I Belong to You (Inside Out #5)(13)

No one with the level head that Mark had on the mound. I stare at the doorway as they disappear into the hallway, remembering a similar comment on another occasion. It’s hard to imagine Mark playing a game of any sort, though competitive and focused fits him to a T.

“What are you doing here?” Mark snaps, shocking me back into the moment and the sudden realization that we’re very much alone.

The tormented look in his eyes is gone; the steely gray from the night before is back. I’m baffled, unsure what is real and what’s a fa?ade. But I’ve dealt with powerful, controlling men all my life, and I know when they’re fishing for a certain reaction, whatever it might be—and he’s not going to get it.

Clamping down on the hurt and simmering anger, I reply, “I stopped by McDonald’s to bring McMuffins for the nurses. While I was here, I figured I’d stop in and say hi.”

“No one likes a smartass, Ms. Smith.”

“Better a smartass than an *—Mr. Compton. I’ve been here before all of her treatments.”

“You should have called me. I need to know the business is in order while I’m here by her side. Who’s running Riptide now?”

My simmering anger begins to burn in my belly. “You barely returned my calls for months on end, when I was often desperate for guidance—and now you’re questioning how things are being run? For your information, Mr. Compton, I taught myself, and taught myself well. When I come here to support Dana and Steven, I arrive at Riptide at six in the morning to ensure the day is organized and nothing slips through the cracks.” I draw a hard-earned breath. “If this is about my refusal to sign—”

“It’s not.” His words are more of a reprimand than a reply. “However, a contract would have established boundaries we now need to otherwise address, for a productive working relationship.”

It’s all I can do not to recoil as if slapped. The reaction is too intense; a flash of a long-lost memory I don’t want to remember. Somehow he’s hit an emotional spot I never want touched. Ever.

“Boundaries?” I ask, my voice radiating emotion despite myself. “How’s this for boundaries? Your father called me this morning because he hadn’t heard from you, and your mother was refusing treatment. I went to their apartment, and we double-teamed her to get her here.”

I shake my head. “You truly excel at being an *, Mark Compton. But you’re the * your mother needs. You give her strength. You make her fight. And if that means you have to revel in your *ness, so be it. I’ll tolerate you for her sake.”

He arches a brow. “You’ll tolerate me?”

“That’s right.” I feel steadier now, already recovering from my flash down memory lane. “Though I’ll need a big pink bottle of Pepto in my desk drawer, and some wine by my bedside.” I snatch up my purse, tote bag, and coat from a chair on my way to the door. “She’ll be out in half an hour. I’m going to work.”

I head down the hall to the private elevators the staff has us use to avoid the press. After slipping on my coat and replacing my heels with snow boots from my oversized tote bag, I punch the call button for the car. He’s such a complete jerk—the kind only a foolish woman would pine for. Maybe I have more of my biological mother in me than I thought.

The doors open and to my unwelcome surprise, Jacob is standing before me, looking all G.I. Joe with his buzz cut and hard-set jaw. Edginess radiates off him, the way I’m certain that anger must be bristling off of me.

“Crystal,” he says, punching the button to hold the door as I enter. “Is Mr. Compton here?”

My brows dip. “Aren’t you his bodyguard?”

“Exactly.” His jaw clenches as he seems to clamp down on something he’s about to say. “Is he here?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. His mother’s in treatment, and your client is safely tucked away in her private room.”

A hint of relief flashes in his eyes before they go hard and focused again. “And you’re going where?” he asks, a demand in his voice that I really don’t need right now.

“To work,” I say, stepping into the elevator.

“I’ll ride back down with you.” He lets go of the button and I turn to face him as he does the same with me. “We’re arranging to have security around the clock for you,” he informs me. “I’ll wait downstairs with you until my backup arrives, then he’ll accompany you to work.”

“What? No, that’s not necessary. No one has bothered me; I don’t want or need a shadow.”

“Now that Mark’s here, that will change. The press will chase him down and do what they can to twist him in the headlines.”

“No,” I repeat as the elevator opens, and go down the hall to sign out at the guard desk. Jacob does the same as I head for the back door.

But Jacob is on my heels. “Mr. Compton wants this to happen.”

I turn to face him. “He doesn’t control my private time. And he said nothing to me upstairs about it.”

“I’m sure he has his mother on his mind. He told me to handle it. Think about this, Crystal. You’re close to the family, and that means you’re a target. He just wants you to be safe.”

I tamp down my anger at his calm words, and think about why this is all happening. Someone is dead. People have committed crimes, and it’s not the first time the harshness of jealousy has hit this close to home. I know what it makes people capable of.