Chapter 4 #2
“I’m not stupid.” Her eyes narrow to slits.
“No, you’re not.” I agree. “Which is why you will listen to my expert advice. Because in this case, that’s exactly what I am.”
Her jaw moves back and forth, like she wants to argue.
“Do you let your clients tell you how their stuff should be handled?” She looks a little surprised at that. “Yeah. I didn’t think so.”
Not giving her any more time to object, I exit the car and am pleased that, when I reach her side, she is still waiting in her seat.
“Good job, sweetheart.”
She shoots daggers at me. “Don’t call me that. My name is Elizabeth.” Her head tilts slightly. “Actually, you can call me Ms. Gowan.”
My cock twitches. Jesus.
Her offices are everything I expect—tasteful and professional.
Decorated in nondescript, muted tones, everything looks expensive, but there isn’t a single personal knickknack in sight.
We walk past several desks, and she smiles at each person politely, but it’s clear she’s their boss.
There is no sense of camaraderie until she stops at one of the desks.
“How’s Bruno doing?”
“Better. I think the medicine is helping.”
Elizabeth offers the woman the first genuine smile I’ve seen since we’ve arrived. A small yip sounds, and to my surprise, the head of a tiny, fluffy dog pops up above the edge of the desk from the woman’s lap.
“That’s good news.”
“You allow pets in the office?” I ask as soon as we are out of earshot.
“Not usually, but Bruno has a kidney issue. He needs medication several times a day. He’s Lorie’s baby.” She doesn’t break stride.
Her assistant looks up as we approach her desk. The woman is in her mid-twenties, neatly dressed in a navy blouse and fitted slacks. Her smile is easy, but her eyes flick curiously to me before snapping back to her boss.
“Daria.” Elizabeth gives the woman a small smile. “Any fires?”
“Surprisingly, no. Some voicemails from the press, but the crisis firm said not to answer them. They are going to coordinate with Mr. Bloom’s office.”
I don’t think she’s a threat, but until I get a grasp on what’s happening, I’m not ruling anyone out. I make a mental note to get an employee list to send to Sera for background.
“Excellent. Thank you.” Daria’s shoulders relax a little at the praise.
When Elizabeth doesn’t introduce us, I step forward with a half-smile and point at myself. “Brady. Bodyguard.”
Daria giggles, then glances at Elizabeth like she’s committed a crime.
I see the tiny muscle at the corner of her jaw flex, but she ignores me. “Can you prepare a tray of coffee? Benardi and his agent should be here in thirty minutes.”
Daria bites her lip. “His agent called to reschedule.”
“Great. It’s already starting,” she mutters.
Daria hesitates. “Also... Natalya Solokov’s publicist called. Natalya… she… um…” Her gaze falls to her desk for a moment, before she lifts her head and squares her shoulders. “She died.”
Elizabeth goes still, her complexion draining of color.
Immediately, I’m alert. “Who?”
The name sounds familiar.
“Natalya is one of my clients. She’s a model.” Elizabeth replies faintly. “What happened? When?”
Daria’s lips turn down. “I don’t know. Just that her body was found at her house. The publicist called yesterday, but you were out all day, and I didn’t want to say over the phone. I was going to tell you this morning but… with everything…”
Elizabeth swallows hard. “It’s okay, Daria.”
Waiting until we are in her office, I ask, “Were you close to her?”
“No,” Elizabeth says, sinking into her chair. “Not particularly. She was so young. Just starting over after a nasty divorce.” Her gaze flies up to meet mine. “It’s a coincidence.” It’s obvious the news has shaken her.
“Probably,” I lie.
I don’t believe in coincidences. And someone else close to her has been found dead in their home.
She pulls some files from her desk drawer and stares down at them blankly, before closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. “I…um… I just need…”
“I’ll be right outside the door.”
I don’t take the look of relief on her face personally. Having someone in the room watching can feel oppressive until you get used to it. Some people never do.
Pulling the door closed behind me, I dial Elite’s main line.
“Finn,” I say, as soon as he picks up. “I need you to do your magic and get me everything you can on Natalya Solokov’s death. Apparently, she was a model. ASAP.”
“On it, Boss.”
Twenty minutes later, he calls back, and I step several feet away from Daria. Far enough away that she can’t easily hear me but still positioned between Elizabeth and the main entrance to her offices.
“Not just a model, a supermodel,” Finn informs me. “Discovered by her maid yesterday. They’re saying home invasion.”
“Anything stand out?”
He lets out a low whistle. “The crime scene photos are brutal. Looks like she was tortured. House cleaned out. She’d been dead almost three days. No suspects. No forensics.”
My stomach turns cold. “No forensics at all?”
I hear him clicking on his keyboard. “No. No fingerprints of any kind, and no DNA on the body, though they’ve sent some swabs out.” Finn’s tone changes. “Which means someone wiped the entire house and was extraordinarily careful. That doesn’t sound like a home invasion.”
“No, it doesn’t.” The feeling in my gut is growing, and my eyes go to Elizabeth’s closed office door with a sudden need to put eyes on her.
“She used to be married to a guy named Carrow. Finalized a fairly ugly divorce about a year ago.”
Carrow.
Motherfucker.
That’s how I know the name. Natalya Solokov. Carrow’s fiancée when I knew her. It was at their masked engagement party that I met Elizabeth.
“Good work.” I end the call before he can pick up on my agitation. Any hope her client’s death was a coincidence is rapidly disappearing.
