the sink, earpiece cord wrapped around the small device, is turned on. Volume is so loud that I hear security clearly.
“Farrow to Thatcher, is anyone making a pit stop at the lake house?”
Oscar’s hand jolts fast towards the radio. Seizing it. Maybe to power it off or lower the volume so I can’t hear.
I’m production.
I’m not a bodyguard.
But as our eyes meet, something stops him. He cradles the radio in his palm.
I dunk my spoon into the milk and ask lightly, “Are Farrow and Maximoff already at the family’s lake house?” I heard they were spending their honeymoon there, but I didn’t know when they were leaving.
Oscar glances at the rising sun. “Yeah, they should’ve arrived this morning.” His muscles are still flexed. Still rigidly clutching the radio.
I may have gone to an Ivy League, but it doesn’t take a genius to know whatever Oscar is thinking, it’s not good. But more than anything, I can’t get over how he’s not shutting me out of comms.
I can’t name a single bodyguard who wouldn’t pull the plug and turn the volume to negative 100 on me, on anyone in production.
6
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
What in the ever-loving hell am I doing?
Turn the volume down on the damn radio, Oscar.
Put your earpiece in.
Don’t let Jack Highland listen to comms chatter.
I’ve never wavered about this. One girl I slept with was two seconds from hearing a bodyguard talk about Luna Hale. How she was close to flunking high school. I snatched the radio off my end table like it was the last Snickers on Earth, and I shut the girl out of my work.
In this jack-knifing second, my common sense is thrown in the gutter, making way for…what? Idiocy. No. No, I’m too intelligent to be that dumb.
Some part of me is instinctively saying, keep this guy in the loop. Keep him with you. Keep him close. And he might be production, but he understands sheltering secrets about the famous ones. He’s never betrayed them, and I have no reason to believe he’d betray me.
Don’t let me down, Highland.
I let him overhear comms.
Thatcher responds quickly to Farrow with a simple curt, “Negative.”
I must wear my confusion because Jack asks, “Is that a bad thing?” He swirls around his cereal but looks at me.
“Thatcher is the SFO lead,” I remind him as I reach in the pockets of my sweatpants for my cell. Not there. I scan the kitchen. “So he should know where every bodyguard is at. We’re supposed to report if we make any location changes, and he’s saying no one is at the lake house.”
“But Farrow thinks someone’s there?” Jack asks after another spoonful of cereal.
“Bingo.” I’m still searching for my phone.
“By the toaster,” Jack points out with the tilt of his chin.
I eye him and his easy-going smile that makes this situation seem less caustic. A grin edges across my mouth in return, but I remind myself not to play the part of fool and fall into his allure.
“Is Ripley with them?” Jack wonders.
I grab my phone. “Yeah, they brought the baby.” I approach the bar counter that separates his body from mine. Being close causes my gaze to travel along his features: squared jawline, dark thick brows and glittering eyes—and that smile, fuck that captivating, dazzling smile. And I swear he’s doing the same to me.
He does this to everyone.
Does he check out everyone?
It’s the only thing that makes sense.
Jack asks, “What do you think about Farrow being Ripley’s guardian? The baby is six-months-old now, right?” He eats more cereal.
“Look at you, going all ‘producer’ on me and asking me life questions.” I mockingly hunt for his video camera, opening and shutting drawers. Glancing over my shoulder, up at the ceiling.
His eyes are glued to me, lips rising.
“Your baby has to be somewhere.” I lean over the counter and peer around Jack’s body. My biceps flex, and I see his honey-brown eyes trace the carve of muscle. Blood pumps in my veins, especially as our gazes crash together, and he intakes a more confident breath.
If only he wasn’t straight.
I’d already be clutching his jaw and kissing the hell out of him. I’ve thought about pulling his crew-neck tee off and skating my large palm down his chest a painful number of times this morning. Once I started imagining his hand around my cock, I hit defense mode on my internal alarm system.
Lock it up.
Slowly, I careen back. Giving us some space.
He runs his fingers through his hair. “My camera is in my