The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(37)

I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know Jude was there. I needed to stop and text my driver to come pick us up, but I wanted to get out of Aldrich’s line of sight first. I walked down the path, past the waist-high wrought iron fence, and continued up the sidewalk.

Cars were parallel parked along the street. I kept walking until there was an empty space, and fewer people nearby. Jude stopped behind me. I didn’t turn around. I was flustered. Irritated at Aldrich. Wishing I could have chewed him out for lying when he’d promised he’d delete the video. For showing it to his friends. For acting so fucking smug.

And that little remark about our trip to Costa Rica? What an ass.

Trying to channel my inner Luna and breathe away my stress, I texted my driver.

“Where to next?” Jude asked.

Anywhere but here? Home so I could put on a pair of pajama pants and not share a bottle of my favorite cabernet?

But I didn’t want Jude to think a two-minute conversation with my ex would rattle me enough to send me running home.

“I’m thinking Naoe. Sushi sounds good. I don’t have a reservation, but I’ll have Joe call ahead.”

Jude didn’t say anything, so I lifted my phone to text Joe again.

An arm cinched around my waist and spun me, knocking my phone out of my hand. Squealing tires and crunching metal filled the air, the noise shockingly loud. One second my feet lifted off the ground and the next I was curled up on the sidewalk, my legs tucked beneath me, my head down. Jude’s large frame covered mine, his body shielding me from whatever chaos was erupting behind us.

Tires screeched again and someone yelled. Another voice hurled a stream of expletives.

My heart beat wildly and I held still, cocooned in Jude’s protective embrace. I felt him turn his head, looking behind us.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Did someone call the police?”

“Call 911!”

“Get the license plate.”

“The car’s gone.”

“He drove off. What a dick!”

Jude slowly loosened his arms and inched back. He was crouched over me, his feet planted firmly beneath him. He put his big hands on my upper arms, as if to steady me while I uncurled myself from the pavement.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was low, concerned but calm.

“I don’t think so.” I’d lost a shoe and the other was barely clinging to my toes. Slipping my foot out of it, I took Jude’s hands and let him help me to my feet. “What happened?”

“Black SUV swerved onto the sidewalk.” He wrapped his arms around me and held me close, but his attention was on everything around us.

The back bumper hung off a maroon sedan that was parked along the street, and a handful of people stood around, most on their phones. A few were helping a guy in a tank top get to his feet not far from us. He had a bloody scrape on his leg. A man in a t-shirt and board shorts jogged over and stopped in front of the maroon car.

“What the fuck?” He raked his hands through his hair. “My car. Did anyone get the license plate?”

One guy said he’d tried to take pictures, but he’d been too slow to get a clear shot before the SUV had driven away. Another said the police were on their way.

“Let’s go,” Jude said quietly.

He let go of me and picked up my phone.

“Are you sure we can leave?” This wasn’t just a matter of doing the right thing. There were already at least half a dozen people taking pictures with their phones. The last thing I needed right now was a scandal.

“Yeah, we weren’t involved. There are plenty of witnesses. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’m sure.”

My hands shook as I grabbed my shoes. Joe pulled up to the curb a car length ahead of us and Jude ushered me inside. I scooted across the back seat while he scanned the scene. Blue and red lights flashed behind us.

Jude got in and shut the door. “Get her home.”





15





Jude





Cameron was quiet on the drive back to her house. Although she’d said she wasn’t hurt, I’d be surprised if she didn’t have some bruising. I’d tried to get her out of harm’s way without letting her crash to the pavement, but a few bruises were preferable to being hit by a fucking car.

I’d been focused on her, not on the SUV, so I hadn’t gotten the license plate. And I’d quickly determined that the other bystanders were useless. The cops would interview them, but I doubted they’d get anything. Half a dozen vague descriptions of a black SUV that swerved onto the sidewalk, hit a parked car, and drove off. Unless they got lucky and the SUV got pulled over somewhere else, they’d never track down who it had been.

The question on my mind was whether that had been a random hit and run, or another attempt on Cameron.

My gut was telling me it hadn’t been random.

The guy in her parking garage. The untraceable emails. Now a hit and run. It all seemed so haphazard and strange. Were they trying to hurt her? Kill her? Was it a competitor vying for one of Spencer’s contracts? Someone who wanted Cameron to step down as CEO?

Not knowing why someone was targeting her made it impossible to predict what they would do next. There was no pattern. No logic to it.