The rest of the day passes quietly. Elizabeth works nonstop, barely taking a break.
She comes out of her office frequently to remind one of her associates or paralegals of something they need to stay on top of.
No one seems outwardly annoyed by this micromanaging, but they don’t look happy about it either, and that reminds me to send Sera the employee list.
Late in the afternoon, when she hasn’t emerged in over an hour, I do a visual check-in.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.” She doesn’t look up from what she’s typing, but one hand lifts to rub at her temple.
I hesitate. Discussing feelings isn’t really part of my job, but it’s already becoming increasingly apparent that I’m not going to be able to keep my normal mental distance on this one.
“It’s totally understandable if you’re not. The man you were married to died—”
“Were married,” she bites out. “Past tense. I already grieved the man I thought he was years ago.”
I decide to give it another shot, not liking her pallor or the tense lines on her face. “Elizabeth, you’ve been through a traumatic event, and now your client—”
“Are you a therapist, too? Is that part of the bodyguard specialty?” Her eyes are a little wild, and I can tell she’s barely hanging on despite the front she’s putting up.
“I prefer executive protection services,” I joke with a grin.
“I don’t care what you call it.” She gestures at the computer in front of her. “I have work to do.”
Much as I enjoy antagonizing her, I don’t actually want to make her cry, and her eyes are glistening suspiciously.
“I’m right outside the door if you need me.”
“I know,” she growls, head already back down staring at her screen.
Closing her door with a click, I lean against Daria’s desk. “She always like this?”
Daria smiles. “She’s a workaholic. Ms. Gowan always goes above and beyond for her clients and just wants to make sure they are all taken care of.”
“That must be exhausting to work for,” I probe.
Daria shrugs. “She’s fierce but fair. Honestly, she’s one of the best, and I’m learning a lot working here.”
“So, what does an entertainment lawyer do exactly?”
It’s not that I’m not interested. I’m surprisingly curious about what Elizabeth does all day. However, the primary purpose behind my questions is to see how easy it is to get the assistant to talk, to give up personal details about her boss and better assess her feelings about Elizabeth.
More than people would like to admit, enemies are most often someone they know rather than a stranger.
Daria rattles off a list—contracts, endorsements, intellectual property, deal negotiations. There’s definitely pride in her voice.
“What about dating?” I ask this purely for professional reasons, of course.
At that, Daria clams up, looking at me disapprovingly. I want to press, but before I get a chance, the office door opens.
“If you’re done distracting her?” Elizabeth arches her brow.
“Done? Good.” Elizabeth hands a file folder to Daria.
“Scan it and send it back to his agent. Be sure to list in the email all the paragraphs that I’ve marked with sticky tabs.
Then have it couriered over.” She glances at her watch. “It needs to be signed by tomorrow.”
Daria nods, and I follow Elizabeth back into her office.
“That seemed awfully specific.”
“What?”
“All those instructions. She’s a legal assistant. Doesn’t she already know what’s expected?”
Elizabeth’s tongue pushes into her cheek. “My way ensures there are no mistakes.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a control freak?”
“Yeah. Usually, people whose messes I’m cleaning up.”
The corners of my mouth lift, and I chuckle before resuming my post outside her door.
Eventually, the clock ticks toward evening. Most of her employees left at five, and Daria stuck her head in to say goodbye around six. That was over an hour ago.
I stand in her office doorway observing Elizabeth’s drawn face. “Do you always work this late? Alone?”
“What?” Her forehead wrinkles, and she looks at her watch. “Oh! I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“I can order dinner if you’d like,” I offer. “But after everything that’s happened, your body needs rest. We don’t know what might be com—”
“I said I’m fine.” She shoves back from her desk and shuts the laptop with a snap, shoving it roughly into her large bag. “But if you’re tired, we can leave.”
My teeth grind, but I manage not to lose my cool as Elizabeth storms toward the elevator. She jabs at the button several times.
“Do you have someone you can stay with tonight?”
“I’m going back to the hotel.”
Her movements are jerky, and she’s breathing too fast. I’m not sure she realizes just how close she is to the edge.
“A lot has happened,” I begin, trying to find a way to ease her back from what looks like the brink of a panic attack. “First your ex, then your client, I promise—”
She whirls on me, the fire in her eyes at odds with her trembling hands. “Look, asshole. I don’t need you to hold my hand or tell me everything is going to be fine. We’re not friends. You work for me. That’s it. We are basically strangers.” She jabs the button again.
Oh. Hell. Fucking. No.
I step forward closing the space between us. I know I’m standing too close to her. I’m crowding her space in a way that is anything but professional, but her refusal to admit we know each other has finally broken something in my brain.
Her eyes widen. “What are you—”
The elevator dings, and the doors swish open as I lean in close, inhaling her perfume. The same perfume she wore before. A scent that’s been torturing me since this morning—constantly reminding me of how she feels under my hands.
“We aren’t strangers, Firefly.”
Elizabeth’s face flashes white before flushing a deep crimson. I almost feel guilty, but I’m aching to have this conversation with her.
Fuck. After watching her ass in that skirt all day, I’m aching. Period.
“You remember?” she chokes out.
“Like I could ever forget.”
My phone rings before she can respond, and when I see Finn’s contact on the screen, I hold up a finger. “Hold on.”
I swipe to answer but hear her heels as she steps into the elevator. She twiddles her fingers at me as the doors close in my face.
Fuck.