Bishop's Queen

by Cristin Harber

  Ella turned to Jay, hoping the good food had put him in a decent mood. “Let’s finish this tomorrow.”

  “Slacker.” He turned to Tara. “Might as well start pitching her to TV execs again, because she’s done with the hard stuff.”

  “Jay.” Ella’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Just saying. When have you ever been one to not finish what you started.”

  Tara pressed her perfectly lined lips together and shook her head. “Call if you need me. I’m gone.”

  “My phone’s dead,” Jay muttered.

  “Then Ella can. Have fun.” Tara hugged her and waved at Jay then left them in front of the restaurant.

  He was already walking toward Tara’s office. “Let’s get it done already.”

  Her big project now focused on lavender and mint, semi-hard to kill, easy to transfer in real life. Jay’s concern was that Ella wanted to bring real people into the blog’s posts. Logistically, what she wanted was a “nightmare” as Jay had explained a dozen times over dinner.

  “Coming,” she mumbled, catching up.

  They closed in on Tara’s office, and he twisted his key in the door.

  “Telling Tara to pitch me to TV was a low blow.”

  “Got you back to where you were supposed to be.”

  “Nice,” she snipped.

  They tromped the familiar path up the stairs and into the conference room. “What’s your problem lately?” Ella asked.

  Jay walked in, slamming the conference room door so hard, the walls shook. “My problem is you, Ella.”

  Her phone rang, and Jay grumbled while she grabbed it. “It’s my dad. Chill out for a second.” Accepting the call, she put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Dad.”

  A picture waited for them in the center of the conference table, and her blood went cold. “Oh no.” Ella stepped closer, unable to look away, and Jay’s eyes caught it at the same time.

  “Hey, El. We were just checking in,” Dad said.

  Jay stepped in front of her, trying to keep her from seeing what she was certain she already had.

  “Jay, move.”

  “El?” Dad tried again. “Are you there?”

  This was clearly the work of her stalker. A picture of her and everything she hated, things she railed against, had been Photoshopped into a collage—rainforests that had been mowed down, smashed turtle eggs, and a rhino or an elephant, she couldn’t tell which, that was missing part of its tusk or horn. So much blood.

  “El, are you there?” Dad’s worried voice called to her.

  “It happened again, Daddy.”

  When she had first turned over the sick photos, scary mail, and recapped her feelings to the police, they hadn’t taken her seriously. She had millions of fans. The police had told her that TV personalities attracted creepy people. Issue activists brought out the crazies, they explained. Surely some of them would be overly excited, especially because her message was semi-political and very emotional. There would be people who grabbed onto her message with their whole hearts, as well as those who rejected it with fervor. Passion bred reaction.

  “Are you okay, El?—Yes, it’s El. Pick up; she had a problem again.”

  A second later, her mom clicked on. “Hi, honey bear.”

  “There’s another picture, Mom.”

  “Call the cops, El,” Dad ordered.

  Right. Ella walked toward the conference room phone.

  “What are you doing?” Jay asked.

  She looked at him. “Calling 9-1-1.”

  “Are you stupid?”

  She recoiled. “What?”

  “Are you going to say a picture scared you? We’ve been down that road.”

  “The picture…” She glanced at the conference table but couldn’t quite look at the collage. “Someone obviously broke in and put it here.”

  Jay reached for the conference table phone. “This is not an emergency. It’s a picture. Where do you see any signs of a break-in?”

  “This isn’t an emergency?” She balked, but then again, he was right. “Why does everyone play this down?”

  “El,” Dad snapped. “Stop listening to him.”

  She focused back on her parents. “I’m here.”

  “That guy is not right sometimes,” Dad said. “Now let me get this straight. Where are you?”

  “Tara’s office.”

  “And someone broke in?”

  “Well, there’s a picture here. I don’t know how it got here.” It’s not like the door was busted or a window was broken.

