I type back quickly, happy for the distraction from the weird sensation that’s dancing low in my core. A workout is exactly what I need. I didn’t have any plans tomorrow except going to see Sullivan and Molly. Brad’s usually fully booked. He must have had a cancellation.
“What time?”
I look up at Denver. A muscle in his cheek tightens as our eyes meet.
“Eight,” I answer.
“I’ll be here at seven thirty.” He bends to pat Monty on his way out, stopping at the door like he usually does and waiting for me to come and close it behind him.
“Sure, sounds good.” My eyes travel back to my phone, and I click send on my message.
“Lock the door,” Denver instructs gruffly.
“I know.” I give him a tiny salute as I close the door.
Monty sits at my feet, watching the door as I secure the lock. He’s just hoping for another ear rub from Denver’s giant hands.
“Come on, baby. Bedtime,” I say.
He doesn’t move, except to lower his head and sniff at the base of the door.
I tiptoe over and check the peephole. Denver is still standing outside, hands on his hips, head bowed like he’s deep in thought. Why hasn’t he gone? I did the lock. My hand hovers over it, considering undoing it and asking if he’s forgotten something.But then a low curse breaks from his lips and he turns, walking away.
The sound of the elevator dinging outside signals his departure. I bend down and pick up my shoes from the floor. The crystals covering them shine like tiny shards of glass. I turn them in my hands, the recent memory of warm fingers against my skin coming back full force.
“Bedtime, Monty,” I repeat.
I glance back at the door.
This time, Monty comes.
7
DENVER
“He looks even moreof a jerk than the first time I saw him.” Jenson chuckles.
I grunt, and Jenson moves back, away from where he was looking over my shoulder at my laptop.
“Why are you checking on him again, anyway?” he asks.
My eyes flick up from the image of Brad flexing his pecs in another Instagram image to Jenson, who’s pacing up and down the length of the meeting room, tapping on the back of each of the chairs as he passes. We usually have our meetings at Seasons. But since the fire, we’ve been holding them at Beaufort Diamonds’ head office.
“Yeah, Boss. Any reason you’re repeating work you’ve already done?” Killian smirks from his position on the opposite side of the meeting table. I clench my jaw, throwing him a warning look.
“Our work is neverdone. We have to be vigilant at all times,” I hiss.
Killian arches his brows at me, looking like he’s about to speak.
“She’s under my protection. Which means any man who so much as looks at her is on my radar. And I’ll find out every damn thing there is to know about them if I see fit. Got it?”
“Yes, Boss,” they echo.
I suck in a breath as I return to my dissection of Brad Garrett-Charles’ Instagram profile. It’s picture after picture of him posing like a jackass. He’s mostly alone. But there are some with models and actresses. None of Sinclair. Her agent wouldn’t allow her to be tagged for privacy reasons. Thank fuck they have some sense.
The door to the meeting room opens, and I snap my laptop shut and stand as Sterling, Sullivan, and Mal walk inside.
“Gentlemen,” Sterling greets first, his silver-flecked hair catching the light against his dark blue suit.
