Chapter 17 A Lavender Eye Mask, Please
A LAVENDER EYE MASK, PLEASE
BANKS
After we return, she retreats to the house to get ready for the day. I take the opportunity to check in with Dean back in Los Angeles as I walk around the perimeter of the property, chatting with my longtime friend on the phone.
He’s the kind of friend who’d bail you out of jail no problem and ask questions later. Fortunately, he’s never had to do that for me. Like me, he’s also laser-focused on growing this business.
“The crew arrives tomorrow—Saturday,” I say, recapping the plans for the upcoming shoot starting this weekend.
“Vega the director, the rest of the cast, and so on. We have our best-practices briefing scheduled then. And everything’s a go for securing the location for the first shots on Sunday afternoon, which is a pretty basic, no principal cast, just beauty shots. ”
“Great. And we’ve got Wanda Rodriguez on Haven,” he says.
“It was a lucky break she was available,” I say of the former CIA field agent, who’s been protecting several high-profile clients since leaving the agency.
“I’d like to think it was my magic touch at convincing her,” he says.
He’s never been short on confidence. “Yeah. It was you, Dean.”
“I know,” he deadpans, then shifts to a more serious tone. “But it’s a damn good thing. Tabitha was happy to hear we could get a woman on the job.”
The logistics producer made it clear that since the film is helmed by a female director, written by a woman, and produced by a woman-owned company, it’d sure be nice to see some women in the security team too.
Done.
We have backup coming in as well, so I’ll have some other close protection officers covering Haven and Ripley from time to time, since Wanda and I can’t do twenty-four-seven security.
After Dean and I cover the prep work, as well as the assignments for our team on site, then cover the projects he’s handling in Los Angeles for corporate clients, he clears his throat and says, “How’s it going so far? You seemed a little…before you left.”
I bristle as I walk past the white fence hemming in row after row of purple flowers with that soft, powdery, woodsy scent that’s supposed to be calming. “A little what?”
“A little tense every time the job came up,” he says, getting straight to the point now.
How the fuck could he tell? I thought I was playing it cool. I roll my shoulders like I can shrug it off. Maybe I need a lavender eye mask. “Just because it’s a big job.”
“That’s what I meant,” he says. Oh. So he thought I was stressed about the importance of the job. Not that I might fuck it up beyond all recognition thanks to this unchecked attraction.
“Hell, I’m a little tense about the job,” he continues.
“Yeah?”
“I’m so over working for other people,” he says as I reach the corner of the fields, then turn up the street that runs along the back of the farm. “Did that long enough for Stan. Don’t want to do it again.”
There it is. The reminder. “Same, brother. Same.”
He blows out a breath. If a breath could sound hopeful, this one does. “It’ll be good,” he says, like he’s reassuring himself more than me.
“Absolutely,” I say, because it fucking will, I’ll make sure of it. We won’t miss a thing. No one in the whole damn world is more organized than I am. Being a little bit of a control freak goes a long way in my field.
“And how’s the sister?” he asks.
It’s a standard business question. A normal check-in about the client.
A conversation we’ve had a hundred times before in the last year as we’ve worked together, running our firm.
But also in the years before when we were working for Stan Withers and our didn’t-give-a-shit boss sent us too-thin briefs without any real research, leaving Dean and me to sink or swim, whether it came to field work or cybersecurity.
Plus side though? We learned by doing, because we had no other choice but to figure out the jobs all on our own.
No job, though, has ever been this tempting.
In all my years in close protection, I’ve never warred with desire for a client. I think about the answer I can’t give to Dean’s question.
Ripley Addison is sexy. Fiery. Challenging.
All the things she was the night I met her and even more.
But I don’t say any of that because I don’t want Dean to worry.
Like it’s no big deal, since really, it has to be no big deal, I say, “She’s a typical non-celeb client.
Doesn’t think she needs a bodyguard. But it’s fine. ”
He chuckles. “Know the type well.”
“Yup. How are things with the McKellar project?” I ask, shifting gears to a corporate client, since I don’t want to dwell on me and these feelings I can’t entertain.
He slides into those details easily and when I’ve rounded the property a third time, we’re done. “Keep me posted,” he says.
“You know I will.”
“I do,” he says.
I hang up, wishing I didn’t feel like I’d lied to my friend and business partner. But when I reach the main gate for Lavender Bliss Farms, I try to shrug off the uncomfortable feelings, vowing to focus on the client’s needs—giving her the space she asked for while watching her back.
