Chapter Twenty-Nine
The dogs clambered up the tailgate and raced around the bed of the pickup as though they rode around town with Rhys all the time.
He opened the door and lifted Jules in. She wasn’t short and never claimed to be a helpless woman or a needy celebrity, but after he settled her in the front seat, she couldn’t ignore the silly little grin that tugged on her cheeks.
He got in, and the engine roared to life.
“The dogs don’t mind staying back there?”
“They love it, and we’re not going more than a mile. They could probably run it faster than we can drive.”
Last night, she’d been tired and drifting in and out of sleep when they’d arrived at the house.
Now she could take in the adorable block.
After a single turn at a stop sign, they were on an equally adorable main street, where traffic moved slowly, and people milled along the sidewalks.
Location managers would fall over themselves to find a small town as picturesque.
Jules didn’t plan to breathe a word about it.
After two stop signs, he drove them toward an estate perched at the end of town. The drive up the hill took longer than their time through town.
A gothic mansion appeared ahead of them. “Is that your office?”
“Yup.” He parked alongside a row of vehicles. “Vivian oversaw its renovation when Titan Group bought out another company and started a division focused on protection details.”
“This place is amazing. How long did it take her to do that?”
He pursed his lips. “I was one of her first hires. Renovation started about the same time. Remind me to tell you the backstory of how this all started. Absolutely wild.”
The dogs followed them inside, and Scarlett met them at the door.
Jules wrapped her arms around her.
“It’s so good to hug you,” Scarlett said.
Jules squeezed tighter. “Oh, and this is for you.” She reached into her purse and retrieved the small bag. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, but Abigail and I asked Rhys, and he said it would match your hair. So here you are.”
Scarlett opened the beaded choker. “I love lilies.” She locked arms with Jules. “Jules is with me. Find us upstairs if you need her.”
They walked up a showstopping staircase that led to towering stained-glass windows. The place was creepy and cool and yet another place a location scout would kill to know about. Again, Jules planned to take this place to her grave.
“Now that Rhys is busy.” Scarlett led her into a parlor straight out of the early 1900s. “I have to pick your brain.”
Jules’s stomach dropped. Please don’t ask about Rhys.
Scarlett grabbed a chair and dragged it over to a hand-carved desk. A laptop and two large screens waited for them. Jules’s stomach sank again. She didn’t want to see the gossip sites or any paparazzi photos. “What are we doing?”
“You’ll see. Sit down.” Scarlett’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “One of my besties is a stylist for spooks.”
“Spooks?”
Scarlett mouthed, “CIA.” Then she added, “Pretend I didn’t say that.”
All right. The CIA had stylists. Why not? Surely, they had spies in disguises. “That sounds like a fun job.”
“My friend has the flu or something, and she can barely get off the bathroom floor but is up against a hard deadline.”
Jules thought of Abigail. “I’ve heard it’s going around.”
“It’s a cutthroat business, and she won’t pass the assignment on. We’re going to help pick the clothes.”
“We are?” Oh, this was cool. “How?”
“It’s like Rent the Runway, except for…” She mouthed, “spies.”
“If I came back in another life, I’d want to be a spy,” Jules confessed. “One of those sleek, stealthy types who drop ciphers into a secret spot at a European ball.”
Scarlett rounded her mouth. “You should tell Viv. I bet she could find something for you to do one day.”
Jules waved away the silly idea.
“Let’s see.” Scarlett redirected Jules to the screen. “There are four people to pull a full black-tie wardrobe and accessories for.” She clicked with the mouse. “I’ve helped before. It’s like virtual dress-up and so much fun—but I don’t want to screw up.”
On one screen, the profile pictures of four women appeared, their faces blurred. Under each person was an identification number, measurements, and physical features. On the other screen were rows and rows of dresses.
“We can filter by size, shape, color, style… on and on. You name it. We have to make them look beautiful. And we have about an hour to pull it off. As you can see”—Scarlett gestured to herself—“my sense of style is the opposite of elegant red carpet.”
“Your style is fantastic.”
“Thanks, agreed, but your two cents are needed.”
“We just choose and… What happens?”
Scarlett shrugged. “A CIA fairy godmother snaps her fingers, and the clothes show up? Not sure. Not our problem. The looks have to work. See—this lady has a killer rack, and that lady’s booty is something else.”
They oohed and ahhed and picked the perfect dresses for the four body types. Accessories and shoes were a breeze.
“Done.” Scarlett leaned back from the keyboard. “They’ll look stunning.”
Rhys walked in with another guy also built like a Dorito, with wide shoulders and a tapered waist. Jules might never look at chips the same way again. Both men had dark hair and chiseled jaws with five o’clock shadows.
“Got a minute?” Rhys asked.
“We’re done.” Scarlett tucked her legs under the chair. “Guess it’s time for you to start meeting people.”
The other man strode forward. “Dean Whitlow.”
Dean was a maverick with computers. This wasn’t what she thought he’d look like.
Still, given that she’d just helped dress four very normal, albeit beautiful, women who were apparently spies, Jules guessed she shouldn’t have mentally cast Dean before meeting him.
“Thanks for working on all my problems over the years.”
“It’s always been the more interesting parts of my work. We’re on our way to talk with Viv. She has updates to share.”
Jules tried not to let reality crash down on her too hard. With a stiff upper lip and a faux pep in her step, she followed Rhys and Dean.
Vivian was on a phone call, pacing, when she gestured for the men to come in. She caught sight of Jules, giving her a quick wave, and pointed at her earbuds before returning her attention to the call.
Dean leaned against the wall. Rhys motioned for Jules to sit in one of the two chairs in front of Vivian’s desk. He took the other.
