Chapter 19 Brady
brADY
When Elizabeth appears in the doorway in a pale purple sundress, all I can do is stare.
The thin straps frame her shoulders, the fabric clinging just enough around her full breasts before the skirt falls in a soft sweep.
It’s yet another version of Elizabeth, and I’m quickly coming to accept that I like them all.
A bright pink washes over her cheekbones. “It’s one of the only things I could pull on easily, and it has a built-in bra. So, two birds, one stone.”
My eyes immediately drop to her breasts. A small crossbody bag divides them, defining the shape. Jesus.
Her hair is flowing loose over her shoulders, and for a second, I’m frozen—my chest tight in a way that can’t be healthy. She looks unguarded like this, and I love it.
Focus on the job.
I shoulder my bag and make my voice casual. “There’s bagels if you want them. Head out in fifteen?”
She nods and reaches for her own bag. I can tell it’s heavy by how she’s gripping it, and I catch sight of the corner of her laptop peeking out. Understanding clicks. “You’re bringing work?”
“I have to.” Her chin juts up in familiar defiance. “Deadlines don’t care about road trips. It’s almost four hours to Savannah. I can’t waste that time.”
I’m tempted to tell her no, but as much as I enjoy sparring with her, what am I going to say? You work too much?
It’s the kind of thing a boyfriend would say, not her bodyguard.
I realize how much I crave the right to say something.
Fuck. Knock it off.
I hold out my hand. “I’ll take it down for you. No argument.”
Her lips part to protest, but she hands it over without a word.
“Before we go…” I reach into my bag and pull out the weapon she’d asked for last night. I’d intentionally chosen a model similar to the one Luke said she gave the police, so she should be comfortable with it. “You ask, and you shall receive.”
Her fingers close around it immediately, and the look that crosses her face loosens something in my chest. The tension riding her frame eases by a fraction, like giving her back a piece of control lets her breathe again.
I know better than to comment on it. Instead, I cover the sudden jolt of emotion with the only shield I trust—banter. “You know how to use that, right? You’re not one of those people who buys a gun for Instagram and then screams if it goes bang?”
Her eyes snap to mine, cool and cutting. “I grew up in the country. I can shoot. Possibly better than you.”
The bite in her voice rolls right off me. God help me, I like her like this. Grinning I rub my hands together. “Road trip time.”
She mutters something under her breath as she tucks the gun into the crossbody bag and stalks past me toward the door.
I watch her walk away, my eyes tracking the sway of her skirt and the quick flash of bare thigh with every step. I can’t not watch. The combination of steel and softness is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I settle into the driver’s seat and ease the SUV into the early morning traffic. The wide stretch of interstate is already busy enough to demand my full attention.
Elizabeth sits beside me with her phone in hand, thumbs moving fast as she types. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the way she holds herself—back straight, shoulders tight, her entire body keyed up as if she’s in fight mode.
“Do you ever stop and relax?” I ask. “Or are you going to be glued to that thing for the whole trip? You’re missing the scenery,” I say, with my tongue pressed to the inside of my cheek.
Just as I planned, she glances away from her phone long enough to stare at me. “Is there an important billboard I missed?”
I snicker because I only said it to get a rise out of her.
“I’ve got things to handle,” she says stiffly.
“I’ve met drug lords with fewer attachment issues to their jobs.”
“Between the escorts you told me about and now drug lords, I’m wondering about your marketing approach?” She’s staring at her phone, but I see her smile.
After a couple of hours, we leave the interstate and take the smaller highway east. The road narrows to two lanes in each direction, and the exits are spaced far apart.
Tall pine trees line both sides of the road, cutting off most of the view beyond the shoulder.
I keep one hand on the wheel, my eyes moving as they track every car that comes up behind us.
“What’s today’s life-or-death emergency?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road. “Did someone forget to stock your client’s preferred La Croix flavor?”
“It’s a mis-worded clause in a licensing contract,” she says without looking up.
“Riveting.”
That earns me a sideways glance, and a lifted brow. “Not all of us get to solve problems by punching people. Though there are definitely times I think about doing just that.”
I grin, shifting my hand on the wheel. “Some days it’s more… persuasive conversation than punching. But yeah, I’ll take that over a licensing clause any day.”
She huffs a quiet laugh and turns her attention back to her phone, thumbs flying. Her phone rings, and she answers it with a sigh. “Morning, Genna.”
