by S. J. Tilly
“Okay. For how long?” I ask.
“Not sure. A few days at least.”
“When do you leave?”
“Now.”
The sense of tremendous loss floods me. It’s an overreaction. And embarrassing. And I feel like I might cry.
He’s not leaving me, I remind myself, he’s just leaving town.
Vincent stands and pulls me up into a hug.
“I know, baby. I don’t want me to go either.” His fingers trail down my back. “Promise you’ll call me every night, so I can talk you to sleep?”
“Promise.” I whisper.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
SASHA
“I
was beginning to think that you were actually butting out of my life.” I joke, as I answer my brother’s phone call.
He scoffs. “I’ve been getting my information straight from Eric.”
“Wow. Classy, John.”
“What? He doesn’t fuck around with small talk and I can actually get straight answers from him.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Is my mature response.
John’s voice turns serious. “How are you? Really?”
I’m mildly depressed. I miss Vincent. He’s been gone for four days, and even though I talk to him every night when I go to bed, I can’t drop this clawing need to see him. But I know that’s not what my brother is asking about. He wants to know how I’m doing after the break-in.
“I’m okay. It’s still a little weird to think about someone being in my place. Like, really weird. And creepy. But I’m never alone. Eric might be annoying at times.” The man in question slides a look to me across the backseat of the car. “... but he makes me feel safe.”
Eric replies with his best imitation of an approving look.
“Good. And how’s the training going?”
My body aches just at the question. “It sucks. But since you already know about my torture sessions, then I’m sure you already know that I’m terrible.”
“No one expected you to be Chuck Norris on your first day of self-defense training. What matters is that you’re learning. You don’t need to be able to take down a bad guy, you just need to create an opening to get away.”
“Yes. Fleeing like a little chicken is precisely what Eric and his band of tormentors are teaching me.”
John isn’t wrong. I don’t plan on being able to fight anyone. I didn’t even plan to take these stupid classes. But of course, Vincent doesn’t care what I think, not when it comes to my safety. He had this all arranged before his flight even left for New York. And rather than warn me, he just gave Eric orders to bring me to some dumb gym the next morning.
So, I spent the weekend getting my ass handed to me by a pair of high-dollar trainers. And each day after work, I finish the day with Eric and his sidekick of choice, in a gym that I didn’t even realize was down the hall from my office.
John ignores my whining. “I have some guys that can fill in if Eric needs extra help or some time off. Vincent already knows this, but I wanted you to know too. And I have some feelers out there for that piece of shit Randal. We’ll catch him, sis.”
“Thank you.” I sigh. “I know I shouldn’t complain. I’m lucky to have so many people who care about me.”
“Yeah, well... I don’t want you thinking that it’s just your boyfriend working on this.” John’s tone speaks to the distrust he still has for Vincent.
He wasn’t thrilled about my involvement with Vincent from the beginning, and then you add on the psychotic uncle, it’s a bit understandable that John isn’t a fan. I wish he’d give Vincent a chance, but I don’t feel like arguing about it now.
I change the subject. “How’s work going?”
“Fine. Nothing exciting.” John’s code for no undercover work.
“That’s good. And outside of work? Any unlucky ladies?”
“You’re hilarious.” He deadpans.
I laugh. “I see why you and Eric get along so well. You two are the same exact person.” I tick off the reasons on my fingers. “You think you have all the answers. Smiling is a chore. Work is everything. You have no sense of humor. You-”
My phone is plucked from my hand.
“Hey!” I protest.
Eric holds the phone to his ear furthest away from me. “Hi John, I think I need to confiscate your sister’s phone. For security reasons.” There’s a pause as I imagine my brother replying. “I knew you’d understand. Yep. Have a good evening.”
Eric hangs up the call, hesitating only a moment before handing my phone back.
I give him my best glare.
“We’re here, ma’am.” The driver says, pulling to the curb.
Any hint of joking leaves Eric’s face. “Wait for me.”