“Sorry about that.” Vivian tossed her earbuds onto the desk. She was nothing like what Jules had pictured. Apparently, that was the ongoing theme. She’d made assumptions, and Titan blasted them away.
In black leather pants, a fitted tee, and bright-cherry spike heels, Vivian Maddox looked like a bartender for a motorcycle gang hangout. Her gray gel nails matched the shimmer of her gray eyeshadow. The woman was scary and sexy and smoky rolled into one badass lady.
“What’s going on?” Rhys asked.
Vivian settled behind her desk and tapped her nails three times. “Feds tracked payment for the flowers to the internet at Mason’s place in Bel Air.”
“What? No.” Jules’s hand covered her mouth. “Really?”
“I’m sorry,” Vivian said.
Rhys gave Jules a concerned look as Viv and Dean volleyed a conversation back and forth, but she couldn’t hear them.
It was like she’d shoved cotton into her ears or they were speaking gibberish.
Their mouths were moving, but she couldn’t comprehend anything that came out.
Her arms and legs were too heavy. The air was as thick as glue. She couldn’t take a deep enough breath.
She twisted toward Rhys. His eyes narrowed.
Could he tell that she couldn’t breathe?
Mason was behind all this? That didn’t make sense.
Part of their arranged-marriage vision had been which franchises she hoped to continue and which film roles she could pursue.
His career benefited if her career flourished.
Her vision blurred. “I need water.”
Rhys stood.
She needed to get out of Vivian’s office. All these years, everything she’d done, and the man messing with her was the one she’d almost married? How stupid was she? This was why she didn’t trust anyone. Everyone had an agenda—even if she didn’t understand it.
Rhys grabbed her by the arm. “All right. Let’s go.”
They walked into a hall, and he tucked her into a side room. Every step felt like she was trudging through cement.
“Hey,” he said, moving his face close to hers. “You have to take a breath.”
She couldn’t form thoughts or understand why Mason would do this to her.
“Jules.” Rhys cupped her face. “Look at me.”
“It’s been Mason?” This whole time, it had been one of the people closest to her. “Why?”
Vivian appeared behind Rhys and handed him a Coke. He popped the top. “Take a sip of this. Sit down on the chair behind you.”
She did what he said. Breathing still didn’t feel right. The sweet bubbles on her tongue, though… That felt a little better.
Rhys rubbed her back. “Take a deeper breath. Slow it down.”
That was the problem. Her lungs raced. Her blood screamed. Anger, fury, and shock at Mason rattled her more than the text message, the flowers, or stupid Chad Montgomery. The betrayal was too much.
Rhys crouched in front of her. “Another sip. Good. Now, a deep breath.” He locked eyes with her and made her breathe in and out with him. “Just like that.”
Finally, the hazy edge in her periphery disappeared. She took another sip and dropped her chin to her chest. “That bastard. Why would he do this?”
“The feds will figure it out. They’re talking to Mason right now.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “It will be all over the news. I can’t handle—”
Rhys cupped his hands on her cheeks. “Give me your eyes, Jules.”
She forced them open.
His thumbs smoothed over her skin. “They’ll keep it quiet. He won’t have any reason to say anything. No one’s gonna know.”
“They’re going to know.”
“They won’t. Not right now.”
“I was just having the best day.” Tears burned at the back of her throat. She refused to cry over Mason. But hell, now that she could breathe again, she wanted to scream.
“I’ll take you home.”
“No. What about dinner?”
He gave her an uncertain look.
“One of your coworkers is grilling out?” She swallowed away the unshed tears. “Can we do that? Do something? I can’t just sit at home and try to figure out why he did this to me. I need to be somewhere I can pretend my life isn’t gossip fodder.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. I need this. I need normal.” She wasn’t sure what normal actually looked like. Her life was ridiculous, and it was her own doing. She hated it. But this place? Less than twenty-four hours here, and she was falling in love with it. Or maybe that was Rhys she was falling in love with.
She sat with that thought longer than was safe. Then she put it away, because Rhys was crouching in front of her with his forehead pressed to hers, and she couldn’t think about falling for someone while that someone was actively holding her together.
Rhys took the can of Coke from her hand and set it on the floor. “Look at me.”
Her eyelashes fluttered.
“I will fix this. Whatever the reason. Whyever the fuck it’s happened, it will be done. If that means I rid the world of Mason Marlow, then he’ll disappear. If I have to do something else to make everything right? I’m going to do it. Do you believe me?”
She nodded. But she was the only person who needed to disappear. Just dissolve, evaporate, never to be seen again. “I don’t want to do this anymore. There has to be a different way.”
His gaze narrowed. “Don’t make decisions when you’re angry.”
Her lips quirked. “You just said you were going to disappear somebody. I can say I need to take a break from making films.”
He licked his bottom lip and let out a breath with a short laugh. “Okay. Fair.”
“Maybe I just step off the treadmill and wait for whatever really speaks to me.”
He squeezed her hand. “Whatever you want.”
Rhys Callaghan was what she wanted.
A knock sounded on the door. Heavy boots walked in as Rhys stood up.
An older man narrowed his eyes, glancing from Rhys to her to Rhys again.
“Viv said you might need a hand.” He cleared his throat.
“Looks like you’ve got it handled.” He strode over and handed Rhys an ice pack but said to her, “Gage Thorne.”
“Nice to meet you.” Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. “I had to catch my breath.”
With another quick once-over, Gage nodded. “I’ll let you two be.”
Rhys let out a long breath and rubbed the back of his neck. She didn’t need to ask what was wrong. They were probably the worst-kept secret in Titan.