CHAPTER ELEVEN JAX #3
"Document, don't intervene. Physical danger only—psychological attacks don't count as emergencies.
Let you fight your own battles." I count them off, watching her process this.
"If I felt the urge to intervene, I was supposed to text him first so he could talk me down.
And afterward, I was supposed to debrief with him before coming to you. "
"Did you follow them?"
"Mostly. Texted him twice when I wanted to cross Marconi's and end Ezra's interrogation. He talked me down both times. Reminded me that intervention would compromise your legal position."
"So you wanted to intervene."
"Watching someone systematically threaten you while I documented from across the restaurant was the hardest professional constraint I've maintained in my career.
" The admission comes out more honest than I intended.
"But intervening would have given Ezra ammunition—proof that you need protection, that you're unstable enough to require security presence at lunch meetings. So I followed the rules."
"And afterward? Coming to my apartment—was that following rules or breaking them?"
The question is direct enough that deflection would be obvious. "Elias thinks it was breaking them. That spending over an hour in your apartment after you'd been psychologically attacked goes beyond professional check-in into personal territory."
"And what do you think?"
"I think I wanted to make sure you were okay. That the distinction between professional and personal stopped mattering somewhere around the third time you texted me at midnight." I hold her gaze. "I think I'm not good at pretending this is just a security assignment anymore."
The words hang between us, more honest than tactical, the kind of admission that changes the architecture of whatever we've been building.
Lana doesn't look away. "Elias is right that you coming over yesterday was personal.
But he's wrong that it was breaking rules.
You asked permission. Gave me the option to say no.
Left when you needed to leave for work even though I could tell you wanted to stay longer.
" She unfolds completely now, feet on the floor, posture open.
"That's different from Gabriel. He would have come over without asking.
Stayed until he decided to leave. Made it about his needs rather than mine. "
"The difference matters."
"The difference is everything." She leans forward, mirroring my posture, reducing the space between us to maybe three feet.
"I know this isn't just security anymore.
I've known since you installed those cameras and gave me admin access instead of keeping control for yourself.
Since you fastened that necklace and I felt your hands shake slightly like you were as aware of the proximity as I was. "
My pulse kicks up. "I didn't think you noticed."
"I notice everything. Five years with Gabriel taught me to catalog micro-expressions, tension in hands, the difference between touch that controls and touch that asks permission.
" Her eyes are darker in the morning light, more focused.
"Your hands were asking permission even though you'd already been given it. That's when I knew you were different."
The conversation has shifted into territory I wasn't prepared to navigate. Elias told me to admit attraction; to give her information so she could make informed choices. He didn't prepare me for her already knowing, already processing, already making her own assessments about what this is becoming.
"Elias said I should tell you directly that I'm attracted to you.
That it complicates our professional relationship.
That you deserve to know so you can decide whether you want protection from someone with personal investment.
" The words come out less rehearsed than they sounded in my head.
"So I'm telling you. I'm attracted to you.
Have been since you looked straight into Camera 12 three weeks ago and saw me watching.
And every professional boundary I've tried to maintain keeps dissolving because proximity to you feels more necessary than distance. "
Lana absorbs this with an expression I can't quite read.
Then: "I'm attracted to you too. Have been since you showed me Lucien's panic room and told me you could see how much the performance of recovery cost. Since you gave me control over surveillance instead of using it to control me.
" She leans forward another inch, and now we're close enough that if either of us moved we'd be crossing the final distance.
"So what do we do with that? With mutual attraction that complicates everything we've carefully negotiated? "
"Elias would say we acknowledge it and maintain boundaries anyway.
That attraction doesn't mean we have to act on it.
" I'm leaning forward too without conscious decision, drawn toward her like gravity.
"That mixing protection with personal involvement creates dynamics where consent gets complicated and power imbalances become unmanageable. "
"That sounds like good advice."
"It is good advice."
"Are we going to follow it?"
The question is direct enough that lying would be pointless. "I don't know."
We're both leaning forward now, the space between us reduced to maybe eighteen inches, close enough that I can see her pulse jumping at her throat, close enough to notice she's not pulling away even though we both know we should.
"I should maintain professional distance," I hear myself say even as I'm leaning closer. "Should keep this contained to security protocols and legal strategy."
"You should." She's leaning in too, meeting me halfway. "I should maintain boundaries. Should remember that getting involved with someone who's been watching me is probably terrible judgment."
"Probably catastrophic judgment."
"The worst decision I could make."
"Absolutely the worst."
And then somehow we're kissing.
I don't know who closed the final distance—whether I leaned in or she did, or we both moved simultaneously. What I know is that her lips are against mine and the contact is electric in ways that short-circuit every rational thought about professional boundaries and appropriate distance.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, both of us aware this is the line we've been dancing around for weeks. Then something shifts and it deepens, becomes more urgent, her hand coming up to my jaw and mine finding the back of her neck and—
We both pull back at exactly the same moment.
Sit there on opposite ends of the couch breathing harder than the kiss should warrant, staring at each other with identical expressions of what the hell just happened.
"Sorry," we say simultaneously.
Then we both almost laugh, the absurdity of dual apologies breaking some of the tension.
"I didn't mean—" I start.
"I know—" she says at the same time.