It’s not like he needs to tell me. Every. Single. Time. But he does. And I might like to push his buttons, but I won’t mess around with his actual bodyguard stuff. I think it’s ridiculous, but I’ve learned to just let it happen.
When my door is pulled open, the smell of roasting meats and Mexican spices fill the air.
Climbing out of the car, I smile.
“It’s been too long,” I tell the front door of Salty Limes.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
SASHA
I t only took one-and-a-half margaritas before Jessica started to ask me about Vincent. And it only took one, and a half more for me to spill all the sordid details.
I’ve always liked Jessica, and we’ve been "work friends" for years, but I think tonight brought our friendship to a new level. She’s just so easy-going, without a single judgmental bone in her body. I can honestly admit that I’m happy she found us at BeanBag the other morning. I feel so much lighter after talking to her.
And drunker. Holy fuckballs, I’m feeling drunker.
“Babe…” Jessica draws the word out as we stumble our way into the backseat of my chauffeured car. “This ride is pimpin’!”
We both crack up.
“Who says pimpin’ anymore?” I snicker.
She shrugs. “I dunno. Who rides around with a driver and a bodyguard anymore?”
I hum in agreement. “Good point.”
Eric shuts the door behind me and slides into the front passenger seat. He’s stone cold sober, of course. On the job, and all that. Thankfully, we were able to convince him to sit a few tables away so we could talk in private. He was a good sport about it. And a good sport when I asked if we could give Jessica a ride home.
The driver doesn’t even bat an eye with the addition of a new drunk person in the car. I should thank him, but I don’t recognize him. The drivers seem to shift a lot, but they’ve all been kind.
Jessica leans forward between the seats, pouting lower lip on display. “Why are you sitting way up there, Kevin?”
Eric’s mouth opens and closes, clearly unsure if he should correct her.
I succumb to another round of giggles and attempt a whisper to Jessica. “It’s Eric, not Kevin.”
Jessica throws her hands up, nearly clocking me in the face. “I know that. But come on. The Bodyguard. Whitney Houston. Kevin Costner.”
“I never saw it,” I admit. “But Eric isn’t my love interest. Vincent is.”
Jessica sighs dramatically. “Work with me girl. In my fantasy, I’m Whitney Houston.”
I can’t help myself. “Isn’t she dead?”
Jessica gapes at me in horror. “Oh my god, too soon! And I wouldn’t be dead if stud muffin Eric Costner up there did his job and bodyguarded me!”
She can only fake her outrage for a second, before we’re both a mess of laughter. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what sloppy drunk looks like.
A throat clears from the front seat. “Miss, can you tell me your address?” Eric asks, still facing straight ahead.
Miss? Jessica mouths to me with a grin, before rattling off her address. And she’s right to be pleased. I’d take miss any day over being called ma’am.
I’m not sure if the drive was super short,
or if my drunkenness made me lose track of time, but, sooner than expected - the car pulls over in front of Jessica’s house. It’s a cute little bungalow with an abundance of flowers pouring from every corner of her tiny yard.
“Oh wow! Your flowers are amazing!” I make a move to unbuckle my seatbelt.
Eric turns in his seat to look at me. “You’re staying here.”
“But, her garden…”
He raises a hand. “I’m sure her garden is lovely.” Jessica and I both start to snicker, and I see Eric’s jaw tick. “It’s getting dark, and I need to get you home.”
Jessica pulls me in for a hug, but we’re both still buckled in so it’s more of a lean. “We’ll have a girls' day soon and you can play in my garden all you want. The boys can sit on the sidewalk and guard the perimeter. And serve us mimosas.”
“Deal.” I grin.
Jessica’s door opens and Eric stands there with his hand out. With great concentration, Jessica unclips herself and climbs out of the car.
Eric looks like he’s going to walk her to her door, and when Jessica sways and tips against him, I realize his actions might be just as much out of necessity as chivalry.
Before he steps away Eric leans into the car. “Stay put.” Then to the driver he says, “Lock the doors.”
