Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
FORD
I quickly glance from the traffic jam in front of me to the rearview mirror, finding Emmy resting her blonde head on Lawson’s shoulder. Neither is speaking, but they look comfortable with one another, and as that thought makes my stomach churn with distaste, I shift my gaze back to the job at hand.
Having left Lenny at the hospital to keep me updated on all things Damon, I’d gotten everything in order to escort Emmy—and, by proxy, her asshat boyfriend—safely home.
“Could you drop me here? I’m meeting some friends at Tryst.”
Lawson’s voice surprises me as the traffic begins to move again, and I find his eyes in the rearview, giving him a succinct nod.
“Anywhere along here okay with you?”
We’re less than a block from Tryst, Manhattan’s newest hot spot, and I’ll be damned if I make the detour to drop him to the door. He can walk.
At his easy agreement, I pull into the next available curbside space, trying and failing to ignore their farewells in the back seat.
“You good, Em?”
There’s rustling, and a surreptitious peek in the rearview reveals they’re hugging. My teeth clench at their easy camaraderie, and despite knowing she’s surely done more than hug her previous boyfriends, it doesn’t make witnessing it any easier.
“See you on Thursday, Law.”
And then, blissfully, he’s gone, leaving me to drive on to Emmy’s temporary residence at Ataraxia. Heavy silence shrouds the car the entire way until, less than five minutes from our destination, her cell rings. She answers it swiftly.
“Hey, Beck…yeah, I meant to tell you—” She drops off as who I’m assuming is her agent, Beckham Reynolds, says his piece before she continues in reply. “There’s a new system or something. It’s Sentinel, the security company the producers engaged for me. They’ve devised a way to minimize paparazzi…”
Sitting at a red light, I take an opportunity to check her through the mirror. Her brows are drawn, her mouth set in a straight line at whatever Beckham is saying before she catches sight of me.
Our gazes hold for a long beat, and the sight of her blue eyes blinking back at me as though no time has passed between us sends a pang of longing through my chest. The spell breaks when the car behind me honks, and she rips her gaze from mine before I put the car in drive again.
“I’ll do my best. Goodnight, Beck.”
She hangs up the call, fidgeting in her lap for the final thirty seconds until I pull up outside Ataraxia and kill the engine. That uneasy silence from before surrounds us, and though I know it’s not much, and I can’t even give her full disclosure, I still need to say the words.
“I owe you an apology, Tink.”
Pain-filled eyes beneath furrowed brows shoot to mine in the rearview, and I curse my stupid tongue as the sheer agony I witness within those depths shreds my guts to pieces. She blinks solemnly, the pain disappearing to be replaced by something else.
Cool indifference. Disdain. Impassivity. The same look she’d greeted me with at Branson Memorial earlier.
Then she lifts her chin like the fucking queen I’ve always known her to be.
“You don’t owe me anything , Mr. Holloway, least of all an apology.” Her jaw ticks, her only outward sign of emotion. “And even if you did , the time for apologies is long gone.”
She arches an eyebrow, clearly awaiting my acknowledgment, which I give with a sharp nod.
“And just so we’re on the same page here, please refrain from mentioning our shared history. After all, it’s history for a reason.”
And with that, she jerks the handle and climbs out of the car without giving me a backward glance.
By the time I have canvassed Emerson’s residence and dropped my minimal belongings into the room assigned to Damon, which will be mine for now, I make my way back to the open-plan living space. As I reach the edge of the archway, I stop when I hear Emmy conversing in low tones with her stepsister, Hayley.
Hesitant to interrupt, I decide to wait until there’s a break in their exchange.
“…And then Beck called to let you know that Bruno got all the shots he needed for the Zest piece, so at least you and Lawson won’t be called back to do a reshoot.”
Emerson mumbles an indecipherable response around a mouthful of food that makes Hayley chuckle. “You mind repeating yourself when your mouth isn’t chock-full of French fries?”
I can’t help but grin, hearing Emmy choke on a laugh before managing to swallow the fries.
“Excuse you, Hayles, but I’ll have you know that I’ve not eaten all damn day.” I hear her chugging a drink, probably a strawberry shake, which she’ll have ordered to dip her fries into. “That’s what I get for being nice and giving Damon my sandwich at the shoot?—”
My feet propel me forward when my blood runs cold as a terrifying thought takes root. “Damon ate food intended for you ?”
Emmy is sitting at the kitchen island with a burger, fries, and, as anticipated, a strawberry shake on the counter. Hayley is opposite her, and she freezes in the middle of looping her crossbody bag over her shoulder. My terse tone sees Emmy bristling as she deadpans.
“Ever heard of announcing your presence, Mr. Holloway?”
I incline my head.
“My most sincere apologies.”
It takes a moment before she accepts it with a jerk of her chin, then she glances at Hayley with a smile.
“Thanks for today, Hayles. I’d be lost without you.”
Hayley takes that as her opportunity to escape, ducking out of the kitchen and across the foyer to the elevator with a hastily murmured farewell. Emmy pops another fry into her mouth, her eyes fixated on her cell, and I give it a beat before I continue in a more conversational tone.
“Do you happen to know what Damon ate today, Miss Hart?”
Miss Hart! All this formal shit is giving me indigestion.
I bring my hand up to rub the burn in my chest as Emmy watches me with skeptical eyes, slowly chewing her food before she decides to reply.
