Page 7 of Silk and Steel

“It’s a stress relief thing. Easton turned me onto it.”

I cock an eyebrow at him.

“If you say so.”

“Well…Easton actually suggested I try Origami to help focus and relax my mind, but my cranes looked like crippled chickens. But paper airplanes? I got that down pat.”

“Hey, Jax,” Ryker calls from the next room. “What’s the office Wi-Fi password again?”

“How many times do I have to…Platinum Security Rocks. But with all caps and three x’s.”

I wipe a hand down my face and sigh.

“What?” Jax asks.

“We’re in the security business, and…that…is our password for the Wi-Fi?”

“It’s ironic enough that no one will guess it,” Jax says with a shrug.

Ryker appears in the doorway to the rec room. I give him a chin thrust, which he returns. Ryker is a good guy to have watching your back. He’s been a friend ever since we were stationed in San Diego together.

“I tried that password, it didn’t work,” he says to Jax.

Jax rolls his eyes.

The two of them fuss over Ryker’s phone, trying to get the Wi-Fi to work. I walk over to the dartboard on the far wall and run my fingers over the numerous holes. I’m still feeling the effects of my flame trick. I didn’t even gasp or flinch when the paper airplane almost smacked into me.

This is a place I like to remain. In the stillness, the cold left behind by the flame’s hunger. Nothing and no one can get to me when I’m like this.

“You taking care of yourself, Cole?”

I glance over at Ryker and shrug.

“Well enough, I suppose. You?”

He grins ear to ear. “I can’t complain. You want a beer?”

“No, he’s here to work,” Jax answers for me.

Jax and I adjourn to his office. Things have gotten better around Platinum Security. Used to be, Jax could barely make rent. Now he’s got all the trappings of a burgeoning CEO, minusthe golden putter. I try to picture Jax idly putting in his office and I just can’t do it.

“What’s the job?” I ask, settling into the chair opposite his desk.

Jax arches his brows and folds his hands on the glass top.

“Standard protection detail. I’ll let the client explain when she arrives.”

“All right.” I have no problem with waiting.

“Who’s the client?” I ask.

“Her name is Emory Thorne, an in-demand dance choreographer. She worked on the set of one of my wife’s movies.”

A thoughtful frown crosses my face.

“Emory…why does that name sound so familiar?”

“She was at a party a while back. You remember, the night that Charlotte and Grayson got engaged?”

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