Page 59 of Point of Contention

“I don’t believe you.”

“I just wanted to let you know about the professor.”

I hung up and dropped the phone, staring down at it, eyes wide with shock. I shouldn’t have called him. He absolutely should not come here.

But part of me, the selfish part, hoped he’d ignore my request and show up anyway.

What I wouldn’t give to press my nose into his chest and be held by him right now.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cabot

Rylan hadn’t been to work all week. Understandable, of course, but her absence created an ache in my chest I was ill-equipped to ignore, a deep longing. A need to go to her that I couldn’t answer because she’d explicitly asked me not to.

Reluctantly, I’d kept my distance, respected her wishes even as doing so killed me. I wanted to go to her more than I’d wanted anything in quite some time.

The need to hold her, feel her, support her through her grief was a palpable presence in my everyday life. I found it hard to concentrate on much else.

I buttoned my suit jacket, then stared at my reflection in the mirror as I secured my sterling silver and onyx cuff links into place, then slipped a simple gray pocket square into the breast pocket of my coat. As I assessed my reflection, I loosened the tie from around my neck and slid it free, then rolled it and returned it to the tie drawer. I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt, then nodded at my reflection and left the walk-in closet.

Collecting my things from the valet tray, I pulled up my call log and rang the security company I used frequently—even more frequently now that Rylan and I had made such a splash in the tabloids. Every day, I prayed for a new story to take the attention off of me, but even with all of the crime and corruption a city like New York had to offer, nothing had come close to detracting from our illicit affair.

Standing in my foyer, I opened the paper and scanned the headlines as the phone rang.

“Secure Solutions,” a woman finally answered, “How may I direct your call?”

“Mike Jones, please.”

“May I ask who’s calling, sir?”

“Cabot Reed.”

“Just one moment, Mr. Reed.”

After a brief hold, Mike answered. “Mr. Reed, how can I help you?”

“Is everything in place for today?”

“Yessir. I have a security team en route to the church as we speak, and a security guard outside the residence.”

I nodded. “And he knows not to be spotted?”

“Yessir. He has been instructed to keep to the shadows, save for any emergencies.”

“Great. Ms. Clements and her family are not to see that they’re being shadowed.” I entered the elevator and hit the button for the ground floor.

“Understood. He will only make his presence known if there’s an issue with paparazzi, sir, just like we discussed.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“It’s our pleasure, Mr. Reed.”

I ended the call and slipped the phone into an interior pocket of my jacket. Rylan and her friend would be able to mourn the professor in peace, and I was pleased to know that I’d had a hand in that. I’d do what I could to protect her, even while she still insisted she didn’t want to be with me.

The security company had monitored Rylan throughout our separation, but I’d asked them to increase measures for the professor’s funeral service. The last thing Rylan and her friend needed was a three-ring media circus.

It wasn’t much, but protecting her, even in this little way, helped me feel connected to her even while apart.

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