Page 11 of Take Hold of Me

4

Emilie

Sittingin the passenger side of the Jeep, I study Wills as he maneuvers through LA traffic. Before we left my house, he took the top off so the wind ruffles his hair, which has grown out a little. With his square jaw and slightly longer hair, he looks even more masculine. I clasp my hands to keep from running my fingers through it.

He is so confident and relaxed behind the wheel. His dark blue eyes dart from the rearview mirror every ten seconds or so—I have to remember to do the same. If only those sexy eyes would look my way. But they do not—even when we discuss my trip to Rio this Sunday, and he admonishes me to stay in public and always be around a lot of people. While he’s advising me to stay close to crowds, I can tell he is trying to keep himself at a safe distance away from me. Isn’t that what they call in English “ironic?”

Wills signals a right turn. Of course, his windshield wipers did not go on.

We turn into the driveway to a brick building with a sign out front that says, “George’s, A New American Restaurant.” Since I am still learning the neighborhood, Wills selected our lunch venue. I am just happy to spend more time with him.

When we arrive at the front, Wills puts the gearshift into park and the valets run out to open our doors. This, I can do. I parked in my own driveway, and this seems very similar. My lips curl upward as I replay my successful first parking attempts.

Without looking at me directly, the attendant offers his hand to help me step out and onto the pavement.

“Merci.”

The valet’s head whirls to my face and his mouth drops open. Years of training help me keep my expression neutral. I employ my therapist’s tactics for unexpected contacts with the public and hope it was my accent rather than recognition of me that provoked his reaction. I want to spend my time with Wills reconnecting, not warding off cameras.

He swallows. “Emilie Dubois. Wow. I mean, enjoy your lunch at George’s!”

My professional smile takes center stage. I glance to my lunch date and reply, “I am looking forward to it.”

After Wills speaks with the hostess, we are seated in a corner booth, away from the large windows in the front. He slides into his seat across from me so that he is facing the interior of the restaurant, his gaze scanning the other diners. He always is looking out for me, even if he does not recognize it.I am going to make him recognize it.

A server comes and takes our orders. As soon as we are alone, Wills leans forward. “So, tell me why the Agency thinks you need a bodyguard to get you more attention. You saw the valet back there. You seem to be doing that just fine on your own.”

A nervous laugh escapes my lips. I do not want to admit my recent losses to Geonna, but he has always been such a good listener. That was the first quality that drew me to him. I fiddle with my napkin, finally placing it on my lap. “I lost out on a few contracts this month, so the Agency wants to boost my public profile.”

Both of his eyebrows raise. “That’s hard to believe.”

His confidence in me gives me hope. “Which part?”

“Both, really. You’re a household name.”

The server brings our drinks. I submerge the straw into my water. “A young Croatian model won a reality TV contest, and all the companies want to sign her.” I take a sip. “So, you see the need to up my status within the industry. My Agency knows how to take care of me.” My voice trails off. “They always have.” I just wish they would listen to my requests once in a while. Like calling Wills first for this job.

His eyes bore into mine before dropping to his glass. I track his capable hands picking it up and bringing it to his lips. “I see. So, since it’s not me, who did your Agency hire for this esteemed position?”

“MonsieurPrice texted me as we were driving here.” I locate my cell in the bottom of my bag and read off the name, dropping the phone on the seat next to me.

He shifts in his seat. “I think I’ve heard of him. How about this? I’ll check him out for you.”

My arms hug my body. He cares about me, otherwise, he would not make such an offer. “Merci. If you are not my bodyguard, it makes me feel safe to know you are looking out for me. Although,” I lean forward and the English words tumble out, “my request still stands. I can tell the Agency that we were talking, and you agreed. And since I already feel comfortable with you…”

Wills blanches, shaking his head in the negative. His cheeks hollow and his eyes dart around the room. “Emilie, I left the industry after … everything that happened.”

I inhale deeply. “I know that’s what you said before. But we have not had a chance to really conversate, uhm, have a conversation since the funerals.” I reach over to his hand, but he puts it on his lap. Undeterred, I search his gaze and continue, “You are a great bodyguard. You saved—”

“Don’t.” His jaw clenches. “I’m no one’s hero.”

He is wrong. So wrong. Rose and Cole would not be alive but for him. Roberto and Jared gave their lives for the same cause and would not want Wills to stop living because of what happened. “Wills.” Slightly unfocussed eyes meet mine, giving me a glimpse into the pain he still is in nearly three months after the attack. I better not push him now. “If you are not guarding, what will be your work?”

“I’m opening up a gym.”

I catch my lower lip with my teeth. “Oh. So much has happened since I last saw you at Roberto’s …” I grab for my water, knowing this is a very touchy subject. Redirecting my thoughts from the heart-wrenching funerals of his colleagues, I ask, “Where is your gym? I need to keep up my workouts.”

He downs the rest of his soda, the ice clinking in the now-empty glass. “It’s not far from your house, actually. I could set you up with a personal trainer.” He pauses. “We have some really good female trainers on staff.” A ghost of a smile plays on his lips.

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