CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JAYDEN
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I don’t know what made me say that. Talking about my time in the military is not something I do with strangers. There’s something about Tiffany that makes me start blabbering. It’s the second time I’ve done it.
We are polar opposites, and yet her warmth and optimism seem to be opening me up like she’s a damn can opener.
It’s dangerous.
I bet it is.
I need to be careful about what I say. If she questions my ability to do my job, she could ring Josh or Aidan, and that would be my career over with BHS in less than a month.
Then again, I think the two of us are more focused on not fucking.
Sitting in the limo with her in that black dress and all those diamonds had my cock hard most of the ride. Thank God for long tuxedo jackets.
She’s going to draw gazes from every heterosexual man in sight. I should shut her in the limo and send her home. That, and there could be a sociopath out here in the crowd just waiting. Namely MessyBob.
I don’t. I can’t.
My job is to keep her safe.
I button my jacket, glance around and spot the BHS team in position. I give them a nod and smirk when I see Liam.
He grins and I press the comms in my air, clicking it on.
Hey dick, I hear in my ear.
“Is that what my sister calls you?”
Reaching in, I take Tiffany’s hand and help her out. Cameras go off, and her name is called out by a dozen or more people.
It’s chaos.
“I don’t have a sister.” Tiffany frowns.
“I’m talking to my team on the comms,” I wrap an arm around her middle and guide her onto the red carpet, taking a mental note of my weapons: Glock in the holster under my jacket and knife strapped to my ankle.
Todd right behind us.
Tiffany suddenly steps away and hugs someone I recognize.
I groan.
“Jayden, you remember Zane.” Tiffany grins.
“Hello, darling. Don’t you look gorgeous in a tux. Holy hell.”
Lord help me.
He’s dressed in a burgundy suit with a press pass around his neck and two phones in his hand.
“Zane,” I say roughly, and his nostrils flare.
Sorry, buddy, I don’t bat for your team.
It would have been good to get a heads up that he was meeting us here. My anxiety makes me intolerant of surprises. I stifle my irritation, and they turn their attention back to the job.
“Okay, Tiffany, can we get you over here for some photos and then...”
I tune out and follow them from one photoshoot to the other over the next twenty minutes. The red carpet is lined with media walls with dozens of sponsor logos and independent media you wouldn’t normally see at the likes of the Oscars.
I guess the social media world is different.
I survey the crowd and surrounding buildings despite having four BHS team members with me.
No red flags, Liam says.
I nod, knowing he could see me.
Noah and I will stick around outside; the other guys will head out back in case there’s any action inside.
I turn and meet his eyes, considering what he’s saying.
We had a separate conversation about this earlier with Aidan, and it was agreed I’d go in alone with Tiffany.
No one is aware that the BHS team is here for her, but showing a heavy security presence around her would just draw more media attention.
It’s an unfortunate truth that you want a perp to show his or her face so you can’t find them. In other words, we don’t want to scare them off completely.
I do.
But I trust the team.
I wish I trusted myself.
Nodding at Liam, I step closer to Tiffany and tell her it’s time to head inside when Zane advises all the interviews are done.
“Have fun.” He rubs Tiffany’s arm, shoots me a wink, then disappears.
Fans behind barriers scream out at Tiff, and before I can stop her, she’s darted away for some selfies.
Christ.
“Tiffany,” I say roughly when Todd and I follow her.
Her glowing smile seems to reach right inside my chest. “Sorry, I hate letting them all down.”
I suppress my growl.
BANG.
Fuck!
Without hesitating, my body wraps around Tiffany, and I pull her to the ground, covering her.
“Jayden!” she cries into my chest, thankfully muffled, as my brain belatedly registers the source of the noise.
A car backfiring.
The souped up V8 floors it and disappears with a roar.
“Ms. Stallone.” I hear Todd above us.
Jay. Liam’s voice in my ear has me glancing over to advise that we’re fine, but I’m too late; he’s several feet from me.
“You good?” Liam crouches and helps us to our feet.
I shoot Todd with an apologetic look, and he nods. He only cares that the diamonds are still around her neck.
Tiffany brushes her dress down and checks her hair. She gives me a questioning look. It’s similar to the one Liam has.
Fuck me.
My pulse is rapid, my armpits wet.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You okay?” I ask her, and when she nods, I introduce her. “This is Liam.”
He reaches out his hand; the one not tucked under his gun holster. “Captain Liam Rutherford, aka this guy’s best friend.”
“Unnecessary,” I mutter, and rake my hand through my hair. “Let’s go.”
Tiffany gives Liam one of her one-hundred-watt smiles. “Nice to meet you.”
I hear him chuckle, but in my ear he adds, let’s meet for breakfast tomorrow.
Crap.
He wants answers, and after that display, I doubt I’ll get away with brushing him off.
When we step inside the pavilion, there are hundreds of people, cameras, and a large stage. Tables fill the room, layered in red and black linen, champagne and flutes, plates, cutlery, and some random glass and floral centerpiece I suspect is a letter N. For the NetAwards, I guess.
Who knows? I’ll leave the creative stuff to others. Give me a bolt-action or semi-automatic rifle and I’ll talk for hours with authority.
I do miss my Barrett Mk 22, my sniper weapon of choice, and there are days I miss being in the force. But not how it fucked up my brain...and nervous system.
Jesus, I’m glad I didn’t pull my weapon a few minutes ago. I could have shot her.
That Tiffany didn’t freak out speaks to her experience having security most of her life.
“Tiffany, darling,” a Russian accent rings out across the crowd. “Come sit. Here. With us.”
Nadia Volkov and her boyfriend, Alexei.
This is the first time I’ve seen him in person. Since starting in my position, after Nadia first visited, they haven’t visited like Tiffany advised they might.
The weekly Wednesday morning tea was cancelled.
Why?
Tiffany didn’t seem fazed. “Sometimes we both can’t make it; it’s no big deal.”
Alexei calmly sips his vodka or water—my money’s on vodka—and looks me in the eye briefly as we walk over. Nadia wears a bright green dress, her hair up, showing off a diamond choker.
Interesting.
I glance around, wondering if every woman in this town has a rent-a-diamond-necklace on tonight.
No.
“I’ll be over by the door there,” I say quietly. “My eyes will be on you the entire night.”
Not only because it’s my job.
Tiffany turns, and perhaps it’s the sparkle in her eyes, or the half smile she gives me, but I know she’d rather I stay right beside her. I don’t think it’s because she’s concerned about her safety, either.
Christ, I can still feel her curves against my body as I wrapped around her protectively, and it's just another imprint I’m storing in my memory.
Because that’s as close as I’ll ever get.
We both know that.
“I wish you could sit with me,” she spits out, and I silently curse. “Did that car—”
All my talk about my military past has her thinking too many things. I should have stayed quiet.
“The crowd confused me,” I lie. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No,” Tiffany shakes her head. “Well, I might have hurt my ankle.”
My eye dart down to her leg, and the desire to scoop her up and carry her out of this room to administer...well, I don’t know what one does to a barely sore ankle. I know what I’d like to do with her fucking ankles.
I draw in a breath.
“If you want to go home, say the word.” I glance around us, and no one is paying attention, except Alexei. “Hope you win.”
Her face lights up in a smile, and I almost do the same.
This woman is getting to me.