My head sags to the side in an attempt to preserve patience and energy. I wad up the plastic sack in my fists, wishing I could physically suffocate my unwelcome nerves along with it. I loathe anxiety and fear with every fiber of my being, and right now, I’d like to hunt it, attack it, and kick its lying ass. But first,thiswith my girls.
“This is an assignment. It’ll be fine. He’s just a football player with a stalker.”
That’s all this is, and I know how to protect him.
“Ha. Only the most gorgeous one,” Jos mumbles, rinsing the peppers, and I catch Jamie rolling her lips to keep from smiling.
“Oh, for real,” I groan.
Although she’s not wrong. Every female hormone in my body may have been ripped out, gutted, and left to die a slow, excruciatingly painful death, but I’m not blind.
Will I ever admit Cole Matthews is beautiful? Ha.Never. Does it matter? Nope, not in the least. He’s a man, and I’m a woman sent to save his overly attractive behind. That’s it.
I rub my temples as the door swings open again. Lyla enters with her carry-on, looking like an ad for expensive loungewear. Her makeup is flawless against her beautiful skin, and her long, dark, almost-black hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail.
Vanessa slides in behind her, slipping off her heels as she closes the door. Her brown hair falls over her shoulders, and the ruthless security genius plops into a chair at the table. Her light, meticulous makeup and bright red lips make her green eyes pop. She’s brilliant, confident, and the one you want on your side of the conference room.
Van rests her arms on the table. “All right, where’s the body, and what’s our story?”
I laugh. Of course she’d approach this as if we had something to hide.
“She’s ditching us to move in with Cole Matthews.” Jos points at me. The shit-eating grin on her cute little face ruins all seriousness.
Lyla gasps. “The quarterback? What the hell? When did this happen?”
I didn’t even consider that she might know him. I should have called her from the bathroom and gotten the lowdown while Tracker was signing me over.
“Wait, what?” Van crosses her legs, leaning back and getting comfortable now that she knows we don’t need to cover our asses. “You’removing in with a man?” Her tone is full of skepticism.
“Yep! But not just any man. Cole Matthews.” Jos repeats his name like he’s some kind of heartthrob.
Shit. He probably is.
I hold up my hand, my gaze stabbing Jos, the little instigator, and shove my nerves way down deep where they belong.
“This is an assignment, and what is discussed in this kitchen stays in this kitchen. Got it.” I eye each one of them.
Lyla pulls the cork from a wine bottle, unaffected by confidentiality requirements. “I think I met him once at an event. Vanity Fair, maybe?” Her perfectly sculpted, dark brown brows scrunch together. “People always say how nice he is.” She shrugs like that tidbit is helpful. “Women knock each other out, trying to get his attention. It’s pretty fun to watch, actually.”
Fantastic. Track will be on my shit list until the end of time. Final training, my ass.
I release a slow, inconspicuous exhale.
“Why are you moving in with him?” Van’s tone is tight, still stuck on the melivingwith him part.
I appreciate her wariness.
I stand to help Jamie put the toppings on the pizzas and keep busy while I explain the details of the meeting this morning.
“They came to us. It’s clearly a special case with unique circumstances, and he’s paying.” I pause, taking a second to think it all through again. “It’s the best way to get inside and really see what’s going on. If you’re trading people on and off the clock, it’s difficult to get the whole picture.”
“Everyone will think you’re his girlfriend or at least that you’re hanging out.” Lyla takes a sip of her wine.
I roll my eyes. The idea of me looking or acting anything like his girlfriend is a big, fat joke.
Wait.
Matthews said something about this. He alluded to the same damn thing. My body tenses. It goes rigid and cold. I might be dead.
