by W. Winters
Maybe I don’t.
Unlike in the courtroom, it’s my job to watch her now. I’m required to do it. Required to observe her reaction to everything. So why does it feel so damn forbidden?
There’s a tension I can’t shake, no matter how much I ignore it and focus on Cade. The gentle ticking of the clock seemingly intensifies as every second passes, as does the need to loosen my tie. Clasping my hands together, I ignore the heat that threatens to suffocate me.
I can’t ignore her, though. Every small sway of her body, every nod at Kam’s interruptions, every time her eyes glance down and then land back on me. Holding me there, daring to look away. I’m never the first to break our shared gaze. She’s always the one who closes her eyes and, once they’re open, directs them on someone or something else.
It doesn’t feel like a job right now. It feels like a peep show. As if studying her face for every tiny reaction is something forbidden and off-limits, not the thing I’m being paid to do as part of The Firm.
Cade doesn’t allow silence after the introductions are made, and summarizing the mundane details from the hearing goes on too long. “Now we’ll need to go over protocol, Ms. Bordeu. Would you like to take a seat?”
It’s a smooth transition, meant to put everyone at ease and direct the client’s attention. But when Eleanor’s eyes slide to mine, ease is the last thing I feel. Calm focus has gone to hell and brought the heat back with it. Tension tugs at the air between us. It’s written in the set of her slightly parted, pouty lips. My thoughts tussle with lewd desires that shouldn’t be anywhere on my mind. This situation is never a comfortable one, the introduction of a client and reviewing their specific needs from us. It makes sense that she’s uncomfortable. Especially given her mental health, which is why we’ve been called in. It’s not protection from a stalker or a former coworker or lover … It’s protection from herself, from what I can gather.
It makes sense that she may feel on edge. Skeptical, perhaps. Saddened or embarrassed by the entire ordeal given the excuse her manager continues to state: just a misunderstanding.
But … that is not at all what I gather from her reticence.
It’s my eyes she looks into, far too often, with wariness a dull flare. It makes my palms itch to touch her. To comfort her in a way no professional should ever do. Once again our gaze is broken, but this time it’s due to my brother walking the length of the room as he closes the folder of paperwork, satisfied there were no issues with the general outline of our arrangement.
This woman is in our care as she resides in her private domicile. We will see to it that she receives the same level of care as she was before, including twenty-four-hour surveillance. The evaluation of her treatment will occur at regular monthly intervals by Mr. Aiden Miller the representative of the Rockford Center, along with an approved concierge doctor. Which means we will be here with her for a month, at minimum.
Cade claims a seat by the fireplace and gestures for Eleanor to take the one across from him, then Dane and Silas sink into two free chairs. Damon positions himself behind Cade’s chair, leaning against the wall by the fireplace. Kamden hovers in the open archway between the sitting room and great room, positioning himself to observe although I have no doubts that he’ll be the one speaking on her behalf. He’s already taken that initiative.
Across from all of them, and farthest away from our client, I lean against the wide, black windowsill. This way, I see her in profile. This way, I’m not staring into her eyes.
Professionalism is required and I am a damn professional.
Eleanor lowers herself into her seat and I twist the top off my water bottle. My mouth has gone bone dry, heat prickling at the back of my neck. This woman, in this room—it does something to me.
In this light, I see more of her, more details she’s hidden. Her haunted eyes and too-slim wrists are on display. In the first moment, as everyone gets comfortable, she reaches for her throat, only to brush her fingertips over it and then put her hand back in her lap.
It’s as if she’s out of place in her own home. A home that reeks of luxury and wealth. Old money she was obviously born into.
Her gaze flicks to various places in the room, no doubt noting the changes we’ve made. Even though the room is clearly kept spare and clean, there are pieces missing. Items we took out. No bottles of alcohol wait in the gleaming bar stand in the corner. The picture frames have had the glass removed, which was one of the many recommendations we received from the center.
As I lean back, feeling the cold windowpane against my back and grateful for the chill, I remember how opposed to this I was. I fought Cade and questioned his decision. There wasn’t a single desire in me to babysit an affluent woman who didn’t want to receive her care in a private institution.
The Firm has a background in law and psychiatry, but we’re known for our military experience. We’re more than just professional bodyguards, although that’s what I’d prefer we stick to. Cade’s vision for transitioning this company isn’t why I signed up to be on his team. I wanted an adrenaline rush and as little interaction with the clients as possible. He wants to move into a more high-end, private and potentially gray market.
There wasn’t a dollar amount that made me lean in favor of his decision.
Now that we’re here, I understand the intrigue and the desire for a more complicated situation.
Cade lays the folder in his lap and shakes out his arms.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to roll up my sleeves and get comfortable with the particulars,” my brother says, directing his statement toward Eleanor. She merely gives him a thin smile and nod in return.
“We should be through this quickly, starting with the schedule.” He launches into the shift rotations and designated meeting times, followed by how any items coming or going, including any shopping, will be handled.
That, and more, until Eleanor interrupts him. Her soft voice cuts right into an explanation of the around-the-clock care services we’ll be providing.
“I’m expected to talk to you?”
