Page 16 of Protector

I knit my brows and shove a hand into my pocket. “Now I have to know. What’s home-cooked catering.”

“Well, she does make a few things, but mostly she orders food from her favorite places, then adds her stuff but takes credit for all of it. Of course, everyone knows, but they still rave about her cooking.”

“Interesting. Sort of DIY with a twist.”

“Yeah. So…will you join us?”

“Thank you, but I’ve got some work to do.” I could be reading into her expression, but in case that is disappointment, I add. “Plus, if this is so rare, I don’t want to intrude. Seems like a good chance for you and your mother to have some special time…and maybe talk about this whole situation?”

She makes a face, and I grin because I’m not buying it. At least not totally. “Family is important. It’s never going to be picture-perfect, but what is?” The image of Shay off the foyer on the wall comes to mind, but I shake it away.

“You’re pretty wise for a bodyguard.”

“Trust me. I’ve seen all kinds of families, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that acceptance and being grateful go a long way to making it work. You don’t have to, but imagine your life without those people and see if you’re willing to rethink it.”

Shay walks toward me, and I freeze. What the hell did I just say all that for? That fucking monologue was the most I’ve said to anyone—except maybe Jade—in the last ten damn years.

Her eyes lock on mine as she reaches up to my shoulder and leans in. I’m two seconds from pushing her back, setting her straight, and informing her of the conviction I made only moments ago, when she says, “Wow, Uncle Todd, thank you for the sage advice.” She laughs and turns for the door, then stops in the doorway, her expression clearly delighted. “I’ll put a plate in the microwave for you. Come on over later and get it.”

I nod, unable to get a word out. It’s not often people surprise me, but Shay seems to do it at every turn. I hate that I can’t get a read on her, and even worse, she throws me off my damn game. Not only is that dangerous for both of us, but it makes me feel like a complete idiot.

I close my mouth, fall back into the chair, wondering if I should tell Jackson to find someone else to protect Shay. The problem is, at this point, I don’t trust anyone else but me to do it.

CHAPTERSIX

Brooks

It’s almost nine when I finally head back into the house. I wanted to be sure they were done with dinner, and I also wanted to avoid another interaction with Adele. If she doesn’t cool off soon, I’ll have a talk with her, but my first night in her home doesn’t seem like the right time.

Just as Shay said, she left a plate for me in the microwave. I eat at the counter, and even reheated, the meal is delicious. Cooking is not something I do often, and with just myself eating it hardly ever seems worth it.

The house is quiet as I eat; I can only hear the sound of a TV somewhere toward the back of the home. When Shay gave me the tour earlier, I wanted to ask about the other rooms. Besides the study, there were at least five or six bedrooms. One was decorated like a guest room. One looked like it was used for storage with boxes of headshots and various products and other items I didn’t get a close look at. But there was another room that wasn’t Shay’s or Adele’s, and I wondered if someone had recently lived there. But after what she said about her father and brother, I guess they left the brother’s room for when he visits.

There were also a few pictures in the study, small prints lying in a pile on the bookcase of different people. Now that I think about it, there was a man around Adele’s age and a younger man, maybe in his late twenties. If the two left, it could be because of some familial conflict. Given it probably has nothing to do with what’s going on with Shay, it’s probably best I don’t ask. Getting too familiar with a client, too close, is always a mistake—unfortunately, I know that from experience.

After finishing my meal, I take the plate to the sink, rinse it and set it inside the dishwasher. When I close the door, I whip around and find Adele watching me from the doorway, a glass of wine in her hand.

“You heard me?” she says with disappointment in her tone.

“I…sensed you.” I brace my hands against the counter and lean back. “Were you testing me?”

She shrugs and slinks toward me. “I suppose you’ve already proven yourself, but…I’m still not convinced you’re the right man to protect my Shay.”

I give her a half-grin and scoff, about to remind her of the two idiots she hired.

“Don’t say it,” she says, holding up her drink. “I know.” She sips slowly and stays connected with her stare over her glass. “That’s not my only concern.”

I narrow my gaze on her, though Adele does have that Mama Bear expression on her face. “What’s the problem?”

“I don’t like the way Shay looks at you. You both have jobs to do, and I don’t want either of you to get…distracted.”

Needing some distance, I take a step away, then turn to face her. “I’m here for one reason only. And that’s to keep Shay safe. I can’t speak for her, though, and if she has issues staying focused, well, maybe you should be talking to her about that.”

Adele closes the distance between us, her eyes darkening in a dangerous way, a small grin playing at her lips. “Fair enough. As long as we’re clear.” Leaning in, she whispers, “Strictly business, Mr. Dalton… And if you should get lonely in that little casita, then—”

“Retract your claws, Mother,” Shay says, stepping into the kitchen.

We both turn, and it takes great effort not to react to the sight before me. The burgundy dress, so tight it’s like a second skin, has a cut trailing down the front—almost as if someone were trying to slash the dress in half—and is held together like a shoe is laced. It’s got one sleeve, and the length of the dress—just barely covering her ass—should be illegal.

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