Chapter 6 #3
I watched the exchange carefully. Celeste’s smile was pleasant but dismissive, the kind that placated instead of validated what her daughter did for work.
I realized that Stella’s irritation wasn’t just about the comment her mother had made—it was about the way Celeste casually minimized it.
Like it didn’t matter when it clearly meant everything to Stella.
I realized this was a woman fighting to have her choice of career and ambition recognized as real and I found myself respecting the hell out of that, and her.
But it wasn’t just defiance driving her.
I’d seen the way her eyes had shifted—just for a second—toward her mother after she’d spoken.
Not to challenge. Not to win the discussion.
She wanted her mother’s approval. Maybe she’d pretend she didn’t.
Maybe she’d armor up and act like she was above it.
But the need was there, quiet and unfulfilled.
And I couldn’t help but remember the way she’d reacted at The Players Club and how she’d softened when I’d praised her. The way her breath had hitched when I’d told her she was doing so well for me.
Good girl.
She hadn’t just responded physically. She’d glowed. Melted. Like the words had unlocked something deeper than desire. Like being seen—being affirmed—had hit her in a place far more vulnerable than her body.
That hadn’t been about submission. That had been about validation. About someone recognizing her effort. Her courage. Her control. And standing here now, watching her mother dismiss the very thing Stella had clearly poured herself into, I understood it better.
She didn’t just crave independence. She craved acknowledgment. And I was dangerously aware that I knew exactly how to give it to her.
That wasn’t territory I could afford to step into again. Not here. Not now. Not when she was my responsibility and a client.
I forced the memory—and the impulse that came with it—back behind a professional wall.
Whatever understanding I’d gained about her just now wasn’t something I could use.
It was something I had to guard against. Because if I started offering her what she wasn’t getting at home, this arrangement would blur fast.
“If you’re in contact with people for business, then yes, I’ll need a list of your clients,” I said, putting our conversation back on track. “And your friends, too.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, looking a bit raw after that exchange with her mother. “Sutton said my friends wouldn’t be investigated or followed.”
Her tone was controlled, but there was a thread of warning in it. Not anger at me, exactly. Just… exhaustion. Like she was bracing for yet another person to override her.
“They won’t be followed,” I said calmly. “But I need to know who has regular access to you. Who spends time around you. That’s standard protocol in a situation like this.”
“Including Oliver,” her mother chimed in. “I know he comes from a solid family, but you never know…”
“Oliver?” I questioned, my gaze cutting to Stella.
She hesitated. Her eyes, which had been holding mine with that defiant steadiness I was beginning to recognize, suddenly dropped away and she wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she shifted her weight subtly, like she wanted to step back from the conversation entirely.
“Her boyfriend,” Celeste supplied, oblivious to—or perhaps choosing to ignore—her daughter’s discomfort.
I didn’t miss the flush that swept across Stella’s cheeks, but she didn’t deny it.
Well, fuck.
Boyfriend. The word landed somewhere in my chest with more weight than it should have. My jaw tightened before I could stop it. I kept my expression blank, professional, but my mind wasn’t nearly as composed.
So that was it. Maybe that was why she’d vanished on me.
The thought churned in my gut, not because she owed me anything, but because the connection between us had felt so real.
The way she’d looked at me, trusted me with her body…
I told myself it didn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. That she wasn’t mine.
But the idea that she had a boyfriend and I was her dirty little secret? Yeah, that stung.
“I’ll give you a list of names,” Stella said, her voice steadier now, though she still wouldn’t quite look at me. “But first, I need to go to my apartment. I was brought straight here from my father’s office and I need to pack some things and also what I’m currently working on.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ll take you there,” I said, the words coming out flatter than I intended.
We left the house in tense silence. I walked beside her toward the black SUV parked in the circular drive, my thoughts churning as I tried to keep reminding myself that she was nothing more than a client.
A job. What she did in her personal life—who she dated—was entirely irrelevant to keeping her safe.
“Does Oliver know about your night at The Players Club?” Fuck. The question was out before I could stop it.
Stella’s steps faltered for just a fraction of a second and she didn’t reply, telling me everything I needed to know.
I nodded slowly, my jaw tight as I yanked open the passenger side door for her to get inside the vehicle. “I guess I was your walk on the wild side, huh?”
The words came out sharper than I’d intended, edged with something I didn’t want to examine too closely. Hurt, maybe. Or wounded pride. Either way, it was unprofessional and I knew it.
She stopped at the door and turned to look at me and I could see something conflicting moving behind her eyes—uncertainty, possibly even guilt.
But there was something else too. Something softer that looked almost like regret.
Like she wished the circumstances were different.
Like she wished I’d walked into her life under any other condition than this.
Finally, she spoke. “Oliver… he’s not…” she started, then shook her head, pressing her lips together. “Never mind.”
I held her gaze for a long moment, waiting. Part of me—the part that had no business feeling anything about this situation—wanted her to finish that sentence. Wanted to know what Oliver wasn’t.
But she didn’t shed any clarity on the relationship with the other man and instead slid into the SUV.
“Yeah, not my business,” I muttered beneath my breath and closed the door with more force than necessary.
Because honestly? Whatever she had—or didn’t have—with Oliver was her concern, not mine.
She was my client and I was her security for the foreseeable future.
And clearly, outside of The Players Club, our lives were vastly different and would never mesh.
She lived in a gilded world and my life, my past, wasn’t anything her parents would consider acceptable.
Whatever had happened at The Players Club between us—whatever I might have let myself imagine could exist beyond those walls—was irrelevant now. That version of us was a one-time deal.
Stella’s personal life wasn’t my business, I repeated to myself. Not her relationships. Not her choices. Not the life she’d stepped back into once our night together was over.
Maybe if I said it enough times, I’d actually believe it.