“To talk to us?” Tilting my head slightly, I wait to hear Eleanor’s response to my brother.
Her hand goes to her throat as if she needs the physical support to get the words out. My eyes narrow as she swallows thickly. It hurts her to speak. I’m sure of it. That knowledge makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “You want to conduct therapy sessions in addition to the mandated monthly sessions from the center?”
“That’s correct,” Cade answers. With his hands folded, he leans forward and looks her in the eye. That’s my brother. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shy away from other people’s discomfort. “It’s essential that we’re involved in your care. We cannot help you or protect you if we aren’t included in each aspect that’s questionable when it comes to your safety.”
“I think you’ll be rather disappointed.” Eleanor’s voice is low and strained, like it’s been brushed with steel wool. “I haven’t much to say.” There’s a note of melancholy that’s tangled in her nearly dismissive response.
“As part of our agreement, we need to offer on-demand access to emotional support.”
Eleanor’s manager, Kamden, pipes up from the archway, his tone hopeful. “Therapists will be coming and going. You’ll meet with them as well.”
She glances incredulously toward him, the corners of her mouth tugging down. But then her dark eyes come back to Cade, back to his attention. Eleanor nods without speaking, seemingly accepting the terms against her will. More questions are asked, this time from Cade. Her responses are short. Occasionally she follows the lead of her manager, searching him out before answering.
It’s like she’s conserving her words. What makes her choose one moment over another to use them? I give the manager a once-over as Cade moves through his agenda. I don’t know what to think of him. He prefers to go by Kam, and that’s the sum total of facts I have on hand. Obviously, he makes his money off Eleanor. I have questions. Like
what happened to her that she ended up like this—withdrawn and wary and broken—and he appears to be just fine and speaking for her more than she speaks for herself.
The fourth time Eleanor’s fingertips grace the dip of her throat, Kam interrupts to offer her tea. She nods and I anticipate that being the only response, but she adds “please,” just above a murmur.
Their relationship is … unique. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. I file my skepticism away for later.
Damon takes a half step forward from where he stands to the left of the fireplace as Kam turns on his heel to head to the kitchen, and my brother’s focus follows him. Leaning forward, he meets Eleanor’s eye level. She observes him with both curiosity and hesitation.
He softens his expression to question, “Everything all right so far?”
Her nod of acknowledgment comes with the faint sounds of Kam’s efforts to make the tea just behind us in the kitchen. “Damon, right?”
He mimics her response with a nod in affirmation, offering her an asymmetric smile as well. “That would be me.” Damon’s dark skin is complemented by his cobalt blue suit that nearly matches the walls, and his smile is as white as the shirt he wears under the slim-cut jacket.
Giving him a simper she relaxes slightly, although there’s still the tension that would be expected given the situation.
“I want to put your mind at ease,” Damon continues. “Each of us has received training in emotional support, and I am a board-certified physician.” A psychiatrist, to be exact.
Her smile wanes and the light in her eyes dims. For a moment, I think she’s not going to respond, but then she explains, “What if I don’t want to talk at all?”
Again, a nervous prick travels down my spine as Damon jokes with her that he’s comfortable in silence. It puts her at ease at least. That or the tea Kam offers her.
“Are we good to continue?” Cade asks just as Kamden gives Eleanor’s shoulder a light squeeze and returns to his position.
Taking a brief swig from my water bottle, I get the attention of Dane and Silas who have yet to speak, but luckily it doesn’t distract anyone else.
“I think it might be helpful for you to record your thoughts to share with the therapists at the Rockford Center. Either by writing them down or recording yourself. That way, you could maintain a connection with them, even if it’s through videos.”
Eleanor’s shake of her head is firm, although her eyes are luminous with anguish. “I don’t want to talk to a lens.” Every word out of her mouth feels carefully weighed. As if she’s balanced them all against the pain it’ll cause her to use her voice. “I’ve done that enough.”
“Ella,” Kam’s tone is pleading. He takes three long strides into the room at the same time that I speak.
“I like to talk.” I ignore the burning look I’m aware Cade is giving me. “I’ve got stories to share if you want to listen. Maybe share some with me?” There’s a note in my offer I wish wasn’t there. A smoothness in my tone, casual and inviting, that I don’t use with clients. One I hope the rest of the men don’t pick up on.
Clearing my throat and standing up straighter, I cover my tracks, motioning toward Damon as I add, “It can be easier to share in group settings.”
They all stare, even Eleanor. I’m aware of every inch of my body. Of my too-casual lean against the windowsill. Of the water bottle that’s seconds away from being crushed in my hands. I loosen my grip on it and meet her eyes. A semblance of a smile lifts the corners of her mouth. My lungs feel tight from holding my breath. I don’t let it out. Don’t even move. If she smiles right now, if that hint becomes something real, it’ll be an accomplishment.
Eleanor’s lips part, her brow arching as she eyes me, and—
“This will all be recorded?” Kam’s voice takes the weak start to an inquisitive smile off her face and draws her eyes back to him. He’s taken a step into the room to hover over her.
