Operation 14 Trouble Strikes Again
Cassidy
“Easy,” Green told him. “He has fans. If he’s really in distress, he’ll let you know.”
Cassidy winced.
The new comms device Free had fitted him with was going to take some getting used to.
It wasn’t a standard earpiece. It didn’t have a plastic bud or a coiled tube that wound beneath his collar.
Free had molded some kind of transparent silicone, embedded with micro-wiring, into the inner fold of his ear.
He’d called it the Hart Communicator—inspired after his SWAT boyfriend.
The mechanism had so many ridiculous features he’d stopped trying to understand what the hell Free was talking about after two minutes. Conductive polymers, adaptive frequencies, and whatever other technical shit he’d rattled off, until Cassidy rumbled. “Just put the damn thing on.”
The nearly invisible device made Green sound as if he were two inches away instead of twenty yards across the ritzy restaurant in the middle of the lunch rush in West Hollywood.
Cassidy was planted a few feet from Xander’s table, close enough to cross the distance in three or four steps, but far enough to avoid breathing down his neck.
A balance that was harder than it should’ve been.
Xander sat at a long table near the center of the dining room with his team.
His manager, Jesse, and Carla, his publicist, were having an intense, hushed conversation.
Xander’s personal assistant, Elliot, was beside him with a notebook and two phones.
The studio’s production scheduling coordinator, Nolan Bryce, wore the same tight grimace from the time he’d sat down.
Maribel Chase, his crisis PR lead, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, sat eerily calm in the way a person did when they made a living dowsing other people’s fires.
Le Sherre Noir was all pale stone floors, dark wood, brass fixtures, mirrored walls, hanging greenery, and wide-open windows.
The restaurant was too busy and accessible for Cassidy’s liking.
It had three public entrances, a service corridor, four interior choke points, a patio with five-foot high planters that could hide a determined stalker, and a main dining area full of movement.
Fans were approaching him for autographs, and paparazzi had begun to gather outside.
Cassidy hated it.
Not because Xander looked afraid, but because he didn’t.
He’d surprised all of them at the way he’d walked in, shoulders back, chin lifted, sunglasses and hat off.
He’d shaken hands with the manager, smiled at the hostess, signed some menus for a table of giggling college girls, and posed with an older woman who cried and told him his movie had helped her understand her grandson.
Xander seemed okay but it didn’t make Cassidy feel any calmer.
“Tell me again why this was a good idea?” he muttered. His gaze moved across the front windows, the bar, the patio doors, then back to the table. “Xander could’ve met at Jesse’s office, inside a secured building.”
“Xander can’t stay hidden,” Tech answered through comms, his voice as smooth as his silk bow tie.
He was posted at the bar with a half-finished espresso in front of him.
“His film is still in production. He has award shows, television appearances, studio obligations, an upcoming charity event where he’s the keynote speaker, and every gossip rag in the country speculating on whether he’s too scared to be seen in public.
We need to be razor sharp and synchronized in the field, not only behind closed doors.
The more we operate around him in open environments, the cleaner his detail becomes. ”
Tech was right, but Cassidy still hated it.
Ruxs stood outside the front entrance in a cool posture that fooled no one who knew what danger looked like.
It was California in the summer and he wore dark jeans, a black Bob Marley T-shirt, beneath a worn denim trucker jacket, and biker boots.
Behind his sunglasses he was scanning his AOR—area of responsibility—that covered the sidewalk, valet lane, paparazzi clusters, and any fans who acted as if they wanted more from Xander than a picture and autograph.
Green held the rear interior near the kitchen doors and service corridor. He appeared relaxed, almost bored, but Cassidy could tell he was fully alert.
Tech handled counter-surveillance, comms liaison with Free, and threat identification. He might dress like a prestigious prep-school professor, but his eyes seemed to miss nothing behind those thick black frames.
Cassidy felt Xander’s eyes on him, and he glanced down without meaning to.
There was so much emotion reflected in those blue eyes he could hardly stand it.
Reassurance, gratitude, trust…want.
It hit him fast and everywhere at once.
Cassidy could still feel the weight of Xander’s body against his last night, the heat from his hands where he’d touched him this morning, the taste of him, and how he’d buried his nose against the soft, sweet skin of his neck, inhaling that sexy scent—
“Morrison, what the fuck? Focus,” Green snapped.
Cassidy yanked his gaze away, jaw clenched.
Fuck.
“Your AOR isn’t his fuckin eyes,” Green hissed. “Your attention should be working his bubble. Hands, angles, anyone in his immediate reach.”