  “Let me talk to your dad,” Jay said.

  She shooed his hand away. That was all kinds of a bad idea.

  Maybe she was overreacting. An intern could’ve received it in the mail and tossed it on the conference table, assuming Ella or Jay would be back and thinking one of them should see it. Okay, calling 9-1-1 seemed like overkill. The collage was totally screwed up, but maybe not an emergency.

  “Hang up already so we can deal with this,” Jay snapped.

  Ella pulled the phone away from her mouth. “You’re being a dick.”

  He grumbled. “Yeah, well, you’re not dealing with this exactly how I think you should either, Ella.”

  “Glad you have a script written.” She rolled her eyes, going back to her call. “What should we do?”

  “Ignore it and go home,” Jay answered for her parents. “If you’re that worried, stay with me.”

  “Jeez, Jay.” She spun away from him, needing to talk to the reasonable people in this conversation. Ella wanted to approach the situation as calmly as she would any other activist-environmentalist problem when she was in danger.

  “Jay’s a piece of work,” Dad lectured. “You know who we should talk to? Where’s that email from your parents? The one about that man going to Spain and the business card…” Her dad’s voice faded away, and in the background, her parents lobbed a conversation back and forth.

  “From Gamma and Pop-Pop?” Ella asked, confused about how her grandparents had been brought into the conversation.

  “El,” Mom said. “They know somebody in private security we’re going to ask.”

  “Good. Can you ask them and not the cops?” She gave Jay a look to appease him. “I want to go home, but I feel like we can’t just walk away. Maybe we’ll call Tara too.”

  “A man named Rocco Savage, that’s a name you don’t forget, gave them a business card at the airport once, and said if there was ever a problem, he could help out. It was one of those stories your Gamma likes to tell about her travels. This situation constitutes a problem—Yes, that’s it,” Mom said to her dad. “Titan Group. That’s right. From everything she said, they’re the type of people who would know what to do. We’ll make a quick phone call and get another perspective.”

  What kind of folks were her grandparents hanging out with? “Thanks. I appreciate it, Mom.”

  “Call you back. We love you, sweet pea.”

  “Love you too.” Ella hung up and turned to see Jay’s pissed-off face. It was as if he thought she had planned this night and the picture. “Honestly, you can leave if you want.”

  “Like hell, Ella.”

  She pulled out a chair, refusing to look at the picture, and waited for her parents’ advice. Whatever they said, she trusted. Jay had said too much, and she was tired of hearing his opinion.

  Jay sighed. “This is only going to get worse before it gets better.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ella received one text message from her dad, which said to stay put. Someone he now trusted was coming to talk to her. Jay had brooded since she hung up with her parents, and he exploded over the text. Granted, he’d always been moody, but as the minutes ticked by, he was being borderline passive-aggressive.

  “You know, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Ella said.

  He glanced purposefully at the picture. “I can see that.”

  Jay stood and paced again then dropped into his chair. “Your people are slow.”


  “My people? People who know my grandparents are not my people. Your vote was to stick around, remember? My vote involved fast, with blue-and-white flashing lights. Someone’s going to offer an opinion without judging me. You can leave.”

  He muttered something under his breath.

  Exasperated, Ella jumped up. “Excuse me? What is your problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem.”

  “Yes, you do. Which is ridiculous because you’re not the one with the problem.”

  He scoffed. “Trust me. I deal with your problems.” He said it as though she were the problem.

  Ella crossed her arms. “That’s rich.”

  What environmental issue had she touched on that was so bad, it had created a stalker? Or was this because she’d gone on reality TV? She spent all of her time live steaming and vlogging on her website, Eco-Ella—maybe that was why some very concerning people had sometimes fixated on her. She’d gotten even more exposure because Tara cross-posted to other social media sites like Monarch, YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook.

