Chapter Ten
The phone on Isabella’s office desk buzzed. “Ms. Strickland, Olivia Flores with The Charlotte Times is here to see you.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. I’m on my way.” She hung up with the security guard stationed at AegisShield’s entrance lobby and headed for the seventh-floor elevators, passing navy-paneled cubicles arranged in a semi-open floor plan.
Posters of AegisShield booths at international defense expos decorated the hall—Riyadh, Taipei, Seoul, Paris.
Places she’d been but never explored outside the hotels and convention halls.
The company’s logo dominated the wall opposite the elevators—an angular shield reminiscent of the Star Trek insignia, superimposed over a radar grid etched into brushed steel, above the tagline Precision, Protection, Partnership.
Miran Hassan was dead. That part of her life was now truly in the past.
The other part had stood in her driveway two nights ago, absorbing her anger, then shredding her equilibrium with a single sentence.
Whatever you think of me, know this—that night meant something to me, too.
If the night of Jaynie’s funeral meant something to him, why had he never reached out?
Men. She jabbed the button for the ground floor. Her Wi-Fi enabled refrigerator had better communication skills.
Then there was the kiss Talia had interrupted. Sure, they’d both pretended it didn’t happen, but she replayed it in her dreams. Only her imagination had taken it further—deeper—into frantic touches, discarded clothes, and Danny taking her against the brick exterior of her townhouse…
A warm flush spread across her skin. She needed a good romance read.
Book boyfriends never let you down.
In the lobby, the reporter waited, the security badge labeling her as a guest clipped to the tan linen blazer she wore over an apricot dress.
“Ms. Flores.” Isabella held out her hand, which the reporter accepted with a polite shake.
“Thank you for agreeing to this interview.”
“So long as we’re clear on the parameters.” Isabella swiped her badge over the elevator’s card reader, and when it blinked green, she pressed seven. The elevator ascended with a silent hum.
“Right. Nothing personal. Although, I’m curious why.” Olivia adjusted her purse strap, her gaze searching Isabella’s—and lingering a beat too long.
“Because my life isn’t relevant to my father’s re-election campaign.” She met Olivia’s stare head-on. “Or this event you’re profiling.”
“Fair enough.”
When the doors opened on seven, she led the reporter to her office—spacious enough for a white desk and three-drawer filing cabinet set between two gray interior walls, with a window at her back and a glass front facing the cubicles.
More trade show posters lined the walls, and a four-foot silk palm filled the back corner.
A small arrangement of pale pink flowers sat on her credenza beneath the window.
She gestured to the chair across from her desk before taking her own seat.
Olivia’s gaze swept the space before she placed a voice recorder on the desk and pressed play. “How long have you been planning Senator Strickland’s re-election gala?”
“Months. We had to determine the scope of the event and find a venue that would accommodate the scale, the status of the attendees, and the security requirements.”
“Are you planning all of this on your own?”
A half-smile played on Isabella’s lips. She shook her head. “I’m coordinating, but there’s an army of people helping me—the event staff at The Waverly, members of my father’s campaign and the local district office. A security team. Friends.”
“How do you juggle the demands of the gala with your full-time job here at AegisShield?”
“My employer has been very generous about allowing me flex time.”
“AegisShield stands to benefit if the senator is re-elected given his position on the Senate Armed Services Committee.”
Isabella stiffened. “The gala isn’t funded by AegisShield, and no corporate resources are involved. I’m helping my father by using my professional expertise organizing defense expos. We aren’t violating any campaign laws.”
“Of course.” Olivia’s smile came easily. Her gaze didn’t. It measured. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
She asked several more questions about event logistics and the economic impact the gala would have on the Charlotte economy. Isabella deftly handled each question.
This wasn’t so bad. Danny had been worried for nothing.
“One last question.” The reporter’s gaze sharpened. “Several years ago, Iran openly made threats against your father after the US attack that killed the senior commander of the IRGC. Given your involvement in his re-election campaign, do you ever feel like your personal safety is…compromised?”
A fist clamped around Isabella’s lungs. “Excuse me?”
“Let me rephrase. You seem to live a low-key life here in Charlotte. Do you ever feel exposed, with how visible your father’s career has been?”
Beneath the desk, Isabella’s hand crept to the pleated white skirt draping her thighs. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Was it her imagination, or did Olivia’s stare circle like a hawk tracking prey?
Don’t be paranoid.
She composed her expression. “I’ve learned how to carve out a life that’s completely mine. I have a successful career and a life here in Charlotte that will continue to flourish after this gala is over, regardless of what my father does.”
There. Do what you want with that.
“Thank you. That’s all I need.” Olivia hit stop and returned the voice recorder to her handbag. “For now.”
“Of course.” Isabella forced out a nonchalant reply through stiff lips. Maybe Danny had been right. Not that she’d admit it. Olivia was fishing for something. What? She didn’t know.
She stood. “I’ll escort you out.”
After Olivia left, Isabella heaved a sigh of relief and returned to her office long enough to gather her purse and briefcase. Twenty minutes to five—close enough to call it a day.
The interview had gone well, despite the questions that veered too close to Isabella’s personal life. But she’d handled it. Her dad’s campaign manager would be happy for the publicity.
The gala was a little over a week away. Tomorrow, she and Danny would do another walkthrough at The Waverly to work out final details.
Her pulse quickened at the thought of spending more time with him.
She frowned.
It was time she sorted out her feelings for Danny in order to move past them. Letting herself fall for him again would be a colossally stupid move, especially when he’d told her he’d be gone as soon as he and his agency felt she was no longer in danger.
Asking whether he’d keep in touch afterward would only make her look desperate.
Worse, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
Boundaries.
That’s what she needed. Nothing had happened since Trip got out.
She was safe, and, more importantly, she had everything under control. If she wanted some excitement in her life, she’d call Talia and invite her to go with her to trivia night at Rudy’s Tavern.
Except Talia texted her last night that a work trip had come up and she was flying out of town this morning.
Oh well. A glass of wine and a good book at home with Trip it was.
She wouldn’t ask Danny what his plans were.
Outside, a warm breeze ruffled her hair and kept the humidity from clinging to her skin. To her left, a plane took off from nearby Charlotte-Douglas International, the silver underbelly catching the light, engines whining at full thrust as it climbed into the sky.
Winding her way through the rows of cars in the surface lot, she spotted her Honda and dug in her purse for the fob. The lot was still full. Only one other person lingered in the distance, leaving early like her.
Beneath her windshield wiper, a plain white piece of paper, folded in half, fluttered in the breeze. Isabella huffed. Who were these people who tucked flyers onto windshields, advertising services no one ever needed?
She tossed her purse into the car, then pulled the paper from beneath the windshield wiper and unfolded it. The text was printed in large block letters, reminiscent of an eighties arcade Game Over screen.
Do you think you can escape the missiles? Watch them fall. Watch the people burn.
The paper slipped from her fingers to the asphalt.