Page 42 of Heartfelt Pain
“You and Ben talked about it?” Where the fuck was I during this conversation? “You and Ben just think I’m going to have a random stranger living with me?”
Trevino is still salty. “Maybe I don’t want to take you on as a client.”
“I’d be a good fucking client to have.” If I wanted it.
“I think you should do it.”
I gap at Lennie.
She shrugs. “There’s a killer on the loose and he’s hot. It sounds like the making of a great book.”
“Life isn’t a romance book, Len!”
She smiles sweetly. “You won’t have a life if you’re dead.”
“Dating Elijah’s made you into a real monster,” I huff.
“You wanted me to up my security when Leopold came around.” She doesn’t struggle to say his name, but I hate that she’s even thinking about him.
“I get it,” Isolde says. “You think changing your schedule or moving out of your house makes you look weak. This is the compromise, Callahan. You work with Tris”—he frowns atthe nickname—“or you come up with a schedule that sees us rotating shifts.”
“Rotating shifts?”
“I’ll spend the night on Fridays,” Lennie volunteers. “Oh, I’ll bring Ads with me. She knows how to shoot a gun.”
That’s an understatement, but I get the threat. It’s one guy, who’s professionally hired, or my friends up my ass all day.
I stamp my foot. “I don’t like this idea!”
“Would you like a sheet mask?” I ask Trevino several hours later.
He vetted my apartment with surprising speed. He added his own cameras throughout the building as well, hiding them so no one is aware of their presence. Making no comment on the state of my apartment, he went from room to room, inspecting every inch of it.
I had to hand over my calendar, both paper and the electronic one I share with Ben. Trevino is now my shadow.
A bulky, grumpy shadow, sitting on my couch.
I’m on the floor, my back against the coffee table. I can’t remember the last time I came home this early. Normally, I hang out at Fujimori’s. But I’ve been locked away in my tower of safety.
“No,” he says, watching the TV. I can’t imagine he’s thinking good thoughts about the reality show playing, but he’s impeccable with the professionalism.
His back remains ramrod straight as he sits on the couch. He keeps his answers short.
“Here you go,” I try to hand him one of the fancy Korean sheet masks I’ve got. I do one every other day because someone on the internet told me it’s good for my skin.
He makes no move to take the mask.
I peel the package open, taking out the slimy thing. The soft scent of coconut fills the living room. I crawl around the coffee table and lift on my knees.
He sighs, his forearms tensing as I drape the mask over his face.
“So pretty.” I pat it along the edges to make sure it sticks.
I remain on the floor, my back to the couch. I offered him a Coke but he wouldn’t take it. I’m thinking with as many muscles as he’s got, he’s on a pretty strict diet.
“Hey.” A thought comes to me.
Trevino might be grumpy, with his crossed arms and frowny face but I noticed when asked direct questions he usually answers.
