Still Not Over You(31)

Everything I know I absolutely, positively can't do.

I'm torn. My brain, heart, and cock are all at war, and there’s only one of them I should be listening to.

Brain first.

Deal with the problems as they crop up. Reb’s upstairs, and Reb doesn’t pay my bills, so Reb can wait.

Milah’s still here. Looks like she skipped finding her room and detoured outside. I see her through the windows, out by the scorched beach house, stomping and picking around in this way that says she’s trying to pretend to be curious about the burned-out wreck, but she's really just waiting for me to swoop in and show that I care she’s upset.

God, I hate human beings sometimes.

Part of me is tempted to just ignore all of it and go for a swim. Lose myself in the coolness, the depths, forgetting time.

Forget everything.

I’ve got enough money to live on for a good long while. I don’t need Enguard.

But it’s something I built with my own two hands, and my pride – and Dallas Reese’s voice taunting in the back of my mind – won’t let me give up on this. I've got my people to look out for, too.

Good men like James and Riker. Talented women like Skylar. It's not just signing their checks. In Skylar's case, this job gives her fucking sanity. A chill runs up my back when I think of what that woman would be out doing with a missing niece she loved like hell, and nothing else in her life.

There's more, too. Some strange part of me that feels like if I just do this right, if I make Enguard Security what Crown Security was always meant to be, then somehow I can erase the past and undo my old man's sins.

I’m not scrambling. Or closing down. Or running.

Like hell.

I take the time to make a cup of coffee, even if I fall back on the Keurig instead of the drip brewer for the sake of speed. Not a huge K-Cup fan when they taste just a little plastic and artificial, but right now I care less about the nuances of pure Kona beans and more about lifting the caffeine content in my bloodstream to tolerable levels.

Once I’m fortified, I pull on a shirt, jeans, and shoes, and then head out to deal with my little problem princess. When she hears me coming, she stiffens her shoulders up and lifts her chin in the air, tossing a pouty look over her shoulder at me before turning her nose up. Part of me wants to remind her that I’m not her boyfriend, I’m just her employee, but…

Professional. Right.

So, I stop a professional distance away and wait, hands in my pockets. She says nothing for a long while, this tense silence where I know I’m supposed to speak first, to beg, to grovel, but it’s not happening.

She’s the one upset, so I’ll wait until she’s said her peace, then remind her she has no right to be upset about what I do in my life beyond professional boundaries.

Especially when she barged into my house unannounced and – technically – uninvited by anyone but herself.

Finally, Milah makes an offended sound in the back of her throat. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just fire you right now.”

She’s trying for icy, bitchy, and superior. It comes across as fake as her on-camera little-girl lisp. “Dallas Reese and Crown Security would never treat me so rudely, you know. Dallas is a gentleman.”

Then go try to fuck Dallas, I snarl inside my head, but restrain myself fiercely.

Even if Milah’s a brat, my knee-jerk reaction to the mention of that asshole isn’t her fault.

I take a slow, deep breath. “Because I know what you don’t. My old man founded Crown. It was supposed to be mine. I left because they’re just that bad at what they do under Dallas' management.” It’s not the only reason, but it’s the only one she needs to know.

“Think for a minute, Milah. Think hard. And then think about the fact that I know what I’m doing. So much that you don’t even know what my crew saved you from this weekend.” I pause, waiting for her to bat her eyes. “We blocked three psychos trying to break past security. One of them had a knife. Rambling about how you were Marilyn Monroe's second coming and how you killed Kennedy. They never even got close enough for you to know what was happening.”

Her eyes widen. It’s not fake shock, or even indignation.

It’s real surprise. Real fear.

It shows how young she really is, and how damn clueless, too. It’s part of why I haven’t kicked her to the curb yet even though she’s a royal pain in my ass. Nobody, no matter how spoiled, deserves to be threatened or made to feel that kind of terror.

I can’t stand her ass, but I’m not going to let anything happen to it, either.

Of course, she doesn't need to know that.

She just needs to know I can do the job, and she needs to stay on her side of the line.

She hasn’t said anything. I’ve got the advantage here, now. Knowing the real danger she’s in and the possibility that Dallas can’t protect her? Has her off-kilter. That’s what happens when reality slaps people in the face when they’ve been in denial.

Heh. I’m a fucking hypocrite, aren’t I?

Kenna-driven thoughts try to shove their way in. My father, too.

My old man and that question that’s remained unanswered for five years, a promise I made and haven’t yet fulfilled. My focus right now is on Milah, and making sure she knows I can keep her safe, and second, I don’t have to if she really wants someone like Dallas.