  Had Ella said the wrong thing or commented in a way that had triggered this? Had she encouraged a person that was hanging on by a thread to simply snip that string and lose their marbles? Sometimes, it seemed as though the line was so blurred between entertainer and fan that it didn’t actually exist.

  Ella talked to her fans all day long. That was one of the reasons TV and Hollywood threw legitimate offers to her on a regular basis. She had street cred, and they wanted that viral power.

  The conference room door opened, and Ella sucked in a breath. She had assumed this Titan Group would call or knock, but no. They let themselves in.

  “Ma’am.”

  Ella stood, staring at men who, even in streetwear, looked as if they would be more comfortable in SWAT gear. She steadied on her feet, breathing easier at just the sight of them than she had during any conversation with Jay. “Hi.”

  “My name is Jared Westin.” Three men flanked his sides. “We’re friends of your family.”

  “Thanks for coming by.” She sounded flustered. She hadn’t expected that several people as large and in charge as them would show up. They were not quite normal men. They seemed more like machines sent to protect her, and they were clearly in security.

  That type of person made her wary. She’d never met any person who carried a gun and acted tough who didn’t abuse that power. Poachers and pilferers were perfect examples. Her automatic reaction was not to trust badgeless gun carriers, but her dad had said they could be trusted.

  Jared’s eyes darted to Jay then to the picture on the table. “With that said, I’d like to speak with you privately.”

  Jay heaved, acting like an ungrateful child. “So I’ll just, what, sit here?”

  OMG. She gave him a sideways glance to telecommunicate her bit of embarrassment, but he missed her mortified telepathic vibes.

  Jared crossed his arms. “Yes. Why don’t you sit your ass still for a minute, my friend.”

  Ella froze as if she were one of the statues decorating Capitol Hill. Some people were not to be ignored. And Mr. Jared Westin was one of them.

  He pivoted back. “Ella.” It was not a question, not much of anything, and gave no indication of what he wanted.

  “What Jay is trying to say is thank you for coming to talk about this,” she said. “I didn’t know what my parents meant. But any advice would be awesome, and—”

  “Hang on.” Jared gave her a once-over then turned his entire body in one slow, deliberate motion and stared at Jay, assessing him, before he came back to her. “Winters, Roman, check the office building. Find out what we need to know. Rocco, talk with the boyfriend. Miss Leighton and I will chat privately.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.” The words wouldn’t come fast enough, as two of the men peeled out of the room. Ella would never take ownership of her relationship with Jay after he had been that rude and showed no plans to check his attitude.

  “Very close friends.” Jay’s lips pinched. “We work together. And there’s nothing to see in this building other than the picture on the table.”

  Jared didn’t look at Jay. “Ready?”

  “Ella, if you’d rather me sit in with you,” Jay snipped.

  Jared tilted his head. “Rocco, the non-boyfriend. Now.”

  “Why would we talk separately?” Jay asked.

  “Jay.” Ella bugged her eyes at him. “They’re here to help me. They’re part of our team. They’re not the people we have to team up against and fight off.”

  Jared’s eyebrow eased up. “You routinely team up and face off with people like us?”

  “Sort of.” Feeling as though she’d maybe impressed him, she hid her smile, but she was pretty proud of her work. “Most recently in Congo, Costa Rica, and then there was that time in the Amazonian jungle.”

  Both of Jared’s brows went up. “Interesting.”

  Jay huffed, and the man named Rocco hovered between them. Ella shifted, deciding it was best to let those two have their own pissing contest.

  She and Jared left the conference room, and Jared found a desk for them to sit at as though he’d been in Tara’s office a hundred times. “So, Ella. Let’s break down what’s been happening and what you need to do moving forward.”

  Please, please don’t say make an appointment with the police and explain. While she loved the boys in blue, the ones she had talked to so far hadn’t taken anything seriously. This conversation was about to be disappointing. “Okay.”

  “My night was like a game of telephone. Ever play that?”

  She nodded. “A long time ago.”

