Page 63 of Not Ready

The moving company I hired should be here tomorrow to pick up any of her furniture and the bins she doesn’t want to bring with us. I’m sure there are some things she’ll feel more comfortable keeping close. We can fit several small ones in the cab of Holt’s truck, or even the bed, if absolutely necessary. Vehicles in the States are quite spacious compared to the norm back home, but at times like these, it’s very convenient.

“Well, Kate’s not particularly happy with me, but she had to leave for class. Hargrove went with her.” Vale blows air through her closed lips as she glances around like she’s trying to decide where to start.

“She’s got free rent for nearly an entire year. And I’ll be covering the cost of her security until the threat has been eliminated. Under the circumstances, I think she should be grateful. Many wouldn’t have done even that.” I toss a notebook into the tote bin and aim for Vale. “How are you doing? That’s my true concern.”

Her shoulders bounce adorably, making her long waves fall around her arms.

“Why don’t you settle on the bed and relax. Is any of the furniture going?”

“No, I’m leaving it for whoever rents the room next. Kate can charge more if it’s furnished.” She glances around. “And, honestly, I don’t need it.”

I struggle with making connections. It’s something I’ve faced my entire life. I’m concerned that, if I’m not careful, I’ll come on too strongly.

I’m excellent at barking orders and giving my men instructions, but I want to help her, not control her. If I’m not careful, my type-A personality may rear its ugly head, and I’ll come off as abrasive, but if she’s feeling overwhelmed and wants to pass off those decisions, then I’m more than happy to make them.

“Do you want to bring it all and go through it later or toss things you don’t want to keep?” I take the last few steps separating us and run my hands down her arms. “Tell me how to make this easier for you.”

“You already are.” She smiles, wrapping her arms under my suit coat and circling my back. “Just you being here. I know it’s because of Bishop, but I want to make sure you get how much I appreciate everything.”

“It’s not just because you and Bishop bonded.” I give her arms a squeeze. “We’re, at the very least, engaged. Once we have our meeting, you’ll be my wife. It’s my responsibility to care for you.”

Her forehead wrinkles.

I silently curse myself, running through everything I just said while trying to determine which part she didn’t like.

“I appreciate that, and thank you for keeping the security guys around. I can’t even imagine how much it costs.” She smiles, but it feels a bit forced.

It makes me wish we had a bond, so I could pick around in her brain and know what she’s thinking.

I will not be mentioning that each one of them has a flat rate salary that breaks down to just under three thousand dollars per week…

Keeping Kate under surveillance is costing me somewhere in the area of twenty-four thousand dollars a month for the two men.

She doesn’t need to worry about that at all. We simply need to pack up her belongings and get her back home. Vale should be nesting and recuperating.

“How about you lie down, and I’ll bring you a drawer at a time? Then you can toss things into one of the tote bins, or if it’s something you know you don’t want, you can trash it. Does that work?”

“Okay,” she agrees.

I guide her over to the bed and grab one of the pillows. “Lift your feet for me, love.”

Her head tilts as a shy smile crosses her face. “That’s a new nickname.”

“It is,” I agree, grabbing the only other pillow not behind her head and adding it to the other to give her legs some height.

My cheeks heat as I aim for the dresser.

It’s a common term of endearment where my family is from in Northern England, but perhaps it’s a bit too soon.

“I like it,” she finally says with a huff. I turn, and she’s wiggling to get comfortable. I grab the bottom left dresser drawer and pull it out. “Oh, no! Not that one!”

My jaw falls as my head tilts.

A slow smile breaks out as I chuckle. Well, that’s quite the assortment of brightly colored sex toys.

“That’s my work stuff,” she says, sounding utterly mortified. She pulls her hands up, burying her face in them. “And the main reason I didn’t want anyone else packing up my stuff. Well, that and the drawer to the right. And my mom’s ashes. I couldn’t risk losing those. I still can’t believe I forgot them the first time.”

“Would you like to pack these personally?” I ask, shaking the drawer. The urge to dig around in the contents is strong. It might give me added insight into what she likes.

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