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“Coming from someone with that much forehead,” Hunter replies, “you really shouldn’t be throwing insults.”
She’s back to glaring at Hunter. “Your hairline’s receding, you know. You’re going to go bald very soon. Talking about my forehead.”
They bicker. Loudly.
I just stand there, eyes moving back and forth between the two of them. At some point, Soraya starts twisting in the chair like she’s about to launch herself at Hunter, and honestly, I don’t doubt she’d manage it if she could get even one hand free.
The craziest part is, I can’t even tell if Hunter’s doing all this to defend me-which, logically, would be the most reasonable explanation. Yet, they kind of seem like they want to conclude this argument on a bed.
“Enough,” I say. “You’re going to wear my ears off.”
“I just want off this chair,” Soraya hisses. “Let me go.”
“Not until you tell me what it’s going to take for you to stop dragging yourself into things that could get you killed. All this over the fact that I didn’t sit you down and give a long, heartfelt speech before sending divorce papers? If it’s an apology you want, fine. You’ll get it. But you’re not adding yourself to my list of problems. Your father asked me to protect you, and that’s what I’m doing-whether you like it or not.”
I step closer.
“So unless you give me one solid reason why I should untie you right now, you’re staying here. You’ll live with Hunter. I’m sure he’ll get a kick out of keeping you tied to furniture.”
“You can’t do that,” she snaps. “That’s a crime.”
“It’s only a crime if you’re available to report it.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again. When she finally speaks, her voice is less firm. “This isn’t entirely about you. Mateo wants a little information, and I’m giving it to him. It’s a transaction. At the end of the deal, he’s going to help me with something important. Something I’ve wanted for years.”
“What is that?”
“That’s none of your business, Knox.”
I sigh, shake my head, and turn away.
“She’s all yours,” I say to Hunter.
“No, wait!”
I stop.
**
She takes a breath.
“My daughter,” she says. “He wants to help me bring my daughter over here.”
A
BARZ
+38
-SLOANE
Another day, another round of awkward stares at the office-because apparently, everyone on my floor thinks I’m their boss now, even though my cubicle is still right next to theirs.
The worst part? I haven’t even accepted the promotion. I haven’t signed anything. But just one rumor, one sighting of me being called upstairs for a private meeting, and now I’m some unspoken corporate deity.
And just when I think the day can’t get any more absurd, I step outside after work and find that Knox has doubled my security detail. Two new bodyguards wait beside the usual pair, like I’m some kind of political target instead of a woman just trying to go home from work. I’m afraid to even ask what this means. He got a call from Hunter this morning, and now I’m getting additional security? What did Hunter say to him at his house?
I climb into the backseat and get crammed in between two enormous strangers. This car was never designed to seat five full-grown adults. Yet here we are. My knees are knocking against theirs. I try to shrink myself, folding my arms tight against my chest like it might make me invisible.
“You alright, ma’am?” the one on my right asks, his voice surprisingly gentle.
“Peachy,” I mumble, eyes fixed on the back of the driver’s seat.
This can’t keep going on. The constant protection. The feeling that I’m being watched even when I’m alone. Knox needs to find a way to deal with Mateo -once and for all. I don’t care how he does it. Kidnap the man, lock him in a basement, force a conversation if that’s what it takes to end this madness.
God.
What is wrong with me? The lines between right and wrong are dissolving faster than I can keep track of these days. And the terrifying part is, I’m starting to think I could live with it.
I don’t say anything else the entire ride home. When we arrive at Knox’s place, I slip out of the car quickly. The guards exit too but don’t follow me to the door, as always.
Inside, I let the door fall shut behind me with a quiet click.
Instinctively, I reach for the strap of my heel, prepared to take them off the way Knox insisted I do the first time I came over. But I pause, fingers hovering.
Knox doesn’t do that anymore.
Somewhere along the line, he’d stopped asking anyone to remove their shoes. At first, it was this unspoken rule in his house-like sacred ground. No shoes. No dirt. But now, he doesn’t seem to care. Doesn’t even bat an eye when I forget and walk across the hardwood in heels.
I still don’t know why he insisted on it back then-or what made him suddenly change his mind. And something tells me I never will. Not with how tight- lipped he is. Sometimes, when I catch myself wanting to ask about these random and weird things he does, I remind myself it’s Knox. There’s always a chance it traces back to a painful memory.
I lower my hand and let the strap be, heading deeper into the house.
There’s a scent of grilled rosemary and thyme in the air, light but mouthwatering. My stomach makes a sound of approval. As I round the hallway that leads to the dining space, I catch sight of a figure-slender, brunette, setting down a covered plate beside the folded napkins.
It takes a second for me to place her.
She looks up at the sound of my steps. “Evening.”
I stop, a little surprised. “Hi. Sharon, right?”.
She straightens with a smile. “Yes.”
“Wow, I actually caught you in action. You’re not invisible today.”
She catches my meaning, of course.
“Mr. Hartley thinks we should all hang around more so you’ll be familiar with our faces. Security reasons mostly. So I stayed back to meet you?
“Right,” I nod, stepping a little closer. “So I’ll be meeting everyone now?”
“Before the weekend,” she says. “The maids run different shifts-twice a week. The gardener, I don’t think morning. A few other staff too. You’ll get used to us.”
“I’m sure you’re all wonderful,” I say with a smile. “Can’t wait to meet the rest.”
She gestures toward the kitchen. “Just holler when you and Mr. Hartley are ready for dinner.”
“He’s around?”
“Yeah. Upstairs. Been there since I came in.”
Inod, thanking her with a small wave, and take the stairs two at a time.
The master bedroom door is slightly ajar. I push it open gently and step inside.
There he is. you’ve met him yet, will be around tomorrow
Knox stands near the window, sleeves rolled to the elbows, one foot braced against the side of a tall, bulky cardboard box. The box reaches almost to his height, and it leans a little with the pressure of his boot. He’s holding a box cutter in one hand, dragging the blade carefully through the thick packing tape along the top. His brow is furrowed in concentration, like he’s dissecting a puzzle instead of just opening a package.
He stops mid-slice and turns the moment he hears the door. His eyes meet mine, and they soften.
I walk in fully and shut the door behind me. “Hey, you.”
“Hey yourself,” he says. “You’re home early.”
“What do you mean? This is when I always get home.”
“No. You’re usually about thirty minutes later than now.”
I make a face, toe off my heels, and set my bag gently on the ottoman. “What are you, my timekeeper?”
“I’m just good with numbers.”
“Is that right?” I say, crossing the room.
Once I’m standing just in front of him, I tilt my head