  “Thought so.” He cracked his knuckles. “Your grandparents met my guy, Rocco, at an airport a couple years ago, and they agreed if there was ever an emergency, he owed them a favor. Your grandmother had emailed the story to your parents—and I have to admit that it’s a hell of a story—because I got a phone call from your father. He said he had a problem and was cashing in the favor.”

  “I’m the favor.” She dropped her head, hating the fact that she was anyone’s responsibility, but she also paused. How had no one told her that Gamma and the man who’d just been identified as Rocco had had a situation at an airport that resulted in a favor years later?

  “Ella? You with me?”

  “Yes.” She focused. “I’m the favor.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, eyes crinkling at the corners as his ever-assessing once-over paused. “And good thing for you, as it turns out, Rocco also watches a lot of TV.”

  Ella raised her eyebrows. “He does?”

  “The reality crap, particularly.”

  Her eyebrows arched higher. “Okay.”

  “And from what he said, you’re level-headed in a sea of bullshit.”

  “Oh, okay.” While that was true, in her opinion, normally people didn’t outright say that. “Thank you?”

  Jared cracked his knuckles against the table. “You’re a favor. You’re a known entity. You’re in deep over your head.”

  Over her head? “Well—”

  “You”—Jared scowled— “are going to get yourself killed over a fucking clean-the-planet blog. Do you know that?”

  Her spine went rod-iron straight, and her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” Good-bye warm fuzzies from safety patrol. If this Jared Westin character was going to attack Eco-Ella, he had another thing coming. She was officially back on duty. “Or in the process of talking to people on the blog, on all social media, and in real life, I will save lives, animals, marine life, insects, and basically nature’s life cycle.” She met his gruff stare. “Mr. Westin, it’s more than a clean-the-planet blog.”

  “And you talk to yourself on videos.”

  Ella balked. “I vlog.”

  “Whatever it’s called. The TV thing is where you probably picked up the whacked-out nutjobs.”

  Ella rubbed her temples. “Honestly, that’s all just a medium.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I didn’t s
et out to be on television. I didn’t wake up and say ‘I want to be famous’ or whatever.” It felt so weird to even say that. More often than not, people didn’t recognize her. Actually, they did, but she dropped her head and tried not to be noticed. It wasn’t as though she was Hollywood-famous; she was just Eco-Ella-famous. She thought of it as if Martha Stewart Living and Katy Perry were smashed into a celebrity sandwich and spouted out an environmentally focused spawn. Everything about her was still in the infantile stages, but it was growing exponentially.

  “Explain it to me, Ella.” Jared leaned back, crossing his arms. “Because from my point of view? The fans, millions of people up on your shit? I’d say that would be the driving force behind what most anyone would do.” He paused. “We’re behind closed doors, and I give no fucks about your answer. But the truth matters.”

  “Of course it does.”

  “No one’s going to hear what you say. You’re going to have to convince me that you’re not selling me a line of bullshit. Between that jackass ex-boyfriend of yours—”

  Ella leaned forward. “I ran Eco-Ella before the website went viral and the TV cameras showed up because it’s important. And if they go away tomorrow, that’s fine. But it would break my heart, because my message is important.”

  He looked so unconvinced.

  “Everything’s about the air. It’s a finite commodity.” She stood up. “In China, right now, not decades from now, where there aren’t regulations, where environmentalists like me don’t exist without major repercussions, people—kids, grandmas, even dogs—they have little masks they wear every day because pollution is as thick as fog.”

  His glower didn’t change.

  “You don’t get it, and that’s fine. It’s hard to, maybe, unless you have kids or a dog, so whatever. My point is they can’t breathe. When you can’t breathe, you die. If you could ever imagine something like that.” Ella smoothed her long, wispy skirt, hating where he’d forced her to go in her explanation. She drank in a mind-clearing breath and sat in her chair again. “It’s horrific. Watching someone die who can’t breathe…”