Page 66 of Opening Strain

As she passes them, she provides a running commentary about all of the telephoto lenses point at her car. “So much for them going away,” I remark.

Jenna parks and I right the seat. She yanks on her ponytail. “Reporters aren’t back here and we need to get into the building. Are you ready? We’ll take it slow.”

Her face shows nothing but determination. I scan the rooftops, confirming we’re free of photographers. The buildings behind us are all private property, so the vultures can’t lawfully trespass there, either. Good for us. “Will your other patients have a difficult time getting into the clinic? Think we should go elsewhere?”

“I refuse to be run off my own property by a bunch of reporters. Let’s go.” Without waiting, she opens her car door.

Once inside, she presses the call button for the elevator. If I were worthy of her, I’d drag her into my arms and comfort her. But she deserves someone who values friendships and has a caring family. Neither of which are me.

Her chest rises and falls several times as her breathing comes in staccato, quiet pants. The media must have freaked out this brave woman. We enter the cab where she presses the button for our floor.

The doors close.

The air twists.

The pitof my stomach churns.

I brought this pain to her doorstep. I want to do whatever I can to ease it. “Jenna.”

She doesn’t say anything, merely flings her body against mine. My arms close around her trembling body and I realize how much this is taking out of her. My nose lands in her hair, inhaling her perfume, filled with floral notes of rose and jasmine, finishing with a bright citrus and vanilla. Whatever it is, I like it.

I like her.

Too. Damn. Much.

“I reached out to UC’s PR team about this mess. I should hear back from them with a new strategy after my exercises.”

Her words are muffled as they’re said against my chest. “Appreciate it, Bennett.”

The elevator pings and I kiss the top of her head. “Are you ready?”

She steps back and my body weeps, uncaring how undeserving I am of this intriguing woman.

“I think so.” She squares her shoulders and walks out of the car.

When we enter her office, the Asshole lies in wait. “Miss Westfield. Oh my God. What is going on outside the office? Are you alright? Why are they here? Why are they calling you the Black Widow?” He pulls her into a hug.

Seriously, dude? Standing right here.

She resists his embrace, which is all the sign I need to rush forward. “I’m the draw for them. Because I’m a rock star, the press loses their minds when I do something as mundane as stepping foot into the real world.”And you, Asshole, with your geeky glasses and scrawny body certainly do not cause any type of pandemonium. Or even mini ripples.

Jenna breaks away from him. Placing her hand on my arm, she says, “Yes, they’re here because you are, Bennett. I’m something old they like to resuscitate when they don’t have anything else to discuss.”

She’s not wrong. Except for the fact they wouldn’t be bothering her if I wasn’t here.

My guilt can’t take hold because the Asshole steps between us. “This just sucks. For you and all the patients. Do you think you should be here?” He touches Jenna’s shoulder and my heart rate spikes. Oblivious, he continues, “Maybe if you lay low for a few days, they’ll move on?”

This is the first suggestion Mr. Touchy-Feely’s made that makes sense. Since the paps haven’t figured out where I’m renting, perhaps Jenna could stay in my rental with me and do private PT? Although, security is zero there.

With steel in her spine, she replies, “I can handle them.” Jenna turns to me, eliminating his contact. Smooth. “Why don’t you get started in the other room, Bennett?”

I war with myself. Should I stay or leave? I don’t want the Asshole to have any more one-on-one time with my girl.

My girl?

With a curt nod, I enter the exercise room. I need to keep her safe at work. She shouldn’t be alone in her house, either. It’s not protected.

Determined to figure this out—and to block Austin the Asshole’s moving in on Jenna—I hit the first exercises. As I’m finishing up the first round, a ping from my cell announces a new email. I make quick work of the remaining reps and grab my phone. Sure enough, the PR team sent me an email. I skim the contents, for once gratified with their hard work.

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