Page 32 of Undeniable

“Are you speaking from experience?” I asked, desperate to know more about her.

“Um…” She hedged. “Sort of.”

I frowned. What the hell did that mean? Was she referring to a boyfriend? Husband? She’d always evaded my questions about dates in the past. And even now, I wanted to ask but was afraid to hear the answer. I almost preferred to live in the dark, to be able to pretend she was single.

I sat back against my headboard, elevating my knee like my physical therapist had instructed. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

She was quiet a moment, then said, “I know. It’s just…sometimes it’s nice to ignore certain aspects of my life.”

Like a husband?

Her admission stung more than it should’ve. And it was a reminder of just how much I didn’t know about her. But surely she would’ve said something if she was married, right?

I decided to ask about something more general. Safer. “You said you market general fiction. Tell me more about that.”

“Are you interrogating me, Connor James?” she asked, and despite her playful tone, I sensed her unease.

“No. And if I wanted to interrogate you, it would be much more effective in person.”

“So you could see my expression?” she asked.

“Something like that,” I mused as my imagination ran wild. I could imagine laying her on a bed and using my lips, my dick, my tongue, to coax information from her like I’d extract orgasms from her willing body.

“Did you ever interrogate people as part of the SEALs?”

“No.” It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked that question, but it was one of the only times I wasn’t annoyed by it. “But everyone is trained to resist interrogation.”

“I can’t…” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I can’t even imagine the courage it takes to be a SEAL or to work in executive protection.”

I appreciated the fact that she’d used the proper term instead of “bodyguard.” Because we were so much more than just close protection. Not that there was anything wrong with CP. But we were more of a full-service operation—we covered everything from residential and movement teams to special events and stalkers.

If a client wanted their property patrolled and protected, we’d send a residential team. If they were looking for security during a business trip or vacation, we’d assign a movement team. Sometimes clients—like the ambassador—required a mix of the two.

I lifted a shoulder. “Just doing my job.”

Though I’d been doing a shit job of it lately. Would Olivia admire me if she knew the truth? If she knew I’d been suspended for attacking a client?

“You still there?” I finally asked, realizing how long I’d let the silence stretch on.

“I almost quit my job today,” she said in a quiet voice.

“What?” I asked, sitting up straighter. “Why?”

She sighed. “My boss asked me to…”

I waited a moment, as long as I could hold out until my anxiety got the best of me, then said, “Your boss asked you to what, Olivia?”

All sorts of scenarios raced through my mind. None of which I liked. I clenched my fists.

“He asked me to do something that I don’t want to do.”

“Something unethical?”

“No,” she sighed. “I mean, not in the sense that it’s breaking any laws. It just…ugh. It’s not something I would personally ever consider doing.”

“Did he ask you to sleep with him?” I seethed, anger rolling off my every word.

“Ugh. Gross.” Her tone was filled with disgust and outrage. “No. I would definitely report him for that.”

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