that made her look younger and more vulnerable, he felt that familiar tightening in his chest that had nothing to do with professional protective instincts.
"Better?" he asked, noting how she'd pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail and scrubbed off most of her makeup.
"Much," she said with a grateful sigh. "I love seeing people and staying connected, but parties like that remind me why I prefer my quiet existence away from this part of the world."
She clapped in delight, giving a little hop when the meal was rolled in and the dome covers were removed. “Oh my God! This is exactly what I would fix at home when I need comfort food!”
Casper felt the air rush out on a relieved exhale. He walked over and pulled out her chair. They settled at the small dining table by the window overlooking the glittering expanse of Los Angeles. The city lights spread before them, almost alien after the vast simplicity of prairie horizons.
As they ate, Casper studied Willow's face in the soft lamplight, noting the way her shoulders had finally relaxed now that they were away from the scrutiny and expectations of her professional world.
But he could also see the lingering tension around her eyes, the subtle signs that the evening's revelations about the blogger had unsettled her more than she was letting on.
The conversation he needed to have with her wasn't going to be easy, but it was necessary. The web of potential threats was becoming more complex by the hour, and she deserved to understand exactly what they might be dealing with.
Casper had spent most of the drive back to the hotel analyzing the evening's events, his mind cataloging details and connections with the methodical precision ingrained by years of military service and investigative training.
He was continually impressed by Willow's intelligence, competency, and natural warmth.
The way she managed to remain genuinely connected to people while maintaining careful boundaries was impressive.
She'd somehow found a way to be part of the entertainment establishment while keeping herself separate from its more toxic elements, and he wondered how she'd developed such a delicate balance.
Now, as they finished their meal, his gaze lingered on the woman who leaned back in her chair while sighing in relief.
The contrast between the polished professional he'd watched work the party and this relaxed, natural version of herself fascinated him in ways that had nothing to do with security protocols.
"You've got something on your mind," she said, interrupting his contemplation.
His attention snapped back to her face, noting the perceptive look in her blue eyes. "I was thinking about how you navigate so gracefully between all the different people in your life. You seem to maintain authenticity while adapting to whatever the situation requires."
She shrugged. "I grew up in this business.
I think that actually makes it easier rather than harder.
I learned early how to read people and situations.
" She tilted her head, studying him with the same intensity he'd directed at her.
"I know you must have a dossier on me. At least, I assume you researched me before taking this assignment.
Since you're investigating other people in my life, I'm curious what you actually know about me. "
Her directness caught him off guard, and he ran his tongue over his top teeth as he considered how to respond. Finally, he decided on simple honesty.
"We handle extensive security system installations for many clients, but we don't typically provide ongoing personal protection services.
When Leo referred you to us, my boss decided we'd do whatever was necessary to keep you safe.
Before I knew anything else about you, I knew that you had earned another LSI employee's complete trust."
She looked down at the teacup cradled in her hands, then lifted her gaze to meet his again.
He'd wanted to learn more about her since their first conversation in her Nebraska kitchen, but not from background reports or internet searches.
He knew the basic facts from her file, but as a man increasingly drawn to the woman behind the public persona, he wanted to understand who she really was beneath all the carefully constructed layers.
"Tell me about yourself," he said, leaning forward with genuine interest. "I'd rather hear about you from you." His gaze held hers steadily. "Please, Willow. I really want to know."
She studied his face for a long moment, seeming to weigh his sincerity, then nodded as she stood. “For this conversation, let’s get comfortable.” She moved to the sofa with her teacup sitting nearby as he moved to the overstuffed chair directly in front of her.
"I wasn't born into this business like some people out here.
I didn't have famous parents or relatives working in entertainment who could teach me how to navigate this world.
" She let out a self-deprecating laugh. "I was born in a tiny town in Illinois, destined for the same existence as my parents and grandparents.
Work hard, make little, get married, grow old.
But in my mother's eyes, I became destined for stardom when I was thirteen months old. "
This information wasn't in any of the reports he'd read, and Casper was absorbed by her words. "What happened then?"
"Well, I obviously don't remember since I was so young, but this is all family lore told to me.
A county fair was hosting a prettiest baby contest. The entry fee was five dollars, and you could submit a photograph of your child.
They had different age categories and prizes for each one.
" She lifted her hands in an exaggerated gesture.
"At thirteen months old, I won the one-to-two-year division. "
Casper couldn't help but smile, imagining a cherubic version of the woman sitting across from him.
"My picture was chosen as the prettiest baby in that age group, then they took all the category winners and had people vote for an overall grand prize.
" Her expression grew more serious. "I won that too, which came with a thousand-dollar prize for my parents.
From that moment on, they'd found their new life's purpose. "
"A purpose you never had any say in," he observed quietly, watching every nuance of expression cross her face.
She nodded slowly. "Looking back, I can understand their perspective to some degree.
My parents had always struggled financially, and so had their families before them.
Suddenly, they get a thousand dollars for doing nothing more than submitting their child's photograph to a contest. It must have felt like hitting the lottery. "
"I'm picturing your parents entering you in every child beauty pageant they could find after that."
Her laugh held no humor. "Actually, no. There were no beauty pageants in my future."
Casper's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really?"
"My parents quickly realized that the pageant circuit required significant upfront investment.
Things like elaborate costumes, professional coaching, travel expenses, and entry fees that could run into the thousands.
They didn't have that kind of money, and they weren't willing to gamble what little they had.
" She paused, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her mug.
"Instead, they convinced my uncle to become their unofficial photographer.
He took what must have been thousands of pictures of me, hoping to capture that perfect shot that would catch someone's attention. "
She took a sip of her tea before continuing.
"The next year, armed with all those photographs and my newfound ability to smile on command, they entered me in the two-to-three-year category.
I won again, both in my age group and the overall competition.
This time, the prize was almost two thousand dollars. "
Setting her mug on the coffee table, she looked directly at him. "By the time I was three years old, I had earned my parents a total of three thousand dollars in prize money, and they were absolutely convinced they had a future star on their hands."
"That's when they started pursuing modeling for you seriously?"
She nodded while sighing. "They began sending my pictures to every modeling agency they could find—legitimate ones and anyone who claimed to represent child talent.
Looking back, I find it terrifying how naive they were about the potential dangers.
" Her voice grew quieter. "It's a miracle I wasn't targeted by someone with truly horrible intentions. "
"Jesus Christ," Casper muttered, his protective instincts flaring at the thought. "That's exactly how predators and trafficking rings lure children."
He watched a visible shiver run through her body and immediately stood, moving around the coffee table to sit beside her on the sofa. His hand reached out to cover hers, offering what comfort he could. "I'm sorry. That was probably too blunt."
Her eyes were wide as she shook her head. "No, you're absolutely right, Casper. There are truly evil people out there who prey on children, and parents who make their kids vulnerable through ignorance or greed. I was fortunate, even with parents who had no idea what they were doing."
"I know from your file that you were working as a model by age five," he said gently.
She looked away for a moment, her gaze seeming to drift back through time.
When she turned to face him again, something almost grateful was in her expression.
"That's when my parents hit the jackpot.
A legitimate modeling agency contacted my parents…
a real company with proper contracts and industry connections.
Within weeks of signing with them, we packed up everything we owned and moved to Los Angeles. "
Her hand turned palm up beneath his, their fingers naturally intertwining.
"As you can imagine, we were as poor as church mice.
Child models don't make a lot of money, and the cost of living in LA was astronomical compared to small-town Illinois.
But my parents were convinced they were investing in our family's future. "
"What happened next?" he asked, now completely invested in understanding the journey that had shaped the remarkable woman whose hand he was holding.