JUST A JOB
Chris
She glowers at me like I’m about to lunge across the van and rip her apart. Not my intention. I set the bag down. It’s nothing fancy. Water, a sandwich and a protein bar. Enough to keep her upright.
I sit opposite her, leaning against the closed half of the double door.
Her calculating gaze settles on the opening.
“Don’t,” I warn.
Her jaw clenches, but she doesn’t budge.
I observe her without a word. She stares me down, suspicion etched into every line of her pale face.
Although she must be scared to death, she tries not to show weakness.
The tremor in her fingers tells a different story.
Truth is, I expected screaming and tears the entire drive.
She’s got steel in her spine. That’s going to be a problem.
When I nudge the food closer, she eventually snatches it up and retreats to the corner. Keeping an eye on me the whole time, she unwraps the sandwich and chews like she’s trying to bite through me rather than the bread.
“I don’t plan on hurting you,” I say, watching her reaction.
One brow arches. She doesn’t buy it.
“You’re a job,” I continue. “Hurting you isn’t part of it. But if you don’t behave, I’ll do what I have to. Make no mistake.”
She swallows slowly and puts her food down in front of her. “What’s the “job” exactly?” She puts the word in exaggerated air quotes.
“Family affairs,” I say, the words tasting sour. If that’s what family does to you, why would anybody want one?
That hits her. She straightens, her eyes narrowing.
“I knew it,” she says, sounding bitter. “He sent you.”
I don’t answer. She doesn’t ask for confirmation. She’s already decided.
Her fists clench around the sandwich nearly squishing what’s left. She shoves the last bites into her mouth, chews furiously, then sneers. “So what are you, huh? Security turned chauffeur with handcuffs, here to give me a scare and ship me off to boarding school?”
I let the jab slide for now, let her spit the venom. I’ve heard worse.
“You’re not going to school, princess. You’re staying with me so you can’t screw up daddy’s election.”
Her eyes go wide. Guess she didn’t expect that.
“I’ll make your life hell,” she snaps.
Knowing the truth makes her fiery again. She sits up straighter and meets my amused gaze with a defiant spark.
My eyes linger longer than they should. I shake off any inappropriate thoughts. I have no business seeing her as anything more than an assignment. My expression stays neutral. “You’re welcome to try.”
She hurls the bottle. I seize it mid-air, shake my head disapprovingly and set it down beside me.
She’s ready to leap, fists swinging. I almost wish she would. It might burn some of that fire out.
But she just glares, breathing hard.
Her back presses against the wall when I rise. I hold her stare long enough to see her defiance hasn’t cracked. She wants me to believe she’s fearless, but her shoulders are trembling under that fake bravado.
I want her afraid.
Fear keeps people in line.