Watching the two of them walk away, I think about how much calmer I feel. I hadn’t realized my emotions were quite so tumultuous. It makes sense though. After retelling the tale, I think I’m finally comprehending just how much has happened. It feels like that night in Vegas, with Mr. Idiot accosting me in the bar, was a lifetime ago. But really it wasn’t. Then I didn’t see Vincent again for another month, which of course turned into quite the collision. Followed up with a whole bunch of sexual tension. Some illicit encounters. The introduction of a daughter I didn’t even know he had. And suddenly, I’m knee deep in family life. Talking about periods. Watching movies. Having dinner with his mother. Toss in a dose of breaking-and-entering, a 24/7 bodyguard, and keeping my relationship a secret from my boss, and you have the perfect recipe for a mental breakdown.
And yet, I don’t feel like breaking down at all. I feel... happy. I feel a level of happiness that I hadn’t known I was missing. I wasn’t unhappy before all of this. At least, I don’t think I was. But I definitely wasn’t living my best life. That’s the thing about people. They bring complications and heartache and stress. But they also bring joy and pleasure and purpose. I still feel like me, but I feel more. I feel complete.
The dome light turning on announces Eric’s return to the car. He’s silent, and even more still than usual. And I wonder just how long I zoned out, and just how long he was in the house with Jessica.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
VINCENT
P acing my hotel room, I glance at my watch for what feels like the hundredth time. Sasha should have called me by now. Eric should have checked in by now. I clench my jaw and resist the urge to dial. I’ve never had someone that I talk to every day, just for the sake of talking. Where the whole purpose is to hear her voice. It’s foreign, and yet somehow feels so normal. Not talking to Sasha doesn’t even feel like an option. She calms me.
I glance at the clock again.
She sent me a text before she left for dinner with Jessica, but even with the hour time difference it’s late enough that she should be home by now. I’m sure things just went long. If they’re anything like my mother when she’s out with her friends, they could talk for hours.
That has me calming a small amount. Sasha has had a lot happen over the past few weeks. I want to think that she can talk to me about anything, but - in truth - most of those things revolve around me. And for some reason, picturing Sasha talking to one of her friends about me, about us, has me calming further. She deserves a night out. And once her contract with Mazzanti Enterprises is over, I’ll take her out on a proper date.
I understand Sasha’s reasoning for keeping us a secret. I do. As much as I think it’s bullshit, I accept that our relationship could have repercussions for her. But I wasn’t lying when I told her I don’t want her going on to another assignment. I don’t want her working for another rich prick. Not that I think she’ll be unfaithful. I just don’t trust men. I don’t trust that they’ll treat her with the respect she deserves. She shouldn’t have to put up with that shit. If she’s out of my sight all day, I’ll do nothing but worry to the point of causing a scene. It’s not a trait I’m proud of, but I’m self-aware enough to admit the truth of it.
Luckily, I have some ideas that will keep her close to me.
My relaxed façade crumbles the second my phone rings. Like a lovesick teen, I lunge to answer.
“Sasha.” I say in greeting.
“Mmm. Hi Vincent.” Sasha purrs into the phone.
My dick reacts to the throaty voice before my brain registers that something is different. Her words are a little slurred. Then it hits me. She’s drunk.
“Hi, sweetheart. Let me call you right back.” I say.
“Oh.” She sounds crestfallen. “You’ll call back?”
“Right back.” I reply.
Hanging up, I immediately dial Eric’s number.
I should have left Angelo in Minneapolis to cover Sasha alongside Eric. Eric’s good, but she’s mine. And he let her go out and get drunk. In public. What the fuck was he thinking?
“Evening, boss.” Eric greets me.
“Status report.” I say, tone hard.
“Just finished my review of the security cams and my check-in with the man on the street. No action at Home Base to report on.”
“No action, except for Sasha being drunk. Explain.” I know I’m being an asshole. But I don’t fucking care.
Eric is used to my attitude by now and doesn’t change his professional demeanor. “We met Sasha’s friend Jessica at the restaurant. At my request they moved to a table of my choice. I sat where I could see the front and rear exits. Driver stayed parked out front. I don’t think Sasha realizes that the drivers are a part of her security crew yet.”
