Kissed Blind (Hot Pursuit #2)(17)

“Yeah, it’s all over that Oliver and Camille—don’t even get me started on her, I would totally love to meet her too.” She plopped on the couch. “Were almost jumped downtown last night until you stopped the guy. Some photographer was there and caught the whole thing. You are a total badass, by the way.” I had never seen her so excited. She was talking a mile a minute. “I can’t believe you got punched in the face.” Stunned, I lowered myself on the couch next to her. She leaned in and inspected my eye. “Kudos on your makeup job. I can hardly tell you got hit.”

I turned to the television, and, sure enough, a photograph of what went down was on my screen. It was a shot of me holding the assailant’s wrist, and the moment his fist landed on my face. Vance was pictured in the background shielding Camille and Oliver. “Uh, this is a problem.” One big problem, and its name was Gabe. I cringed. We’d finally gotten over the hump of him accepting my job and the danger that came along with it. In recent months, my assignments had been low key, so it hadn’t been a challenge. This would do me the service of giving him a painful reminder. Super. I could barely contain my excitement.

“Why? Everything worked out okay, didn’t it? Oliver and Camille released a statement saying the incident was ably handled by their security staff, and they’re working hard to put it behind them.”

I slumped back and sighed. “Yeah, they aren’t who I’m worried about.”

Becca drew in a quick breath through her teeth. “The Gabester, huh?”

“Yeah. Gabe.”

“Well, maybe he won’t see it?”

“Not a chance.” My phone buzzed on the kitchen table. I didn’t have to look at the screen to know who it was. “Speak of the devil.”

“I guess I’ll go and let you handle that.” She hopped off the couch and walked to the door. “Let me know if I can sneak a peek of Oliver, would ya?”

I smiled. “You bet. Totally dig your shirt. Taylor Swift?”

She glanced down, holding out the shirt. “Oh my gosh, she rocks. Gotta run! Catch you on the flip side.”

After she left, I returned Gabe’s call.

“Hey!” I said, trying to inflate my level of excitement to compensate for what I guessed was going to be his reaction.

“Hey,” he said, surprisingly calm. “Are you okay? I just saw on the news that some punk punched you.”

“I’m totally fine. It wasn’t a big deal at all. Vance came in behind me and took care of the situation. He was actually hurt worse than I was.”

“Just so long as you’re okay. It drives me crazy thinking some guy punched you.”

“I’ve taken worse hits in training. The picture was one tiny moment blown way out of proportion. You know how the media is with this type of stuff. It’s just because it was Oliver and Camille that it even made the news. My eye isn’t even bruised.” Welcome to the art of downplaying, and I was laying it on thick.

“Good. I like your face the way it is.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you call and tell me what happened?”

“The day was jam packed. That’s all. And when I got home, I crashed.” What was I going to tell him? I’d patched up a shirtless, bloodied Vance, and we sat around and played cards all night? Nope, not a chance. I’d already dodged one bullet.

“Okay, be safe out there. I worry about you.”

“I know, but you don’t need to. I’ve got this.”

He held his breath again. “There’s another reason I’m calling too.”

“Which is?

“I have to work late again.”

I grunted. “Again? If you keep this up I might lodge a formal complaint with the union for overworking you.”

He laughed. “Good luck with that. For all intents and purposes, I am the union. I’m not sure how many late nights I’ll have at this point. Things are on the verge of disaster with this deal.”

Vance’s accusation resurfaced in my brain. My body was suddenly ten pounds heavier, and I leaned against the table for support.

“Di?”

“Yeah?” I smiled, yet had no idea why.

“I gotta run. I’m late for a meeting. I’m taking you out to dinner soon. K?”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Have a—” The line went dead before I finished my sentence.



. . .



I waited outside my apartment until Vance pulled up at the curb. When I got in the car, I noticed he’d trimmed his thick beard into a more manicured stubble.

“What’s with the George Michael look you’re rockin’? You look super dreamy.” I checked my cheek in the visor mirror and then batted my eyelashes at him.

Vance stroked his face, leaning into the rear view mirror. “You don’t like it?”

It wasn’t a question of whether I liked it or not. Vance was a handsome man with or without facial hair, but with it he was more rugged and masculine. “I do but...” I clicked my seat belt across my lap, and Vance pulled into traffic. “Beards and facial hair have been all the rage lately. I’m surprised you gave into a trend. Next thing you know you’re going to grow your hair out into one of those ridiculous man buns.”