We stop. Look at each other. And despite everything—the complications, the poor judgment, the fact that we just crossed a boundary we specifically said we shouldn't cross—I can't quite regret it.
"So," Lana says finally, and her voice is steadier than I expected. "That happened."
"That definitely happened."
"Should we... talk about it? Or pretend it didn't happen? Or—" She stops, seems to realize she's as uncertain about protocol as I am.
"We should probably talk about it." I'm still close enough to touch her if I wanted to. I don't move away. Neither does she. "Though I'm not sure what the appropriate conversation is after accidentally kissing someone you're supposed to be professionally protecting."
"Is there a protocol for this?"
"If there is, Elias never mentioned it."
We're quiet for a moment, the apartment around us feeling both smaller and more charged than it did five minutes ago.
"I'm not sorry," Lana says finally. "I know I said sorry, but I'm actually not. I'm—" She searches for words. "Confused. Maybe concerned about judgment. Definitely aware this complicates everything. But not sorry."
"I'm not sorry either." The admission feels dangerous. "I'm very aware this is probably terrible timing and worse judgment and exactly what Elias warned me about. But I'm not sorry it happened."
"So where does that leave us?"
"Honest about being attracted to each other.
Aware that acting on it right now—while you're being threatened by Ezra, while I'm supposed to be providing security—would be complicated at best and destructive at worst." I force myself to articulate what Elias would say if he were here.
"But also acknowledging that pretending it didn't happen would be dishonest. And dishonesty is how Gabriel operated.
I don't want to replicate that pattern."
Lana nods, processing. "So we're honest about the attraction. We acknowledge the kiss happened. We agree that escalating further right now would compromise both the security situation and my legal position." She meets my eyes. "But we're not pretending this is purely professional anymore."
"We're not pretending."
"Okay." She leans back against the couch, putting fractionally more distance between us. The loss of proximity is immediate and uncomfortable. "That feels honest. Complicated and probably inadvisable, but honest."
"Honesty is the goal." I lean back too, mirroring her retreat even though every instinct is pulling toward rather than away.
"Elias said honesty is the only thing that prevents protection from becoming possession.
So we're honest about attraction, honest about poor timing, honest about the fact that we just kissed and neither of us regrets it even though we probably should. "
"And then what? We just... exist in this space of acknowledged attraction without acting on it further?"
"Until the legal situation resolves. Until Ezra's threat is neutralized and you're not dependent on my protection for survival." I hold her gaze. "Then we can revisit whether this is something worth pursuing or whether it was just proximity and adrenaline making bad decisions feel inevitable."
She considers this, and I can see her running calculations about whether the timing makes sense or whether we're just rationalizing something we both want but shouldn't have.
"Okay," she says finally. "We wait." She pulls her knees back up in that protective position. "But Jax? I'm terrible at waiting. And I'm worse at denying things I actually want just because the timing is complicated."
"I'm aware. I've been watching you for three weeks, remember?"
"Right. The surveillance." She almost smiles. "Which we should probably discuss at some point. The ethics of you watching me for weeks and then kissing me in my living room."
"That's a fair point."
"But not today. Today I need to process everything Mira said about legal strategy and prepare for the possibility that Ezra will drag every detail of my marriage through discovery." She unfolds again, stands, creating more physical distance.
I check my phone. 11:34 AM. Three and a half hours until I need to be at Lucien's office.
"I should go," I say, even though leaving feels wrong. "Let you process everything. Figure out next steps."
"Will you—" She stops, seems uncertain whether to finish the question.
"Will I what?"
"Check in tonight? After your work? I don't need debrief or strategy discussion. Just—" She doesn't finish, but I understand what she's asking.
"I'll text you tonight. Let you know what Lucien's investigation found." I stand, gather my laptop, and move toward the door. "And Lana? About what happened—"
"We're not apologizing again."
"I wasn't going to apologize. I was going to say I'm glad we were honest about it. That feels better than pretending."
Something in her expression softens. "It does feel better than pretending."
I leave her apartment at 11:39 AM with the phantom sensation of her lips against mine and the uncomfortable knowledge that I just made everything between us exponentially more complicated.
The walk back to my apartment takes nineteen minutes. I spend them thinking about what Elias is going to say when I tell him we kissed, about what Lucien is going to read in my face when I brief him on Ezra's investigation, about whether honest complication is better than dishonest simplicity.
By the time I reach my apartment, I've decided honesty is always better. Even when honest means admitting I'm in over my head with someone I'm supposed to be protecting.
Even when honest means acknowledging that the kiss wasn't a mistake, just terrible timing.
Even when honest means accepting that waiting until the legal situation resolves is going to be the hardest professional constraint I've ever maintained.
My phone buzzes at 11:58 AM. Text from Lana: Thank you for being honest. For not pretending. For kissing me back.
I respond: Thank you for the same. And for not regretting it.
I don't regret it. I'm just terrified of what it means.
Me too. But we'll figure it out.
Promise?
Promise.
I set down the phone and stare at my ceiling, counting the hours until my meeting with Lucien, counting the ways this could destroy everything we've carefully built, counting the reasons why kissing Lana Pope was simultaneously the best and worst decision I've made in years.
The count keeps coming up the same: terrible timing, worse judgment, absolutely worth it.
And that realization terrifies me more than any threat Ezra Pope could manufacture.