That I can do without lying.
By the end of the evening, I’ve finished some admin work, helped pick and prune flowers with Ripley, and accompanied her on some deliveries.
I stayed in the background, giving her space to chat with her customers, her employees, her friends.
While she talked to Ramona by the lavender maze about something that clearly distressed the woman in the shop, I hung back, out of earshot.
When she ran into a woman with heavily pierced ears and a nose ring, I gave them space for the convo.
As we return to the farm, Ripley heads inside the home, and I go to the shop, on a mission.
A guy I’m pretty sure is Cyrus is working there today, bobbing his shaggy head of hair to something that sounds like Jack Johnson.
He’s a white surfer dude with long hair, a deep tan, and an obvious vibe—that his life is a vibe.
“Hey, bro,” he says with a smile. “What can I do you for?”
“How’s it going?” He doesn’t have a name tag, but Ripley told me the names of everyone who worked here so I can surmise.
And I like to use people’s names when I can.
That’s something my mother taught me. It personalizes interactions.
Shows them you care, even if it’s someone you’ll never see again, she says. “I’m Banks. You must be Cyrus.”
He puffs out his chest. “I am. And you’re like Kevin Costner, right? I love that movie. I mean it’s old, but old movies are so cute, man, aren’t they? But hey, no surprise there. Old people are rad. I wonder what it would have been like to be an old person back then?”
Wow. That is quite an if you give a moose a muffin train of thought. He seems to be enjoying it since his gaze is drifting off, and perhaps he’s picturing himself in the good old days of the nineties.
I wait for him to come back to the present moment.
He shakes his head. “Anyhoo. Talk to me, bro.”
I nod toward the lavender eye masks. “I’ll take one of those, Cyrus.”
“Sweet,” he says, then hands me one, not making a move to ask for payment.
My brow knits. “How much?”
“Bro, you’re keeping my boss safe. It’s on the house.”
Pretty sure giving things away is not helping the boss, but this is not my circus nor my monkeys. “I’d like to pay.”
He shakes his head. “Your money’s no good here.”
“I bet it cashes just fine,” I say.
“Nope,” he says with a pop of his lips.
The fact that he thinks he can win this battle of wills with me is, admittedly, impressive. No wonder Ripley hired him. He has tenacity under this chill exterior.
That goes on for about another minute until I stare him down and say in no uncertain terms, “I’m not leaving until I pay.”
With a huff, he holds up his hands, relenting. “Have it your way.”
I buy the eye mask, thank him, and leave, setting the mask neatly on the nightstand in the cottage. We’ll see if it helps relieve all my supposed tension after all.
When it’s dinnertime, I don’t expect Ripley to feed me.
I tell Lila and Ripley that I’ll order takeout, but Lila insists, and I’m not one to argue with grandmothers.
At dinner we discuss security precautions for the farm, and I review the plan.
But I’m pleased that Lila and Ripley are savvy already about best practices.
And, like I promised, I show Ripley that she can take care of everyone and everything while I look out for her. I’ll do it again tomorrow and throughout the length of the shoot, respecting her boundaries and the boundaries of the job.
As the day fades and night settles its blanket over the farm, I nod toward the front door, a sign I’m heading off to my quarters for the night.
“See you and Hudson bright and early,” I say with a wink as I reach for the doorknob but don’t open it.
“Just try to keep up with me,” she retorts.
“I’ll be up and at ’em.”
“Right, because you don’t sleep.” She cocks her head to the side, lifting her chin. “Hey. Are you a vampire bodyguard?”
“Do you think I am, Ripley?”
“I’m definitely getting that impression. But you’re not allergic to sunlight. Hmm.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling as I shift back to the practical. “Tomorrow, the crew comes. That’s when things will start to get more hectic. It’ll be more important—”
“I know. I get why it’s important to have you,” she says, mimicking my serious tone.
I’d like to have her.
“You’re just saying that because you can’t shake me,” I tease.
She arches an eyebrow. “I can’t?”
Fuck. I almost forgot who I was dealing with. I drag a hand down my face. “What have I done?” I mutter.
When I look up, she sure looks like she’ll be having the last laugh. “I guess we’ll see.”
I sure will. But I’ll rise to the challenge. “Then, I can’t wait to see how you’re going to try to shake me tomorrow.”
Ripley’s smile is too damn pleased. “It is on.”