been far away. He sits and his ears prick when I step onto the porch, Sherm’s ready protector.
Grant is pretending to arm wrestle Sherm’s casted arm. Sherm is talking a mile a minute about something they saw on the boat. The instant he sees me, he stops. Over the last few weeks, the terror in his gaze has slowly given way to indifference. Grant has taken my place in Sherm’s life. He doesn’t need or want me anymore.
“Hey,” I say, trying to ignore the knife slicing through my gut. “I’ve got to take off for a while. I need you guys to keep everything together around here.”
“Bye,” Sherm says, then turns back to Grant.
Grant’s eyes widen and lift to me, not missing the significance. It’s Sherm’s first word directly to me since we left Chicago. Sherm takes his hand and starts arm wrestling again.
A ball of emotion forms in my throat as I stride off the porch. I drop my stuff into the back of the Lumina and tear out of the driveway.
When I pull into Spencer Security, David is waiting by the stretch Town Car. There are seven other Spencer drivers. I was hoping I’d never see him again after my little escapade in the Escalade. No such luck.
“Your assignment folder is on the dash,” he says, lowering himself into the driver’s seat. “You can change on the way.”
I climb in back. He pulls out of the warehouse.
“Did you give it to that little strumpet you were talking to weekend before last?”
I unzip the garment bag and hang my suit on a hook. “That’s none of your fucking business.”
“You made it my business when you sexed her up in my limo,” he says with a glance in the rearview mirror.
I ignore him and strip. It’s only when I unbutton my jeans that I remember I never put on any underwear after getting out of the shower this afternoon. I dig through my duffel for a pair.
He whistles through his teeth. “No wonder you’ve got the ladies lining up.”
I glare his direction when I find him looking in the rearview at my junk and put up the partition. “Pervert.”
I decide to stay in back even after I’m dressed because I don’t feel like dealing with David grilling me about Adri. I took this assignment to forget about her . . . which reminds me that the folder is up front.
I guess it will be a surprise. Elaine said we were picking this chick up at the airport, so I should have some time to get a look at the file before whatever her gig is.
An hour later, we’re parked at the airport. David has a smoke then heads in to meet our client at the baggage claim.
I slide into the passenger seat, pull the folder off the dash, and freeze when the name of our client jumps off the page.
Sophie King. My goddamn ex. The universe is fucking shitting on me today.
I bound out of the car and storm toward the terminal to grab David and tell him I can’t do this job . . . and run smack into the luggage cart David is pushing as they make their way out the door.
Sophie looks as beautiful as ever. Her skin is peaches and cream, and her eyes are stunning green. She looks like a classic thirties movie star, Ingrid Bergman or Greta Garbo, in a retro dress with her long auburn waves trained into a loose chignon.
“Miss King, this is your bodyguard, Robert,” David says.
I lower my face, turn my back to them before she looks up.
“Hello, Robert,” she says. I know they’re all waiting for me to answer her.
I take a deep breath, turn slowly and watch her face go from a pleasant smile to dropped-jaw shock.
“Robby?”
“Hello, Sophie. It’s been a while.”
“Oh my God! It’s really you!” she chirps and launches into my arms. “Oh my God,” she says lower in my ear. “This is unbelievable. You’re supposed to be somewhere in Europe. What are you doing here?”
“At the moment, being your bodyguard.”
She tips her head and looks at me funny. When she opens her mouth to say something, I flash a glance at David, and I give her a subtle shake of my head.
“You two know each other?” David asks with unhealthy curiosity in his beady eyes.
“Your bodyguard broke my heart,” Sophie says, releasing me from her clutch and looping an arm through my elbow.
He whistles through his teeth again. “Lining up,” he says under his breath