12
Tywin
Although I personally knew Patrena was no pushover, if the tone in her boss’ voice raised one more octave, one more time, I would lose my shit. I had peeked in on her at work a few times, but never long enough to see the shit I was currently seeing from her boss.
Unbeknownst to her, it was obvious from my point of view that he had the hots for her. The way he licked his lips and stared at her with lust in his gaze when she wasn’t watching burned my blood each time I caught him. The way he yelled at her unnecessarily was not about her job, but about her not returning any of his subtle advances.
Patrena was young compared to the women I normally dated, but it didn’t stop me from wanting her. Lately, I was always consumed with images of her and fixated on every remarkable detail she possessed. Her scent, the way she’d given herself to me fully and with spirited emotions and a sexy drive that lured me so deeply into our connection, I didn’t mind being lost there.
Arjen and Khane sometimes teased me about my choice to date older women, but I ignored the ribbing. Older woman weren’t whiny about what they wanted. When it was time to fuck, they didn’t play games and they gave as good as they got. Most were into the unfiltered grown-up sex I liked with the ass slapping, hair pulling, hard banging, bruising grips, and a little rough handling. They had no problem letting me push them to their limits, which was a mutually beneficial sexual situation.
Patrena was a gorgeous woman and clueless about how much attention she garnered. She had a polarizing effect on men, leaving them wanting more each time she was in their space. Her caramel skin glowed against any speck of light, and those lovely freckles that dotted her face were perfectly placed and called my attention as much as her big wide brown eyes.
Since meeting her, the one time she covered her natural beauty with makeup was during Mecca and Arjen’s wedding. She allowed her natural glow to shine and it was a quality about her I appreciated.
She had no idea she’d left me more than a few times with the urgent need to strangle men through the screen of my fucking phone or computer screen for the extra attention they gave.
She’s not your woman, I reminded myself.
Twice, I’d had to stop myself from driving to her location and putting my foot in the man’s ass for pushing up on her. Some men didn’t know how to take no for a fucking answer when she didn’t return their sexual attraction. Thinking about it was getting me upset.
I breathed in and sighed, releasing the anger that had built up to concentrate on the task at hand. The audio was shitty with my view of her at her job, but it didn’t stop me from reading her sexy lips to find out that her boss was riding her ass about a case she hadn’t closed.
She wanted to keep the case open, and he wanted it closed because he believed the woman Patrena was helping was a lost cause. It was two in the afternoon and she hadn’t even eaten lunch because that son of a bitch wouldn’t leave her alone.
“I fucking can’t take it anymore,” I grumbled, frustrated that she had to deal with his bullshit when all she wanted was to help people.
Sitting there watching him aim a stiff finger in her direction while he shot his mouth off at her sitting behind her desk was all I could take. The way she glared, squared her shoulders, and clenched her jaw, indicated she wanted to curse him out but maintained her peace to avoid risking her job.
When he marched out, the sight of her dropping her forehead into her palms and shaking her head caused my heart to sink. During the few times I had observed her at work, I’d gathered that she didn’t care about time restraints or the slow cooperation of her clients. All she cared about were people’s lives and well-being.
It took me twenty minutes to arrive at her job site, and I sat in my car contemplating breaking another rule for her. I had never gotten involved with anyone I was tasked to keep an eye on. If a physical presence was required, I sent one of the many guards on our payroll to take care of the problem.
My job had earned me two nicknames. One was “The Watchful Eye” because of the hours I spent behind the scenes studying or hunting people down. And Arjen and Khane had begun calling me “Terror” when I went out on field missions. They claimed my death stare scared the living shit out of people, and the word mercy had been scrubbed clean from my DNA because I never showed any. They were the ones who had trained me. Therefore, in my opinion, I was a product of their warped education system.
A nagging reminder was working on convincing me to stay in the car, but my gaze dropped to the bag sitting in the passenger’s seat. When it came to Patrena, my good sense was overridden by a new instinct. Too bad I didn’t have a name for it yet because it was always dialed into her.
Bag in hand, I exited the car. I cast a quick eye at the grey Ford Explorer parked two buildings down, acknowledging the protection detail I had put on Patrena until Rhi and I figured out why her tattoo was popping hot in the digital world.
I strolled up to the four-story building that housed Patrena’s domestic abuse center, a clinic, and a few other businesses. A large women’s shelter sat next door and was connected to the building by a second level skywalk, providing the center with a steady flow of customers.
I took the elevator to the third floor and stepped into the suite like I was a veteran employee. I was interested in seeing how easy it would be to gain access to Patrena.
The woman at the front desk greeted with a practiced smile while letting her gaze rake me from top to bottom. The words “Transitions Family Services Organization” along with the company’s logo was painted on the wall behind her large, round desk that spanned most of the reception area. Each side of the large logo on the wall opened to the hallways that led to offices.
The receptionist’s bouncing eyes were heavy with curiosity she didn’t hide while observing my approach. “Hello,” she sang. Her quick gaze swiped past the bag in my hand before lifting. The smile and now quick fluttering of her lashes let me know she was pleased.
“Can I help you?” she asked. Her tone was low and easy.
“Yes. I’m here to drop off Ms. Davis’ lunch, but I’d like to surprise her if that’s okay.”
She glanced at the clock on her desk showing it was nearing two-thirty and well past lunch.
“I’m sorry. Do you have an appointment? Her schedule is locked for the rest of the day.”
“No, but she’ll see me if you call and give her my name.”
She lifted a brow. “Unless you’re a client, I can’t allow you to see Ms. Davis. You can leave her a note, and I’ll take her food to her for you.”