Mack was a man in his early sixties whose conservative suit and measured manner spoke to decades of managing vast fortunes with discretion and competence. His office was surprisingly understated, with quality furniture, original artwork, and cutting-edge technology that was neitherostentatious nor flashy. The overall effect was one of authority and trustworthiness.
"Willow, it's wonderful to see you," Mack said, his greeting warm but professional as he gestured toward a comfortable seating area away from his imposing desk. "I trust your Nebraska home is providing the creative inspiration you were seeking?"
"It's been perfect for my writing," Willow replied, settling into a leather chair while Casper positioned himself where he could observe while not being privy to the figures on the papers she would look over.
"Excellent. I've prepared the quarterly reports you requested, and I'm pleased to say your investment portfolio has performed exceptionally well this year." Mack opened a leather folder and allowed Willow to review the detailed financial statements, answering her questions with thoroughness.
As the meeting progressed, Casper was impressed by Mack's apparent concern for Willow's financial security. The adviser's recommendations were conservative and sensible. But it was a casual comment near the end of their meeting that immediately put Casper on high alert.
"Oh, before I forget," Mack said, consulting his appointment calendar, "I should mention that your parents contacted me. They were asking about the possibility of accessing certain accounts for what they termed 'family emergency medical expenses.'"
Willow's entire body went rigid, and Casper watched the color drain from her face as she processed this information.
"My parents contacted you directly?" Her voice was carefully controlled, but Casper could hear the underlying anger and anxiety.
"Yes," Mack clarified quickly. "My staff followed protocol and informed them that I could not discuss any client information without explicit written authorization from you personally."
"What exactly did they want to know?"
"They were fishing for information about account balances, investment holdings, and whether there were any provisions for family access in case of emergencies… or your death.”
Willow gasped, whipping her head around so her gaze landed on Casper. He moved from the wall to stand closer, not wanting her to feel like she was facing the information alone.
“Standard con artist tactics, in my professional opinion.” Mack's expression grew somber. "I've dealt with similar situations before, unfortunately. Family members or associates who think they can circumvent legal protections to access client assets."
Casper noticed how Willow's hands clenched together, her shoulders tensing as she processed this new threat. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. She sighed as the tension eased. The gesture was subtle enough that Mack probably didn't notice, but to Casper, it spoke volumes about her growing trust in his protection and her need for emotional support in the face of escalating harassment.
He liked that she turned to him for comfort, perhaps more than he should have. The realization that her instinctive stress response was to seek his presence and proximity sent a warm satisfaction through his chest that had nothing to do with professional pride and everything to do with personal attachment.
"Have there been any other unusual contacts or inquiries?" Casper asked, his security training kicking in as he began connecting dots between the morning's flower delivery, the parents' financial probing, and the broader pattern of surveillance Willow had been experiencing.
"Not to my office directly, but I've been in this business long enough to recognize when someone is getting desperate."
When they left Mack's office and descended to the parking garage where their driver waited, Casper's mind raced through the implications of what they'd learned. The roses that morning weren't just a romantic gesture from an admiring fan. They were a message, a demonstration that whoever was behind this had the ability to track her movements, identify her location, and deliver items directly to her private space. The escalation was clear and concerning, and Casper knew they were running out of time before the surveillance turned into something much more dangerous.
As their car pulled into Los Angeles traffic, Willow sat close enough that he could feel her warmth, her trust in his protection both humbling and terrifying. He was falling for this woman in ways that went far beyond his professional obligations, and the growing threats against her safety were making his protective instincts increasingly personal and fierce.
The question was whether he could keep her safe long enough to figure out which of the many people in her orbit had crossed the line from professional interest to dangerous obsession.
21
Their final commitment before flying back to Nebraska was a casual lunch with Doug Malone and Becky Smithson at a trendy bistro in West Hollywood. The restaurant attracted industry professionals who wanted to see and be seen without the overwhelming formality of Beverly Hills establishments. Exposed brick walls were lined with black-and-white photographs of classic Hollywood stars, comfortable booth seating encouraged lingering conversations, and the menu balanced health consciousness with satisfying comfort food.
The atmosphere was considerably more relaxed than their previous business meetings, and Casper noticed how Willow's shoulders lost most of their tension as soon as they were seated. Spending time with people who had known her before fame became complicated, and who shared many experiences, was clearly her comfort zone.
Doug had arrived first, claiming a corner booth that offered both privacy and a clear view of the restaurant's entrance. He rose to embrace Willow with obvious warmth, his hug lasting perhaps a beat longer than strictly necessary, and Casper cataloged the interaction with professional interest that felt increasingly personal.
"You look incredible." Doug held her at arm's length to study her face. "I’m so glad we could get together this time. The cocktail party yesterday just didn’t give us enough time together. "
"This is exactly what I needed," Willow replied, settling into the booth beside Casper with natural ease.
Becky arrived moments later in a whirlwind of energy and affection, sliding into the seat across from them with dramatic flair. "Sorry I'm late! Traffic from the studio was absolutely insane, and the lead director kept us in meetings until the last possible second."
As they ordered drinks and caught up on personal news, Casper studied Doug with growing interest. The former child actor had filled out since his teenage years, no longer the gangly kid who'd played Willow's geeky younger brother. But he lacked the looks that would normally have sent his career to leading-man status. Doug’s attention remained laser-focused on Willow in ways that seemed to go beyond casual friendship. His eyes tracked her every expression, noted every gesture, and Casper could see the exact moment when Doug registered how close Willow was sitting to her supposed security specialist.
"So," Doug said, his tone carefully casual as he sipped his craft beer, "Becky mentioned you've had some security concerns lately. Everything okay?"
Willow's hand briefly touched Casper's arm. It was a gesture so subtle that most people would have missed it, but Casper felt the touch like a brand. And couldn’t deny that he liked it.
