Chapter 12
TWELVE
ISAAK
“Well, you were a lot of help in there,” Kira grouses once we’re in the back of the black Mercedes Benz again, sounding furious between sucking in long slurps of her green drink.
Maybe she’s grouchy because that drink looks and smells foul. I certainly would be. She grimaces each time she drinks. I keep an eye on her, though. She didn’t look so good when she suddenly dashed for the bathroom.
At first, I thought it was the green shit she was drinking hitting her wrong, but when I checked on her and she opened the door, it looked like she’d been crying. Ironic considering her field, I get that she’s not the kind who likes to talk about her feelings. No one ever accused me of being the touchy-feely type, either, so that’s fine with me.
“What kind of help was I supposed to be? I didn’t exactly see any assassins around.”
“Never mind.” She glares out the window for a long moment before swinging her head back toward me. “No, actually, I thought I was paying you to protect me, not flirt with pretty receptionists.”
I tilt my head at her. Oh, I do love it when she gets this fire in her eyes. It’s the kind of passion poor bland Lana could never hope to work up unless talking about the Birkin she hopes to one day be able to afford. I’m not the kind of sugar daddy that girl is looking for; she was just blinded for a few moments by my big muscles. I know her type, and there were plenty of times I would have been happy to let us distract each other for a night or two.
The old dance just felt tired today. The only fun in it was feeling Kira’s eyes burning into me. It only felt like the kind thing to do to give her a distraction since she obviously wasn’t enjoying the day of “pampering” her mother had arranged for her.
“Note taken.” I flash a grin at her. “You will have my sole attention for the rest of the night.”
She looks taken aback at me giving in so easily. It’s clear she expected some sort of fight. But that’s the whole fun of keeping her on her toes.
I have a feeling people usually act exactly like she expects them to. She’s getting a whole degree in figuring out how people work. The more I get to know her, the more I think her whole deal is trying to get control of what’s going on around her.
“Do you like your hair?” I ask.
Immediately, she looks defensive, a hand going to the straightened updo. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”
I shrug. “Just wondering if you liked it.”
“Stop it.” She pulls her phone out from her bag and puts it on selfie mode, examining herself critically. “You’re freaking me out.” She turns her head this way and that in the camera lens, her face distorted on the little screen.
“Just don’t look much like yourself, is all.”
She snorts and drops the camera to her lap. “Oh, is that all? That’s the point . Just wait until they get done with the make-up. Carol wants me actually presentable at these things.”
I shrug, glancing at her updo again. It’s a shame that the weird super blonde streaks they put in it are covering up her naturally red-orange hair like that. “Like I said. You were already perfect this morning.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “This morning I had pores the size of potholes and little orphan Annie hair, as Carol so charitably calls my natural shade.”
“Women only wish they had hair that color.”
“Because you know so much about it?”
I shrug. “I know what guys like.”
“Like I said, I think Texas women just pretend to give a fuck about the patriarchy. We’re all really just preening to be the prettiest peacock in this invisible contest to rank ourselves against each other. Then some people feel like they win and get to feel superior, and the rest are supposed to feel ashamed.”
“Female peacocks aren’t the colorful ones. It’s the males that put on a show.”
“I know that.” She rolls her eyes and smacks me lightly on the shoulder. “It was a metaphor.”
“I like this escalation to physical violence, Red. It’s healthy to let out your feelings, I hear.”
“Physical—What are you even—” She looks aghast.
“The foot stomping and this shoulder.” I mock a wince. “I got a bruise about the size of Texas here already. If you keep pounding away at me, you might put me outta commission. You better be careful.”
Her mouth drops open, and then her eyes narrow. “Oh, I’ll keep pounding away at you.”
Then her cheeks go pink like she just heard the innuendo in those words. She smacks me on the shoulder again, then whacks me on my chest with her other hand.
I grin wider than I have all day. “Fairly sure this is how girls flirted with me when I was in junior high.”
“Ugh!” She pulls back and crosses her arms over her chest. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re infuriating ?”
