Page 21 of Knot Like Other Girls

I tear my eyes away from the screen, feeling sick. Is this what my life is going to be? Constantly playing along with Braxley's delusions, watching as he twists reality to suit his ego?

The walk back to Braxley's room feels like a death march. Each step is an effort, as if my body is physically rebelling against returning.

As I approach the room, I hear raised voices. Braxley's father sounds angry, his words sharp and clipped. I pause outside the door, not wanting to interrupt what sounds like a heated argument.

"This is absolutely unacceptable!" Mr. Worthington is saying. "How dare you suggest that protecting my son would be an 'easy job'?"

"That isn't what I meant, sir," another voice responds, slightly tinny. Must be coming from a phone. He sounds apologetic but firm. "I simply meant that compared to their usual clientele, guarding Mr. Braxley would be less... volatile."

I lean closer, listening. Are they talking about new security?

"Less volatile?" Braxley's voice joins the fray, high and indignant. "I'll have you know I was just the target of a highlysophisticated assassination attempt! I demand the very best protection money can buy!"

"Am I on speakerphone?" the unfamiliar voice asks incredulously.

"No," Mr. Worthington and Braxley both lie at once.

The voice sighs, and I get the feeling he doesn't believe Mr. Worthington. "Right. Well, the best protection is exactly what I'm offering," the unfamiliar voice says. "This team... they're the best in the business. Ex-military, highly trained, with experience in some of the most dangerous situations imaginable. Compared to guarding mafia dons and war criminals, keeping your son safe would be?—"

"If you say 'easy' one more time, I swear to God..." Mr. Worthington growls.

"A valuable change of pace," the man finishes smoothly. "They told me in no uncertain terms that their next assignment needs to be something more laid-back after their last job went sideways. This would be ideal. A low-level threat to keep things interesting, but not too interesting."

I hope this new team knows working for the Worthingtons is the opposite of "laid-back."

"What do you mean, it went sideways?" Mr. Worthington demands.

"Well, let's just say they successfully protected their client from all external threats, but they couldn't protect him from his own habits," the voice says dryly.

There's a moment of silence, and I can almost hear the gears turning in Mr. Worthington's head.

"Fine," he says finally. "Set up a meeting. But I warn you, if they're not up to our standards..."

"They will be, sir. I guarantee it."

"Good," Mr. Worthington grumbles.

I hear a beep and take that as my cue to enter, pushing the door open with my hip. All eyes turn to me as I step into the room, and I resist the urge to shrink under their scrutiny.

"I've got the coffee," I announce, trying to sound cheerful. No one says a word to me as I start distributing the coffees. When I hand Braxley his, careful not to make eye contact, he grabs my wrist like he's on his deathbed.

"Bella," he says, his grip uncomfortably tight. "Where have you been? I've been in agony here!"

I gently extract my arm from his grasp. "I was just getting the coffee, like your mother asked."

He pouts, looking for all the world like a spoiled child. "Well, you took forever. I thought maybe you'd abandoned me because…" His voice trails off and he gestures dramatically to his perfect face.

The thought had crossed my mind, I'll admit. But not because of that. I just paste on a sympathetic smile. "Of course not. I'm here for you, Braxley. Always."

Ugh.

CHAPTER 8

ROMAN

Irub my temples, trying to stave off the headache I can feel building behind my eyes. The last few days have been a clusterfuck of epic proportions, and now we're jumping straight into another job. No downtime, no chance to process the shitstorm we just weathered.

But that's the life we've chosen, isn't it?

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