“We were running late, so neither of us had breakfast. And when we got to the studio, the production team gave everyone sandwiches from Bruno’s favorite deli. They put mustard on mine, so I offered it to Damon, and?—”
Emmy stops mid-sentence, blinking once before her eyes go wide in realization. “Oh my God…was it the sandwich? Did someone put something in it?”
Her breathing comes in short gasps as she stands from her seat and begins to pace, all while muttering to herself. My palms itch with the need to comfort her, but I root my feet to the floor, knowing I shouldn’t.
Knowing that my mere presence is insult enough, without presuming to touch her.
“Oh my God. Oh my God .” She rakes her hand through her loose blonde locks, her pace picking up speed as her voice gets louder. “First, there was the fan who broke into my goddamn house . My safe space, for fuck’s sake. Then there was the thief at Vesper.”
She stops dead in her tracks, her eyes pinning mine without really even seeing me.
“Did you know they stole my panties? My panties. My fucking panties !” She throws up her hands in exasperation. “And now someone has just tried to poison me – ’cause that’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it? That’s what happened today. To Damon. Because he ate my sandwich, and now he might die, and it’s all my fault, Ford, it’s all my fault?—”
Screw it.
I close the distance between us to lightly grasp her upper arms. She slams her eyes closed, allowing me to hold her steady as my proximity puts an end to her spiraling.
Having given her a moment to recenter herself, I wait until her breathing calms before I finally speak. As I lean close enough to inhale a unique scent that’s all Emerson Hart, I ensure that my voice is a low whisper. That my tone is soft as I absorb everything about the woman before me that makes her so utterly unsurpassable.
“It’s not your fault, Emerson. No one could have guessed that some crazy motherfucker was going to poison your food.” I brush the pads of my thumbs over her biceps in what I hope she finds to be comforting. “It’s not your fault, okay?”
She blows out a heavy breath before nodding slowly. “Okay.”
Inching her eyelids open, she regards me with uncertain blue eyes framed with damp lashes. I drop my hands away from her as our gazes hold for a long moment until I step back, needing to remember my place here.
You’re her bodyguard, Holloway. Nothing more, nothing less.
“I won’t let anything happen to you. Not on my watch.” Her eyes flicker between mine, and I silently will her to feel the sincerity in my words. “You don’t have to like my presence here, but I will keep you safe. That is my solemn vow.”
EMERSON
I flip over onto my stomach, willing my brain to shut the fuck up and go to sleep.
I owe you an apology, Tink.
I’d wanted to scream, shout, punch something – or someone. I’d wanted to tell him he could shove his apology because all I wanted was a goddamn reason .
Even after five years, I’m still in the dark as to why he’d left me. Why the man who ranked among the bravest I’ve ever known had left me a note like a damn coward. Like a thief in the night, stealing my heart and leaving behind a hollow soul who’d never truly healed.
And what’s worse, when I’d begun to spiral as I’d realized Damon had ingested poison intended for me, Ford had quickly and easily soothed my fears.
Motherfucker!
Suddenly too hot, I throw off the covers and slide out of bed to march directly toward the kitchen in need of a mug of warm milk. I murmur a low expletive for not grabbing some fresh cherry juice, my go-to insomnia cure, earlier.
My bare feet pad silently down the hallway, rounding the arch that leads into the open-plan living space and crossing over to the kitchen.
Then, I quickly pour some milk into a pan and set it on a low heat on the stovetop. While I wait, I push myself up onto the counter, feet dangling as I look out on the Manhattan skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ataraxia.
The city looks as wide awake as my mind feels, and I tilt my head to one side, taking in the sight before me, when the sound of the elevator doors opening makes me jump.
I wait with bated breath, blowing it out in relief as Ford rounds the corner, coming to a halt when he spots me in the kitchen. His eyes travel from my face down along my silken pajama-clad body all the way to my toes. My nipples tighten as my core clenches, and I feel my entire body tingle to life in a way I’d forgotten was possible under his perusal.
Stop that, idiot! He . Broke . Your . Heart . Remember that?
With a shake of my head, I push myself off the counter and give him my back. In an effort to give my suddenly fidgety hands something to do, I gently swirl the milk around the pan.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
His deep voice vibrates right through me, turning my bones to jelly. The deep cadence does things to my insides…things I haven’t felt in the longest time, and I stare at the milk, willing it to warm faster as I nod sharply.
“Mm-hmm. You?”
He walks closer to place something on the counter, but I don’t dare lift my eyes from the milk before me to find out what.
“I’m sure it’s my presence in your personal space that’s at fault. Thought this might help some.”
Then he moves past me, his scent invading my nostrils before he calls over his shoulder softly.
“Sweet dreams, Miss Hart.”
As he disappears in the direction of his temporary bedroom, I deem it safe to lift my eyes, only for them to blow wide when I find a carton of cherry juice sitting atop my counter.
A sudden lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it down harshly, unwilling to allow myself to soften toward him or his thoughtfulness, not one little bit.
I quickly dump the semi-heated milk into the sink, grab the juice, and race back to the safety of my bedroom, cursing him for finding a chink in the armor that’s held me together these last five years. As I chug directly from the carton with a deep frown, I know that in order to hold it together, I’ll need to keep as much distance as possible.
If the simple act of bringing me cherry juice has already gotten to me, then setting firm boundaries between us is the only way to keep my heart safe.