The loud sob that comes through the line is so raw, I hear it clearly from my side of the SUV, but I can’t make out all the words until Elizabeth holds the phone a little bit away from her ear.
“Genna? What’s wrong?”
“He keeps saying it’s tasteful and necessary for his artistic vision, but… You know how I feel about it.” The woman’s voice breaks.
Elizabeth’s fingers tighten on the phone, knuckles whitening.
Her jaw ticks, but her voice is soft, threaded with patience.
“Hey, hey. Breathe with me. Right now. In through your nose—slow—hold it, and let it out. Again. That’s it.
One more. Again. You’re not alone in this, Genna. I’ve got your back.”
There’s a shaky inhale on the other end.
“Good girl. Keep breathing. In and out. Where are you now?”
Another sniffle. “In my trailer.”
“That’s smart. I want you to lock the door and put on your meditation app, okay? I’ll handle it.”
“But Elizabeth–”
“I don’t want you to worry about this for another minute.
I know how important this role is for you, and that’s why we put the no-nudity clause in your contract in the first place.
Because this director is known for pulling this kind of stunt.
No one can force you to do it, and they can’t retaliate either without owing you millions. ”
“But he keeps saying… if I don’t… if I won’t, I’ll never get anywhere. That it’s expected.”
Elizabeth closes her eyes, something unpleasant flickering across her face. Her voice, though, is steel wrapped in silk. “That’s not true, Genna. Now, tell me—what’s Gerry saying? He’s your agent. He should be handling this.”
“He… he says I should do it. That it’ll broaden my appeal.”
Elizabeth’s lips pinch until they are white along the edges, and her hand clenches so hard I’m worried she’ll crack the phone. Then she silently mouths a string of curse words before taking a deep breath.
“Don’t worry about Gerry. I’m glad you called me. I’m going to let you go because I need to call him, and that piece of”—she clears her throat, taming her rage back down—“that director. I’ll explain it to them, and they won’t mention it to you again.”
A heavy sigh blows out of the speaker. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”
“Remember you can call me anytime. Even if it’s the middle of the night. You are never alone.”
Once she hangs, up Elizabeth immediately stabs at her screen, like she’s trying to kill it.
“Problem?” I ask, because if I don’t say something, I’ll be staring at her like a damn idiot. She’s practically a fire-breathing dragon going into war and I. Am. Here. For. It.
The agent is apparently the first phone call because she leads with an irate, “What the fuck, Gerry?” And a few minutes later she ends the call with, “Do your damn job, or I’ll help her find someone who will.”
The shift between the soft soothing tone she used with Genna and the merciless one she uses on the next calls is jarring.
My jaw drops as I listen to her explain in precise legal detail exactly how she’ll essentially financially cut off the director’s balls and disembowel him in front of the industry for preying on young women.
In the end, I know she’s won when she hisses, “I better never hear of anything like this again,” before hanging up.
She breathes hard for several minutes, offering no explanation, and since I’m not in the mood to catch friendly fire, I keep my mouth shut.
After fifteen minutes I break the silence.
“You’re kind of scary when you want to be.”
Elizabeth doesn’t look up from her phone. “Thank you.”
Another thirty minutes and she starts to shift, little restless movements that don’t match her usual composure. She tilts her phone, and squints. I glance over when she cracks the window and draws in a long careful breath. The tightness at the corners of her eyes and her pallor give her away.
“You good?”
“Yup,” she says through her teeth.
I can’t help the grin that tugs at my mouth at how mad she looks about being motion sick. Like she’s furious her body isn’t cooperating with her work schedule.
“You’re not going to puke in my car, are you?”
She glares at me. “No.”
“You sure? I’ve got a tactical bag back there, but it’s not rated for bodily fluids. Just looking out for my leather seats.”
“I hate you.” She sucks in another breath and turns toward the window, forehead against the glass, her phone still in her hand.
“Look out the windshield. It’ll help.”
“I’m looking out the window.”
“No, you’re not. You’re staring at your phone. You need the horizon. Horizon good. Phone bad.”
“Thanks for the third-grade health tip, Doctor Worthington.”
“I do what I can.” I grin at the road.
She shifts again, adjusts the vent, cracks the window wider. Elizabeth is so stubborn she can’t even admit she’s suffering.
“Want me to stop?” She doesn’t answer right away, so I add lightly, “We could play the license plate game. Or I-Spy? That’s always a crowd-pleaser.”