“Good. I don’t plan to tell her.”
Eric continues. “After we met Jessica in that coffee shop, I had a feeling they would probably talk for a long time. I also had a feeling they’d drink. I pre-arranged for three plain clothes guards to be in the restaurant. Two at a table between the girls and the door. The other at the bar with eyes on the girls. They tailed us back to Home Base. We detoured to bring Jessica home at Sasha’s request. She never suspected the watchers. I’m sure she would’ve said something if she did.”
“Agreed.” I take a moment to think through Eric’s plan, and I have to admit that I’m impressed. “Good work.”
I hang up. Eric’s not in this job for the praise.
Sasha picks up after two rings. “Hey, boyfriend.” Any hard feelings from me cutting her off earlier are clearly forgotten.
A smile pulls on my lips. “Hey, girlfriend.” I hear crunching. “Are you eating?”
“Just some crackers.” Her words are distorted by food, and - instead of being unpleasant - it’s adorable. “I know I shouldn’t eat after brushing my teeth, but I need these puppies to soak up some of the tequila.”
“Hmm, not a bad idea.” I agree, wishing I were with her right now.
“Plus, Captain likes the crackers, too. Don’t ya, Cap?” Sasha giggles and I swear I hear her cat meow in agreement. “He doesn’t want to be hungover tomorrow either.”
“I bet. I can probably get your boss to let you have tomorrow off.”
“Oh really, you know Cheryl?” Sasha asks. A moment later she breaks down into laughter.
This girl. God, she’s cute.
The sound gets muffled, and I imagine her dropping her phone onto the bed. I close my eyes and lay on my own bed, pretending I’m with her.
When Sasha comes back, I swear I can feel her smile through the phone. “Sorry. I’m a little bit drunk. But I’m blaming Jessica. She’s such a bad influence. And fun. And she’s super understa
nding. I think she might be my best friend. Or, well, I think I’d like her to be. I should probably tell her that, right? Is that how you do that?”
I know Sasha, so I don’t know why it comes as a surprise that she might not have a lot of friends. I think back through her background check and our conversations. She’s close with her brother, but that’s it. Parents deceased. No other family. She throws herself into her job. I don’t think she’s ever mentioned anyone outside of work by name. Aside from Jason, her needle dick ex.
Unaware of the direction my thoughts have turned, Sasha carries on. “You probably don’t have that problem. Everyone wants to be your friend. Like that bitch Amanda. But you don’t need anyone else. Plus, you’ve had Angelo since, like, forever.”
“Did you just call me old?” I tease. “And who’s that bitch Amanda?”
“You are old. And Amanda is nobody. And as long as you remember that, you’ll get to keep your pretty eyes in your head where they belong.”
I chuckle. “Who’s the gangster now?”
Sasha sighs into the phone. “I wish you weren’t so far away.”
“I know, baby. I’ll be home soon.”
“Want to know a secret?” She whispers.
“Always.”
“I’m sleeping with your shirt.”
“I don’t remember leaving a shirt at your place.” She’s silent. “Sasha, did you steal it from me?” I can’t stop myself from needling her. “Sasha are you a little thief now?”
A loud exhale floods the speaker. “It’s your shirt from Vegas.”
It takes me a moment to catch on to what she’s saying. Vegas? As in the first night we met. The first time we slept together.
I smile when it comes back to me. “My T-shirt?”
Sasha makes a humming sound.
“I figured you took it to wear back to your room. I didn’t realize you kept it.”
“Sorry.” She mumbles. “I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but it was so soft. And it smelled like you. I wanted a way to remember you.”
“It’s okay, baby. I’m glad you have it.” The thought of her hugging my shirt while she sleeps causes my chest to warm. But the idea that what we have could have started and ended that night makes my heart ache. “Why don’t you put me on speaker and set the phone down. If you insist on going to work tomorrow, you should get some sleep.”
