Chapter 7 #2
Remy and Max continued to talk about things that bored me.
My focus was on Valentina instead. She stepped out of the room a few minutes later, heading toward the deck with a man I didn’t recognize.
He was tall, blond, and he clearly thought too much of himself, judging by the way he leaned in close to her as they walked.
She didn’t shove him off though. Didn’t pull away. That should’ve told me everything I needed to know about her. She didn’t have boundaries. Not the kind that mattered.
The cigarette trembled between her fingers when she brought it to her lips, and I wondered if the guy noticed.
Probably not. He was too busy looking at her like she was something he was entitled to. Like he’d already made up his mind about how the night would end.
I wasn’t sure why it annoyed me. Maybe because I knew exactly what type of man he was. The kind who thought a little charm and a lit cigarette was all it took to get someone like Valentina to fall into place.
Or maybe it annoyed me because she was letting him. Like she’d let me.
Max and Remy soon left to find more people to chat with. I wasn’t sure why, but I found myself waiting for Valentina to step back inside. Waiting for that guy to leave her side. It wasn’t curiosity—I knew enough about her already.
When she finally returned, she didn’t look in my direction or even notice I was watching. Maybe she didn’t care. Women like Valentina didn’t notice anything beyond their next drink, their next cigarette, or their next bad choice.
And that was exactly the problem. Her choices weren’t just hers anymore—they’d quickly become mine, thanks to Remy and Max. As long as she stayed tangled up with the Callahans, I’d be stuck here too, wasting my time babysitting the kind of drama I’d spent years avoiding.
I had my own issues to deal with—PT, recovery, getting my shoulder back into something resembling working order. Hell, I’d take sitting behind the colonel’s desk right now over standing around watching this mess unfold.
But saying no to Remy wasn’t a skill I’d mastered. He asked, and I showed up. Every damn time. And if Valentina didn’t get her shit together soon, Remy would come knocking, and I’d be the one expected to clean up whatever disaster she left behind.
The sooner Valentina disappeared from this circle, the sooner I could catch a flight back to DC.
She stopped near the fire with her back to the room, holding her hands out toward the flames as if they might actually warm her through the cold.
I stopped a few feet away, watching her for a moment longer than I should have done. Then I stepped closer, the sound of my shoes catching her attention. Her head turned slightly, just enough for her eyes to find mine.
She scanned the suit, the tie. I could almost see the dots connecting in her mind.
“You are stalking me.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I could say the same about you.”
Her eyebrow lifted, her expression just shy of sarcastic. “You’re like a bad penny. Or a private investigator.”
“I’m not a PI,” I said, because I wasn’t about to get roped into whatever narrative she was building in her head.
She gave me a skeptical side-eye as if she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Then what are you?”
“A lawyer,” I said, pausing just long enough to add, “You know that.”
Her demeanor changed instantly. She didn’t look at me, but I could tell she was piecing things together, her mind working faster than her tongue.
“Let me guess,” she said after a pause. “You work for Max.”
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer.
She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Figures. You’re all the same—speak in circles, dodge the real question, and call it clever.”
“I don’t dodge questions. I just don’t answer the ones that don’t matter.”
“Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Because it doesn’t matter that Max has you on a leash, right?”
I tipped my head slightly. “A leash implies I don’t know where I’m going.”
“And do you?”
“Always.”
“You’ve got a habit, mijo.”
“Marco,” I corrected, hating the name she’d saddled me with.
“What?”
“My name is Marco.”
“Well, Marco, do you really expect me to believe this is a coincidence?
“No,” I said, my voice calm. “I don’t.”
She blinked, clearly not expecting the honesty. “So what then? Max sends you to keep tabs on me?”
I tilted my head, studying her. “Would that surprise you?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “No,” she said finally. “It wouldn’t.”
“Then why ask?”
“I like to check my sources.”
“Prudent,” I said, not bothering to hide my lack of amusement. “But unnecessary.”
“Let me see it,” she said suddenly.
I frowned. “See what?”
“The file you have on me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you have pictures? Did Max send you out with a camera to catch me buying cheap wine at the corner store?”
I repeated myself. “I’m not a PI.”