Cassidy wanted to tell him to shut the hell up, but he didn’t, because he was right.
“You can’t let him distract you like that,” Green ordered.
Cassidy flexed his fingers at his sides. He knew this, he’d done over eighteen years of personal security in the military to know it in his bones. He felt like a dumbass for being reprimanded on a discipline he’d built his life and business around.
He understood body coverage, evac routes, reaction gaps, threat scans, soft exits, hard exits, and the brutal fact that the second a protector let emotion cloud their vision, their principle would be in danger.
He also realized the mounting feelings he had for Xander—Lane—were going to become a problem if he didn’t get control of them.
“Look,” Tech said calmly. “Trust me. We all get it.”
Cassidy kept his gaze moving, as he listened.
“Steele is my everything. When Free took my position and I became an enforcer, Steele did a lot of hesitating and second-guessing in the field. He had a hard time taking his eyes off me and I had a hard time tolerating being treated like a liability instead of an asset.”
Him and Steele?
The dark, scary Marine with ice cubes for eyes, and permanent glower was his boyfriend?
What an odd combination.
Cassidy had no clue the sexy geek was with him. Whenever he’d seen Tech and Steele together, they just moved like work partners. There’d been no touching or heated glares.
Same with God and Day. Married, partnered, and connected in a way anyone with a pulse could feel. But when they were on the job, their love was there, it just didn’t interfere.
“We’re not judging you,” Tech said. “We’re telling you the line is manageable.
Stay locked into your AOR and keep your head in the fight.
Those blue eyes that can’t stay off you for more than two minutes, and all the rest of him, will be waiting at the end of the day for you to enjoy if you do your job right. ”
Cassidy diverted his gaze to where it belonged
The waiter delivered the food to Xander’s table a few minutes later. He’d ordered a buffalo fried chicken sandwich and parmesan truffle fries that overflowed on the wide plate.
“There was a grilled chicken option on the menu,” Carla said in a tone that grated on Cassidy’s nerves.
The table went still as Cassidy watched out of his peripheral.
Xander glanced down at his abundant plate, then the rest of the table, his cheeks flaming bright red as he pushed it away.
Carla kept going. “You have the Golden Crown Awards in a few weeks. You’re wearing Dom Ford, and your measurements have already been sent.”
Xander’s gaze flicked towards him.
It took a lot of effort not to give in and meet Xander’s eyes, but he managed.
“Is that witch fuckin blind?” Ruxs said in his ear. “Xander’s hot as hell.”
Cassidy agreed with every violent part of himself.
Before he could consider whether it was his place to step in, Jesse Ross slammed her pen down on her notepad.
“He can eat whatever the fuck he wants, Carla.”
She reached over and slid Xander’s plate back in front of him.
Carla frowned. “But Jessica—”
“No buts.” She leaned forward. “His last physical showed him in perfect health. Heart strong, labs good. That’s all that matters. And his suit will fit fine on a body millions of people already love exactly as it is.”
The team’s expressions shifted, one by one, into open disgust.
Her mouth tightened. “I’m just thinking about the optics. That’s my job.”
“You are always thinking about optics,” Jesse snapped. “That’s the problem. You think like a goddamn robot. You don’t think what you just said was insensitive and hurtful as fuck.”
“I was hired because I’m good at my job. I know what the people want,” Carla argued.
Jesse picked up her dry martini, then set it down with a hard clink.
“If you think the people,” Jesse said with air quotes, “are looking for some sculpted David model, then you’re more than welcome to go find one and work for him. Otherwise, keep your body-shaming bullshit to yourself.”
Carla gaped, blinking as if she really didn’t think what she’d said was wrong. “That is not what I was doing.”
“Yes, you were, and you did it in a public restaurant. With everything Xander’s been through, you’re bitching about what he’s eating.” Jesse put her hand up. “Actually, never mind. You’re fired. Get up from my meeting and away from my client. Now.”
Carla choked. “Wh-what? You can’t fire me. I work for Xander, not you.”
Jesse stood and the entire table seemed to shrink around her.
“No, bitch. You work for me. I manage Xander’s entire team, and that includes you.” Jesse’s voice rose the more she went on. “I decide what’s in his best interest…and it damn sure isn’t you.”
“Holy shit,” Ruxs whispered. “This woman is in beast mode right now.”
“Yeah,” Green said, “And she’s attracting attention.”
Jesse pointed toward the front door. “Get the fuck out, or I can have HOS escort you out.”