Page 17 of Heartbeats and Hashtags
Everly continues, “We dated for a little while for PR reasons, but he didn’tquiteunderstand that it wasn’t real. He’s harmless though. I doubt he would make any moves.”
I nod, making a note to run background checks on Ryan and look for aggression flags. More often than not,loveis the cause these sorts of situations, and despite Everly’s online fame opening up a world of suspects, I’ll bet it’s someone close to her. I ask her for a list of names of ex-partners and contact information to pass onto our investigative team.
“Family then? Anycurrentestrangements that might explain this?” I probe further.
Strained silence follows as Everly wraps her arms around herself, making herself as small as possible. “My father and I don't speak anymore. But our falling out was years ago — doubt he'd go to these lengths over something so old.” Her tone is clipped, warning against pressing further.
I change tacts.
“That’s a good start for the PI team, and they’ll be looking into all possibilities and following their instincts even if you don’t think it’s likely. Our job is to explore every avenue and make sure you’re safe.”
Everly flashes a tight smile. “I understand. It just brings up difficult history. It feels like I’m reliving old scars.”
That hits home for me. If anyone understands resistance to relive old scars, it’s me.
“Here,”Everly snaps, shoving another heavy box toward me. I brace for the weight, loading it while she evades answering my question — again — about our destination. Just an address and “a friend's place.”
I bite my tongue in mounting frustration at her caginess about sharing appropriate details. My ability to protect herrelieson tracking her movements and plans. But Miss Cryptic seems allergic to transparency even on day two of working together.
“Look, I know you’re pissed that I didn’t get this outing approved,” Everly begins, placing one hand on her hip. I huff in response. I am pissed. But it would do no good to pick a fight with her right now. “But, in my defense, I completely forgot this was on my schedule. My old assistant put it in before she left, and I didn’t notice it till this morning. And, you said only for major outings. Your wording was ambiguous.”
I remain silent.
“Plus, this is super important to me. So, how about Ipinkypromiseto get all future outings approved, and we just let this one slide?” She pouts a little. My blood sirs as my gaze lingers a moment too long on her lips.
“Alright, Everly, all future outings?”
Everly beams, and I can't help but smile back.
“Crystal clear, I swear!” She sticks out her pinky finger. “I'll pinky swear if you want?”
I snort.What are we, second graders?But unable to resist her upbeat mood, I hook pinkies anyway.This woman is seriously messing with my brain.
A spark passes between us as our bare skin touches. Everly sucks in a breath, and I wonder if she felt it too. If she did, she doesn’t show any other signs because she continues loading boxes into her car, babbling on to me about her content for the day.It was just static electricity, Cole.
For a moment, I long for past clients, like CEO Alex, who kept meintricatelybriefed each evening on the following day’s regimented daily schedule. Ah, the pleasure of workaholic CEOs and their over-scheduled lives.
For both of our sakes, I'll need to make Everly understand the non-negotiable nature of communication and honesty in this arrangement. Her life might depend on it.
I checked the location of our destination online at least — decent area with easy parking access, a couple security wins. But I don’t like going in blind, too many variables I can't control.
Everly strides around to the driver's side, her pink leggings hugging her curves distractingly. I force my gaze up and away from her backside as I slide into the passenger seat. Most clients happily use my chauffeur services for errands. But independent Miss Ford insists on driving us herself, my safety recommendations be damned.
When Everly first showed me her car, I genuinely laughed a little. I couldn’t help it. I’d neverseensuch a small car.
“It looks like a toy,” I’d pointed out to her. Of course, this had infuriated her. She feigned an offended, shocked face, and I rolled my eyes.
“This, sir, is an excellent vehicle.” She’d patted it affectionately on the bonnet. “She is called Betsy, and youshallrespect and call her so.”
“I am not calling the car, Betsy,” I scoffed.
“You are too,” she quipped back. Crossing her arms across her chest, she narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brows, not realizing that her angry face was more adorable than intimidating.
We stared at each other for three minutes before I finally gave up and accepted the fact that1) She was the client and 2) She was clearly stubborn as hell.
“Let's get into Betsy,” I mutter, and we do. She claps her hands and cackles heartily.
After that journey from hell I’m not keen to repeat, so I make one last ditch offer to drive, hoping she's somehow had an epiphany about my skills being better utilized if controlling our vehicle.