She leaned back slightly, giving me a look that said she didn’t buy a damn word I was saying. “No, you’re not a PI. You’re just a lawyer with time on his hands and nothing better to do than ‘work’ at Christmas parties.”
“If you’re implying I don’t want to be here, you’re right. But sometimes, work requires us to be in places we don’t particularly enjoy.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Poor you. Must be tough, standing around sipping expensive whiskey and passing judgment.”
“It could be worse.”
“How so?”
“I could be spending Christmas making reckless decisions someone else will have to clean up later.”
She paused for a second. It was subtle, but I caught it. Something close to embarrassment flashed behind her eyes before she blinked it away. She was good at hiding her emotions. Almost good enough to fool me. But I’d gotten too good at noticing the things people tried to bury when they were drunk.
“I don’t need you or anyone else cleaning up my messes,” she finally said, her voice colder than before.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“No—you implied it.” She folded her arms tighter, as if the stance alone could hide her from the truth we both knew. “Just because Max thinks I’m a disaster waiting to happen doesn’t mean you have to buy into his bullshit too.”
I tilted my head, watching her closely. “You’re standing at a Christmas party arguing with a stranger about being followed. Maybe Max isn’t as far off the mark as you’d like to believe.”
Her jaw tightened. “And what does that make you? Some noble lawyer swooping in to protect Max from me?”
“No,” I said quietly. “I’m not protecting Max.”
She hesitated as if she wasn’t expecting that. Her eyes searched mine for something—maybe a lie, maybe some hidden agenda. She didn’t find it, because it wasn’t there. Truth was, I wasn’t protecting Max or Remy or anyone else.
If anything, I was protecting myself. Keeping tabs on the loose ends, watching the threads, making sure they didn’t unravel in a way I couldn’t fix.
She pressed her lips together. “Either way, you don’t know me well enough to judge me.”
“I know enough,” I replied evenly.
“What do you know? My favorite color? Or do stalkers usually learn birthdays first?”
“I know you have a habit for causing trouble.”
“Gringo terco,” she murmured under her breath.
“What?”
“Is your Spanish as terrible as your manners?”
“Probably worse,” I admitted.
“Well, at least you’re self-aware. That’s one redeeming quality.”
“Only one?” I asked dryly.
She smiled sweetly. “One more than I expected.”
Her attitude had changed a lot when she found out who I worked for. She was no longer the sweet mess I’d first met.
She wasn’t exactly subtle in her hypocrisy either—quick to judge me for working with Max, but conveniently forgetting she was the one tangled up with Callahans, hiding wine bottles under counters and running herself ragged chasing after trouble.
I didn’t care what she thought of me. Hell, I’d spent my life dealing with judgment from people who mattered a lot more than her—commanding officers, doctors, therapists convinced they had me figured out after two sessions and a checklist. Valentina’s opinion didn’t rank highly enough to sting.
But still, it bothered me more than I liked. Maybe it was because she was exactly the kind of person I’d spent my whole life avoiding. Chaotic. Self-destructive. The type who refused to acknowledge her own mess but had no trouble pointing out everyone else’s.
“Your judgment isn’t exactly something I lose sleep over.”
“I’m sure you sleep just fine. People without morals usually do.”
She had a bite to her—one that irked me but made me want to smile all the same.
It was refreshing, honestly. Most people tiptoed around me, afraid of offending the wrong person or burning bridges.
But Valentina didn’t just burn bridges—she set them on fire and then watched to make sure they stayed lit.
“Careful,” I warned lightly. “The attitude you have is meant for a man named Jacob, not me. If Max wanted pictures of you buying cheap wine, he wouldn’t send me. Too expensive.”
I didn’t care what she drank or where she bought it. Whether she poured her life into a glass and drank it dry or stayed sober long enough to claw her way back up, it didn’t matter to me.
I continued. “And I wouldn’t waste my time either. Whatever you’re hiding, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Her eyes flashed as if the anger she felt had cut through the disappointment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means your mess isn’t special. Max doesn’t need a file to know exactly how this plays out.”
She stiffened. “And how does it play out, lawyer? Since you’re so damn sure you’ve got me figured out.”
“It ends with you being exactly what everyone already expects,” I said, reaching my arm behind her to place my drink on the mantel. “A drunk who can’t keep it together.”