Page 32 of Pretending with the Mountain Man
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I want you nowhere near this guy when he shows up." Noah's expression is serious. "Jake will handle the security side. You're too personally involved."
Anger flares hot and immediate. "Like hell. If he's coming after Melody?—"
"Then we protect her," Noah cuts in. "But we do it right. No testosterone-fueled confrontations that could escalate the situation."
I want to argue, but he's right. My protective instincts toward Melody have only intensified since our fight, not diminished. If I come face to face with the man who hurt her, who's now threatening her reputation and career, I'm not sure I could maintain professional distance.
"Fine," I concede. "But I want to be kept in the loop. And Melody needs to know he's coming."
"Agreed." Noah nods. "You want to tell her, or should Jake?"
Three days of silence, and now I have the perfect excuse to contact her. But is that fair? Using a threat to breach the distance she requested?
"I'll tell her," I decide. "Tonight."
"Good." Noah stands, indicating our meeting is over. "And Harris? Whatever's going on between you two, figure it out. The tension's affecting your work."
I leave without responding, unwilling to acknowledge the truth in his words. My concentration has been shot since our fight, my temper shorter than usual. The entire security team has been walking on eggshells around me.
By evening, I've mentally composed and deleted a dozen text messages. None feel right. Too casual, too formal, too desperate, too cold. Finally, I decide a phone call or text is cowardly. This news needs to be delivered in person.
The drive to the guest cabin takes twenty minutes, each passing mile ratcheting up my anxiety. What if she refuses to see me? What if she's not alone? What if seeing her again makes it impossible to maintain the distance she wants?
Her car is parked outside when I arrive, lights glowing warmly through the cabin windows. I sit in my Jeep for several minutes, gathering my resolve, before finally approaching the door.
Three sharp knocks. Silence. Then footsteps.
The door opens, and there she is. An afro puff tied messily on top of her head, wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, glasses perched on her nose. She looks younger, more vulnerable, and so beautiful it physically hurts.
"Malik." My name on her lips still affects me. "What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "May I come in?"
She hesitates, then steps back. "Of course."
The cabin feels different with her things scattered around. Books on the coffee table, papers spread across the dining table, a half-empty wine glass beside her laptop. She's made the space her own.
"How are you?" I ask, suddenly unsure how to begin.
"Fine," she says, crossing her arms defensively. "School is going well. The students are great."
"Good." I nod, searching for words. "Look, I'm not here to pressure you. I respect your need for space. But there's something you need to know."
Her expression shifts from wary to concerned. "What is it? Is Sage okay?"
"Sage is fine." I move to the kitchen counter, maintaining distance. "It's about Jason Mills. We have information he's planning to visit Crimson Hollow this weekend."
All color drains from her face. "Jason? Here? How do you know?"
"Noah has sources in Toronto. The intelligence is reliable." I resist the urge to go to her, to offer physical comfort. "The official reason is to recover the ring, but given the timing..."
"He's coming to intimidate me," she finishes, sinking onto the couch. "Make me look bad in front of my new colleagues. Typical Jason."
"We won't let that happen," I say firmly. "Jake is implementing additional security measures. I wanted you to be prepared."
She looks up, eyes searching mine. "Thank you for telling me in person."
