I never heard it put that way, but I couldn’t agree more. “Exactly. Besides, I like being the boss and building on what my parents started. And now, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“And I have to say…human resources is very you.”
I shrug, owning it. “You’re not wrong. What about you? What did you study? You went to college before you were in the Marines, right?”
“I did. Studied psychology,” he says as we pass the lighting aisle.
“That tracks.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because you clearly like to try to understand people.”
He eyes me up and down, like he’s enjoying the view. Then he drops his voice to a low rasp. “Like you?”
The mood shifts instantly from the heat behind his words. “Be careful with that wholeseduction in the lighting aislething you’re doing,” I whisper.
He arches a playful brow. “Or you’ll throw yourself at me against the lamps?”
“Yes,” I say emphatically, still keeping my voice low. “So behave. Anyone could take a pic and say Haven’s banging her bodyguard.”
He smiles, his dimple popping again, looking far too pleased.
“What’s that smile for?”
“What can I say? I like that you’re banging your bodyguard.”
Butterflies.A stupid flock of them takes flight inside me. I shift gears so I don’t look all hearts-and-fluttery in the store in case I run into anyone. “Anyway, I’m glad business is increasing.”
Banks rolls with the change-up. “Can you imagine what it’ll be like when the movie’s out?”
I’m a little giddy thinking about it. “I hope the film is great. Butwhat about you?” The second I ask, I remember my conversation with Haven in her hotel room. “And speaking of, do you think Haven will need security when she returns to Los Angeles?”
My cautious and protective bodyguard tilts his head, clearly giving it some thought. “It’s not a bad idea. Will she need round-the-clock? Probably not. But it’d be good for her to do a security checkup at her home. Her car. And online too. She might need a close protection officer from time to time, and even more so when she gets her Oscar.”
I smile. “I’ll make sure she hires you.”
“You’d better.”
“Do you think this gig will help you grow your business? Land new contracts?”
There’s a part of me that keeps wondering, too, what happens when the job ends in another week. We haven’t had that conversation. We haven’t even tiptoed around it. Maybe because we made the boundaries so clear from the start that this is a temporary fling. A secret romance on the job.
Ergo—when the job ends, he says goodbye and returns to LA, and I stay here. A wave of sadness wallops me, but I try to swim out of it as he answers me with, “Tabitha has made some referrals in the entertainment business. I’m supposed to chat with Dean soon—he’s my partner—about a couple leads.”
I’m about to ask what sort of leads when his gaze lands squarely on the shelves we’re passing. It’s the cleaning section, full of mops, brooms, and…feather dusters. I stop abruptly, eyeing a purple one with a promise on its packaging—synthetic feathers soft enough todust the most delicate glass and porcelain! We dare you to feel anything softer!
Banks’s lips twitch. “Should we take that dare?”
“For all the delicate glass and porcelain you’ve been dying to clean in the farmhouse?”
“Yes, Ripley. For that,” he deadpans.
I reach out and touch the feathers. They’re silky. “Mmm. Very soft.”
He steps closer, scans the aisle, then runs his fingertips down the front of my shirt, over my belly.
My breath catches. “Are you competing with a synthetic feather duster?”
