“Because I’m the daughter of the president. I could be accused of insider trading. So no one will ever hire me.”
One more thing she’s lost or can’t do because of who her mother is.
“I want to create art.”
“Then that’s what you should do.”
“Someday.” She nods slowly. “Someone suggested I use a pseudonym. I kind of like that idea.”
Stay here and make your art.
I can’t suggest that.
Because this has an expiration date.
And I’m nowhere near good enough for her. She deserves so much better than me.
It’s five in the morning, but it’s seven on the East Coast, and I have to make some calls, so I left a sexy and sleeping Lena in my bed, and I’m sitting in the office with a cup of coffee at my elbow.
I hit the call button on the phone and press it to my ear, staring out the window into the darkness.
“Bishop.”
“James,” I reply.
“Report, James.”
If Lena thinksI’mshort and to the point, she’s never spent any time with Bishop.
“All’s quiet. Blackbird is safe. There’s been no movement here.”
I hear the man sigh on the other end of the line, and that has the hair standing up on the back of my neck.
“We found messages on Tucker’s phone to an unknown number, which has since been disconnected, indicating that it wasn’t a one-man job.”
I figured.
“There’s been rumors, but nothing concrete. We’re still digging. As of now, she stays where she is.”
Every muscle in my body relaxes in relief.
She doesn’t have to go yet.
“I’ll touch base next week unless there’s a change.”
He hangs up, and I drag my hand down my face.
Who the fuck wants to hurt my Rebel, and why? And why, with all the tools at the government’s disposal, is it taking them so fucking long to find out?
They should have known seconds after it all went down in that gallery.
Something doesn’t add up.
But there’s not much I can do from here, without official access. Nothing I can do except what I’ve been tasked with, which is keeping her safe.
Which I’ll do with my life.
Glancing at my phone, I realize that I missed a text from Willow late last night.