His comment is a rock through glass. Eleanor holds my gaze for another beat, and then it’s back on my brother. Cade nods at Kam but then quickly returns his attention to Eleanor. “Of course. You don’t have to stare into a lens. Cameras are already placed in each room.”
The details continue without me as if I hadn’t spoken at all, which is best. It takes great effort to ignore Damon’s stare that burns into the side of my face.
It doesn’t take much for her to agree. It’s a battle she seems not to want to fight.
He carries on with the daily schedule, the rest of us shifting in our spots, listening along with Eleanor. My heart beats too fast for what this is. A status meeting, essentially. A way to get the lay of the land. Time set aside for all of us to be in the same room before we’re on rotating shifts, in and out of the house, devoted to her care.
By the time Cade gets to the end of his list, shadows have fallen over Eleanor’s face. The sunset is on its last gasp. It’ll be pitch black soon. I peel myself away from the windowsill and reach for a lamp in the corner. With a gentle click, it bathes the room in a warm glow. Eleanor tips her face toward it like it’s the sun and all I can see are the dark circles under her eyes. What is it that keeps her awake at night? At first glance, she was striking, although slender. Too slender. After spending the last two hours watching her, it’s more than obvious she’s not well. Kamden Richards is full of shit. It’s not a misunderstanding.
“With that settled,” Cade announces, “I believe that’s the end of my agenda. That’s all the information we have to give you right now. Was there anything you wanted to discuss before we call it a night?”
Eleanor shakes her head. There’s plenty I want to discuss and unravel. Too much. I’m too curious, and I know it.
She’s already standing when Cade offers to show her upstairs. She clears her throat with a hint of amusement. “I think I can find the way.”
Cade gets to his feet, the rest of us hanging back although we’re all standing now. I don’t know what this woman’s been through, but I’m certain she has no idea what to expect from us. Even after hours of going over details.
“This arrangement included minor changes to each room I’d like to go over with you.” His tone is gentle, but not patronizing. Eleanor hasn’t been through the whole house yet. She should be aware of the cameras and intercoms.
She seems to hear Cade’s words a few seconds late. I see the moment they land. Her eyebrows go up, eyes widening, and her shoulders tense. If I hadn’t been staring at her all this time, I might not have caught it. She begins to lift her hand but catches herself. “Not the west hall, though?”
Kam speaks up, his tone calm, “Everything in the west hall is untouched. Every room up there is just how you left it, Eleanor.” Although his outward appearance is at ease, his grip tightens on the back of the stool. So tight, I can see the whitening of his knuckles from here. Kam’s glance flickers to Cade when he adds, “I gave explicit instructions.”
Heat trickles down my shoulders. Cade confirms nothing has been touched in that wing. We don’t have access to it and neither will Eleanor.
Relief is exhaled along with her response. “Good.” She mouths the word more than she says it. Eleanor crosses both arms loosely over her belly. She’s still not comfortable—who would be?—but the fearful shine that flashed in her eyes is gone. Easing the tension out of my shoulders, I note that I’m left with more questions than anything after this meeting. So many that I consider reading the file. The idea lingers in the back of my mind.
“Let me walk with you upstairs?” Damon offers with an easy smile. He’s muscular, as we all are, and the kind of guy you want to have in an emergency. I would know. He’s helped me before.
Eleanor doesn’t quite smile back, but she looks like she might simply to be polite. When Damon steps to her side she moves along with him, the two of them striding past her manager, who trails a few steps behind. He’ll take her through the great room and into the foyer, and then they’ll climb the herringbone steps.
Besides my brother, I’m closest to Damon. He’s the one friend I could count on without fail in the last four years. Damon’s a good conversationalist but given her sore throat, he’s also comfortable with silence. There won’t be a second of awkwardness between them.
Friendship doesn’t do a damn thing to ease the possessive knot that coils my muscles as I watch him lead her away. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to look anywhere else.
This isn’t like me. I’m not jealous, and I never have been. Let alone the unethical thoughts that have run rampant since I first laid eyes on her. Excuses come to mind and pile up, the most obvious being the call I took first thing this morning and how much that fucked me up.
Dane and Silas call me over to where they’re standing, more than likely discussing the schedule and their thoughts of our new client. Holding up a finger and then the empty water bottle, I silently motion to the kitchen as if I need to throw away the trash before talking to them.
In the bright light of the kitchen, I steady my thoughts and my breathing.
It must be because Eleanor is not well. It makes her seem delicate. In need of protection.
Or in need of someone to take control.
All damned good explanations for why I feel like sprinting up the stairs after them, and for the same reasons I stay where I am, my mind shuddering away from the possibility.
I shake it off and come back to the task at hand. Cade has joined the other two men in front of the fireplace. I don’t think any of them have noticed how scattered my thoughts have been. Or how the majority have been focused on Eleanor in a way they shouldn’t. They’ll notice if I keep this up, which I don’t intend to do.
“Have you had a chance to read through the file?” Cade asks me as I join their circle.
“No. I’ll get to it.”
Cade doesn’t push me on the lie. It wouldn’t matter if he did. I want to hear her side of things. I want her to tell me what the hell happened to her.
Ella
