After the lunch, debrief with me before you debrief with her. External accountability before emotional processing.
I read the list twice. The rules are clear, specific, designed to prevent exactly the kind of protective overreach I'm prone to.
"You think I need this much structure?" I ask.
"I think you're developing feelings for someone you're supposed to be protecting professionally. That requires more structure than usual." He sits back down. "Rule four is themost important. If you feel yourself wanting to cross the room, wanting to defend her, wanting to stop Ezra from speaking—you text me. Immediately. I'll respond within seconds and remind you why intervention would compromise her case."
"You'll be available during the lunch?"
"I'll make myself available. That's what mentorship means." He refills his glass. "But Jax? If you violate these rules tomorrow, if you let your personal feelings compromise her safety or legal position, I'm calling Lucien. I'll recommend he pull you from the assignment. Permanently. Understood?"
The ultimatum is clear. Elias can't directly remove me—Lucien is my employer—but his recommendation would carry weight. Lucien trusts Elias's judgment about when protectors become liabilities.
"Understood," I say.
"Good." He sips his scotch. "Now tell me about the recording setup. What kind of device are you using?"
"Audio only. Small enough to be discreet. Uploads to a secure server in real-time, with local storage as backup if connection fails."
"What form does it take? Body wire? Button?"
"Jewelry. A pendant necklace. Microphone integrated into the design."
Elias nods slowly, and something shifts in his expression—recognition, maybe resignation. "Of course. Which means you had to deliver it personally. Configure it. Probably help her put it on."
The accuracy is unsettling. "The device needed to be tested for fit and function."
"The device needed to be handed to her with instructions. You chose to make it intimate." He sets down his glass. "I'm not criticizing the choice. I'm pointing out that you're already crossing into physical proximity that goes beyond professional necessity. Tomorrow, when you're watching her across a restaurant being psychologically attacked, that intimacy is going to make objectivity nearly impossible."
He's right. This morning in Lana's kitchen, standing behind her with my hands at her neck, feeling her pulse jump under my fingers—that wasn't purely tactical. That was want that’s disguised as preparation. And tomorrow, watching Ezra try to destroy her, I'll be fighting the urge to cross the restaurant and end the conversation with force.
"So I maintain distance tomorrow," I say. "Follow your rules. Document instead of defend."
"You try to maintain distance. But you also need to be honest about what's happening." Elias leans forward. "Have you told her? That you're attracted to her?"
"She knows I'm invested. I've been honest about that."
"Investment isn't the same as attraction. You can be invested in a client's welfare without wanting to touch them." His tone is direct, pushing past my deflection. "I'm asking if you've told her plainly: I'm attracted to you, this complicates our professional relationship, here's how I'm managing those feelings."
The idea of that conversation makes my chest tighten. "Why does she need to know?"
"Because honesty is the only thing that keeps protection from becoming possession. If you're hiding your attraction, you're operating from deception. And deception—even well-intentioned deception—is how control starts." He stands andwalks to the window. "With Mara, I spent months telling myself I was just protecting her. That my feelings were irrelevant as long as I kept her safe. But those hidden feelings informed every decision I made. Every boundary I set was shaped by what I wanted, not what she needed."
"And telling her changed that?"
"Telling her gave her information to make informed choices about our relationship. About whether she wanted protection from someone who was attracted to her, or whether that dynamic was too complicated given her history." He turns back to me. "Lana deserves the same information. Not after you've spent weeks surveilling her and getting more entangled. Now. After tomorrow's lunch, when you've proven you can maintain professional boundaries under pressure."
The timeline he's proposing feels rushed and terrifying. "And if she doesn't want personal involvement? If she just wants professional protection?"
"Then you respect that. Tell Lucien you need to transition her case to someone else because your personal feelings compromise your objectivity." He returns to his chair. "But Jax? I don't think she wants purely professional. The way you described your interactions—the proximity, the negotiated boundaries—that doesn't sound one-sided."
The observation lands with uncomfortable hope. "You think she's attracted to me?"
"I think she's aware of you in ways that go beyond tolerating necessary surveillance. Whether that's attraction or just responding to your attention, I can't say. But she deserves the chance to name what this is becoming." He finishes his scotch. "Tell her after tomorrow. Be direct. Accept whateveranswer she gives. That's the only way this doesn't become Gabriel in a different form."
I nod, committing to a conversation I'm terrified to have. "Anything else?"
