“I think my ball might be very big,” is all I can comment.
Zander nods and says, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
A long moment passes of comfortable silence before Zander seems to take note of our proximity.
“You’re tired—”
Before he’s even said it, I know he’s going to tell me I need to go to bed. So I cut him off and say, “I don’t want to sleep.”
A moment passes, with the click of the heater coming on ensuring we’re both aware of just how silent it is between us. For the second time tonight, I feel insecure wondering what his response will be. Whether he’ll respect my desire to stay up or not. Or if he’ll push me to go to bed. “Please don’t make me,” I plead with him in a whisper. It’s a foolish request.
“I won’t ever make you do anything you don’t want to. Unless it’s for your own good.”
I raise a brow in question, unable to help myself from saying, “And sleeping in bed?”
Staring at me, he takes a moment longer before ignoring my question altogether and asking me, “I just remembered another time Cade got in trouble and blamed it on me. Do you want to hear it?”
There’s a pull at the corners of my lips and I nod before lying back down where I was, pulling the gray fleece up and setting the pillow back down. I’m more than aware of how inappropriate it is, and how little I care.
And this is how I drift off to sleep. Listening to stories told in the soothing cadence of a man I consider confessing all my stories to.
Zander
Partners of The Firm will maintain appropriate professional conduct with clients at all times.
Ella drifts to sleep on my lap.
But I’ve never been more awake in my life. I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to. I keep talking long after she’s out, until my throat goes so dry I can’t say another word. Every heartbeat feels like an electric shock. What we’re doing is technically within the bounds of her contract with The Firm. That’s what I tell myself, at least. Professional conduct can include physical touch. It’s impossible to avoid sometimes when you’re providing security for a client. You take their arm and shield them from prying eyes as they exit a vehicle, or a building. You tuck them into your side when moving through an unruly crowd.
My hands have been on both male and female clients before. Not once has it been an issue. Not once has it been … like this.
There are provisions for physical touch in Ella’s contract too. I know there are. I know because we had a team meeting about it when Cade pitched the case to the rest of us. There was no way around it. We’re here twenty-four hours a day and we are required, required, to provide emotional support.
But this …
Does not feel like providing emotional support.
It feels like knocking down brick walls with a sledgehammer, for the both of us. Her walls are obvious and where my attention should be, yet I can’t help but to notice my own. The one I’ve kept in place for years now. It feels like giving something to myself just as much as it feels like giving something to her.
There aren’t any provisions for that in the contract. I don’t get anything out of this but a salary. That’s the rule, and them’s the breaks.
Too fucking bad.
I stretch out my free arm—the one not running softly up and down the bare skin exposed by the sleeve of Ella’s robe riding up slightly. My hand splays out under the throw pillow on the sofa in my effort to stretch.
And meets glass.
A tiny glass bottle.
I pull it out and examine it in the light. It’s one of those miniature bottles of alcohol.
Are you fucking kidding me? The disbelief is as palpable as the discontent.
No wonder she looked like she was going to pass out. She’d been drinking. Not much, given the size of the bottle, and it shouldn’t react badly with the meds she’s on. Assuming she only had one.
But she shouldn’t be drinking at all. We were supposed to clear the house of all alcohol before she moved in. I thought we’d gotten rid of it all. How the hell did this get past Damon?
Irritation wars with concern inside of me. This could have gone so very wrong.
Ella’s shoulders rise and fall with a whimper, almost as if she can feel my disappointment with her. And there’s that wall again, destroyed and leaving me wanting nothing more than to refuse any backsteps after the moment I had with her tonight.
My thumbnail taps against the glass and I know it’s something to look into, but not something I can do a damn thing about right now.
It’s a problem for later. After deciding what to do about the matter, I tuck the bottle back under the pillow.