Page 4 of Protector

“Shaylene is much more than a model,” Mom says proudly. “She’s a media personality, influencer, and businesswoman.”

Well, that sounds like a whole lot of fucking nothing. “I have a financial interest in a few companies,” I add like I’m trying to sell my resume to him. I don’t know why I feel embarrassed because I’m proud of how far I’ve come, but at the same time, seeing me through Brooks’s eyes based on my mother’s description… It has me doubting my very existence.

Catherine gives me a reassuring nod as she cuts in. “Shay’s recent high-profile covers, her makeup campaigns, as well as an offer of a reality show has drawn a lot of attention to her. She’s got a huge social media following, so she’s extremely visible…vulnerable. She’s had this type of…I hesitate to use the word stalker”—she makes air quotes—“before but—”

“It is a stalker,” Mom adds.

Brooks leans forward, his dark eyes taking me in. “Tell me more about the threats.”

“The guy—I’m assuming it’s a guy—he’s sent me some…disturbing messages. Some with images of me, mostly press shots with men, but the men are cropped out. One of them was me…with my eyes closed. I mean, I’d like to think I was sleeping but…”I look like I’m dead. “I don’t know, maybe he used some program. Other times, it’s just notes about how much he loves me and, uh, can’t wait until we can be together.”

“How do you know it’s the same guy?” Brooks asks, rubbing a hand over his short beard. It’s one of those where you can’t tell if he always wears it that way or if he just didn’t shave for a few days. Either way, it’s sexy as hell, and I can’t help but think about it, rough along my cheek—or other places.

“He calls her his princess or says he’s her knight, so whenever we see that, we know it’s him.”

“But you haven’t called the police?” He passes his gaze around the table as all three of us exchange glances, and I’m grateful when Catherine steps in to answer.

“I don’t think Shay is ready to do that yet. Let’s just say she and Adele have their reasons.” Brooks raises a brow, and she adds, “It’s nothing so scandalous, but we’ve discussed it, and for now, it’s not the time to bring in the police.”

“I know a lot of people in the industry, and most of them tell me the police can’t do anything at this point anyway,” my mom adds.

Leaning back in his chair, Brooks folds his arms, his muscles rounding beneath his shirt. “You’re right. There’s probably not much they’d do right now, but it also doesn’t hurt to have things documented from the start.” When Catherine gives him a tight-mouthed look, he adds, “But that’s up to you all.”

“Exactly,” Mom says. “So now you know what we’re dealing with.”

“Except that the last one, a flower delivery, came to my mother’s house where I’ve been staying while some work is being done on my place.”

“So, you know it was from him?”

“It was.” I nod and avert my gaze from his intense one. “They were black roses…and…”

“And what?” I hear his deep voice say.

I draw in a deep breath and look back up at him. “And a pair of my underwear.”

His brows meet in the middle as he leans forward. “You sure?”

“Well, I had one that looked just like it and when I checked, it wasn’t there.”

Brooks shakes his head, his chest filling with air. “I’m going to need to see that, your place, your mother’s place, and—”

“Whoa… We haven’t decided anything yet, have we, Shay?” Mom looks at me, her face a mix of fear and frustration.

I open my mouth to speak, but Brooks beats me to it.

“Look, I can take care of you, keep you safe…”

Oh God, that word: safe. It’s like he reached into my soul and came back with my heart in his fist. Stalker or not, how could I not want to have someone like him take ownership of my well-being? It’s crazy, I know, since I just met him, but the feeling is there.

“What are your credentials? Your experience,” Mom says, harshing the sexy buzz Brooks gave me.

“To be totally honest, this isn’t my typical security job. I’m here as a favor to Catherine and Jackson. If you don’t want to hire me, that’s your prerogative, but I can tell you for damn sure, those two flunkies at the door”—he throws a thumb over his shoulder—“are not going to get the job done.”

Mom harrumphs. “You just got here. How can you possibly say that? Do you even know them?”

“No,” he states matter-of-factly, “but—”

“Okay then…”

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