I try to smile, but I’m afraid it comes out more as a grimace. My arse is sore from sitting in the same position for so long, and my knees groan when I stand up. Tristan is quicker, though, opening and closing the door for Tyler like it’s his flat.
“Hey.” When he turns away from the door, I catch sight of his wrinkled brow. His voice is quieter, too. Or maybe things sound hushed in the late night, now that I’ve turned off the TV. “Uh. . .”
Tristan never searches for his words.
He runs a hand over his shaved head. Tall, with lithe muscles, I’m short and stubby in comparison.
“Ren tried to hire me.” His hand falls to his side, and he straightens. Another scowl purses his lips, but there’s something different. It’s not the blistering annoyance he usually directs my way. Something is actually bothering him.
“You don’t have to worry about Ren.” This is my way out. It’s not like Ren had time to sign a contract. Yet. “I appreciate you helping me get home, but don’t worry about this bodyguard business. Seriously, it’s all right if you leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I shuffle on my feet, trying to piece together where he was going then.
“Hadrian Hallow wants to handle the contract.”
Tristan studies me, like most people do, when they learn I’m on speaking terms with Hadrian Hallow. Which, in all fairness, is a pretty rare thing. Other than his brother, Hadrian lacks friends. And that’s coming from someone who is equally awkward around people.
Not that anyone would ever dare say Hadrian Hallow is awkward. Nah. Men like him—rich and handsome—they aren’t awkward.
They’re arrogant. Hadrian is inclined to let the world think of him as such.
It must seem weird to Tristan that Hadrian has taken it upon himself to hire a bodyguard for some awkward, blonde woman from Yorkshire.
“Uh.” I realize Tristan expects me to say something. “I’m guessing. . . He offered you double?”
Ren’s flush with money, but it’s got nothing on Hadrian. And he’s not afraid to use it.
Something passes over Tristan’s face. I’m not sure what it means.
“Look.” I stuff my hands in my hoodie pockets. The fabric is hanging on by a thread. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I really don’t.”
“Somebody shot you today.”
“It was just a graze,” I murmur. We don’t need to keep bringing it up.
“Right, and I’m sure it’d have just been a graze when he stood over you, his gun pointed directly at your head.”
My muscles twinge at the memory of falling on my arse, my tailbone screaming when it met the concrete. The ringing in my ears hadn’t been from the triggerman’s gun. I’d stared, eyes wide at Tristan, who stood there, his gun drawn.
I met him three years ago. As the Ghost. When we’d targeted the same man. If he had it his way, I wouldn’t have seen his face that night. But I had. I’d known who the Ghost was before anyone else.
Then, a couple of months later, Tyler had knocked on my door, getting into the building, thanks to someone else buzzing him in.
It made me realize the Ghost had always known where I lived. That he’d done his research on me, too.
Tyler gave me Daisy’s will. I’d gotten it to Ren, and she in turn passed it on to Russet.
The Ghost faded, but I was the one who convinced him to become Ren’s bodyguard.
I never expected it meant one day, he’d save my life.
“Yeah, all right, I owe you for that one.” I swallow a thick lump down my throat. Tristan came through for me tonight. “You’re a good shot.”
His brow lifts just the slightest. Heat licks up my skin. It’s never a good idea to kiss a triggerman’s arse, but in this case, it’s the truth.
“But all this stuff”—I hold my arms out wide and shrug—“it’s got nothing to do with you. I’m sure you’ve got other clients and stuff. There’s no reason to mess with your schedule.”