I chuckle. “I mighta been told a time or two.” Damn, I feel almost giddy sitting here in this back seat with her. Light in a way I can barely remember. Makes me wanna keep tugging on her metaphorical ponytails for forever.
But alas, we pull into the driveway of a huge ass mansion. I let out a low whistle.
“Damn, Red. I knew you were loaded, but I didn’t know you were Domhnall-level loaded.”
“No one’s Domhnall-level loaded,” she says, her voice suddenly tight.
When I glance back over at her, I can see she’s gripping the edges of the seat so hard her knuckles have gone white.
“Hey,” I say, concerned. “You okay? I know there’ll be a lot of people, but I won’t let you out of my sight. I swear I’ll keep you safe tonight.”
She lets out a mirthless laugh. “As if.”
I glance back to the mansion and wonder what she’s seeing that I’m not. Then my eyes settle on the woman in white who’s just stepped foot out of the gigantic front door.
“Is it your mom?”
“I’ll be fine,” she says, swallowing hard, not taking her eyes off her mother.
Damn, this might be more of a wasp’s nest than I initially realized. Yeah, her mom always sounded like a bitch, but is there more to it than that?
Because Kira doesn’t just look anxious about a long night with an overbearing mother. She looks… scared .
“We don’t have to do this,” I say, reaching down and covering her small hand with my big one. “We can turn around right now and leave all this shit behind. You just say the word.”
She looks up at me in surprise. “What? I can’t.”
“Why the fuck not? She doesn’t own you. It’s a free country, Kira. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”
But I see the shadow come over her eyes. She quickly pulls her hand away from mine, and I don’t miss the chauffeur’s eyes on us in the rearview mirror. The second I catch him watching us, he glances away. The bastard’s been listening in on every word.
“It’s fine,” Kira whispers again. And then quieter, she says, “And she does own me. For eight more weeks anyway, until I’m married. But then I’ll be free.”
What the fuck? Is that why she’s getting married? And to some prick she doesn’t even love?
But before I can ask anything else, or better yet, demand some better fucking answers, we’re at the roundabout in front of the four-story mansion, and Kira is pushing her door open.
Her mother walks around and embraces her in an overly polite hug, their chests barely touching.
“Darling!” the woman says effusively. “We’ve waited so long for this day to come, and it’s here finally!”
Then she pulls back and holds Kira at arm’s length, examining her daughter critically. “Why is your face so puffy? I told Dawn at the spa to do a light peel.” Her thumbs go to Kira’s face, pulling and stretching her forehead. “And are these lines? I know I told her to do some touchups if you’d been looking tired from all that ridiculous studying you insist on. What have you done to yourself?”
I push out of the car, fed up. I can see Kira literally shrinking in on herself under her mother’s attention.
“Mrs. Roberts, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet. I’m Isaak, your daughter’s new personal security.”
Carol’s eyes skip over her daughter’s shoulder to land on me. It’s clear by the way her eyes skim over my black T-shirt and jeans, and her tightly Botoxed features scrunch the tiniest bit—probably the only expression of displeasure she’s able to make—that she’s not thrilled by what she sees.
I flash my biggest smile and walk up to her, holding my hand out. Her Southern upbringing won’t allow her to do anything but extend her hand in response. I grab hold and shake it good and hard in my big paw.
“Oh,” she says, withdrawing as soon as possible and looking at me distastefully. “Well. We’ll find somewhere to put you tonight.”
“Horror movie rules,” I say, tossing an arm around Kira’s shoulder. “I go where she goes. She’s never outta my sight, not even for a moment. That’s the job.” I grin wide at Carol. “Safety first. I’m sure you understand, what with the latest escalation.”
Carol just shakes her head. “Latest what?”
“Why don’t we head on inside so Kira can get started with the make-up artist, and I’ll tell you all about it, Mrs. Roberts,” I say, putting a hand to the small of her back.
Kira flashes relieved eyes at me, and that’s it; I’m determined to not only rescue her from potential stalker activity tonight but also from her mother, who is obviously more than just some benign threat—if not to her physical person, then to her mentally.
I decide here and now that when I take a client, I take them on as a whole.