Chapter One
I jumped at the knock on my door, almost dropping my curling iron. Was I really that late? I quickly unplugged the iron and hastily applied mascara to my lashes before rushing to open the door. My heart sank when I saw who was standing there. It wasn't Giselle, coming to pick me up for our girls' night out. No, it was Nicholas Jenkins, my own personal Achilles' heel, the devil himself. Nicholas had always been my downfall, a temptation I couldn't resist. His mischievous grin and promises always got to me, especially when I had resolved to resist him. He leaned against my doorway, one arm braced against the frame, his ice-blue eyes slowly scanning me from head to toe. My deliberately-tumbled blonde curls, little black cocktail dress, and mile-high spike heels were all on display for him to see. "Going somewhere?" he asked, a hint of flirtation in his voice. But there was something else in his eyes, something I couldn't quite decipher. Annoyance? Irritation? Maybe even worry? I stepped back to let him in, giving up on trying to understand Nicholas Jenkins. He walked into my apartment as if he belonged there, dropping his briefcase on the chair by the front door before heading to the kitchen to grab a beer. Popping the cap off the bottle, he turned and leaned against the counter, taking a long swig. "I like the dress," he said, his cool blue eyes smoldering with desire. I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the heat that surged through me at his gaze. "It's new," I replied dismissively. "You didn't answer my question," he said smoothly, his eyes tracing the neckline of my dress and the cleavage it revealed. I felt exposed under his intense gaze. It had been three weeks since I last saw him, and I had missed him every day. My body didn't care about my plans or schedules when it came to Nicholas Jenkins. He showed up, smoldered at me, and I was ready to go. "Which question?" I shot back, always ready to play the game with Nicholas, even though I knew it was a dangerous one. Since we met, he had gotten under my skin, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake him off. "Are you going somewhere? If it's a bad time, I can leave," he said, his voice holding a hint of edge. I paused, the snarky remark I had prepared dying on my tongue. I took a closer look at Nicholas and saw past his striking appearance, past the beauty to the man beneath. He looked tired, more than tired; he looked exhausted. Lines framed his mouth, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Whatever he had been up to since the last time I saw him, he seemed like he needed a good meal and a solid night's sleep. "I am. I'm sorry, I didn't know you would be coming by," I began, but he interrupted me. "Hot date?" he asked, the edge in his voice unmistakable. I debated how to answer. It wasn't any of his business if I had a hot date. We had a thing, that much was clear, but we had never bothered to define it. It was definitely not exclusive. I didn't know who he was with when he wasn't with me, and I could never bring myself to ask. That way lay heartbreak. Nicholas Jenkins was a player, and he would never be a one-woman man. I had known from the start that I had a choice: take what he was willing to give or walk away. It had never occurred to me that he would care if I saw other people, but the way he asked about a hot date didn't sound nonchalant. I decided to go with the truth. "Not tonight. You know my friend Giselle?" Nicholas nodded; I had mentioned her before. Giselle and I had been friends since college. "She and Crew broke up." "That was a long time coming," Nicholas commented. He had never met Giselle, but he had heard me complain about her boyfriend enough times. Crew was an asshole who didn't deserve my sweet, funny friend, and she had finally realized it. "I know. She caught him flirting with the waitress when they were out to dinner, which would have been bad enough, but when he disappeared to the bathroom for a little too long and she went looking for him—" "Let me guess, she walked in on him in the back hall with his hand up the waitress' skirt," Nicholas said dryly. I shrugged. "Close enough. The waitress smacked him - apparently, she had better asshole radar than Giselle - and then Giselle kicked him in the nuts and walked out." "Good for her," Nicholas said. That was the thing about him. He was a player and a flirt, but he was honest about it. He had never made me any promises he couldn't keep, never led me to believe that he could offer more. He was a player, but he wasn't a liar. That was why I could make this crazy arrangement work. Well, that and the sex. The sex was mind-blowing, and no matter how much I knew I would end up getting hurt, I couldn't seem to stop myself. Nicholas Jenkins was dangerous, but he was also Nicholas.The second slice of chocolate cake was just like Nicholas. I kept telling myself that one more bite would be enough, but somehow, I always found myself going back for more. It was a never-ending cycle, a battle between my willpower and my desire for him. But tonight, I wasn't ready to give him up completely. Not yet. I grabbed my purse from the kitchen counter, transferring its contents to a small black purse that matched my dress. Giselle wanted to go out and have some fun, to move on from the sappy movies and ice cream phase after her breakup with Crew. And I was supposed to be her wing-woman. Nicholas smirked, taking a sip of his beer as his eyes lingered on the hemline of my dress. "Playing wing-woman, huh?" I could feel his gaze heating my skin, igniting a fire within me. The temptation to bail on Giselle and spend the night with Nicholas was strong, but I couldn't do that to my friend. I had to stay true to her. "This is Giselle's night," I said, trying to convince myself as much as him. "I can't bail on her for...well, you know." I pressed my thighs together, willing my body to stand down. Just one look from Nicholas and my hormones went into overdrive. But I couldn't let that cloud my judgment. Nicholas finished his beer in silence, his body language hinting at disapproval. I fought the urge to make excuses, to explain that I was only there to support Giselle, not to pick anyone up. It wasn't his business, after all. We didn't owe each other any explanations or promises. We were just moments in time, living in the present, not the future. I reminded myself of that fact, even as I found myself saying, "I won't be late. If you want, you can hang out here. I have leftover Chinese food in the fridge, your favorite, and you can watch the game until I get back." I instantly regretted my words, my stomach lurching with anxiety. Why had I offered him my apartment, my food, and my company? And why did he look relieved? Before I could dwell on it further, my phone chimed with a text from Giselle, reminding me that she was waiting downstairs. I didn't have time to unravel the mystery of Nicholas Jenkins. "That's Giselle," I said, my voice rushed. "Do you want to stay?" Nicholas set his beer down and closed the distance between us, his cool blue eyes locked onto mine. "Come here," he growled, pulling me into his arms. His lips found my neck, sending electric sparks through every inch of my body. Nicholas knew how to play me like an instrument, and he did it well. His lips trailed down my neck, his arms holding me close, his leg nudging between mine. I couldn't resist the pull, grinding against him, succumbing to the pleasure he offered. But all too soon, the moment ended. I reluctantly eased away, breaking the contact between our mouths. I had to go, as much as I wanted to stay. "I have to go," I said, my voice barely a whisper. He already knew that, so why wasn't I leaving? "Go then," he replied, his words tinged with a hint of promise. "I'll be here when you get back." I tried to remind myself that his words weren't a guarantee, that I shouldn't count on him for anything. But deep down, I knew I couldn't resist him. I never had been able to when it came to Nicholas Jenkins. As I stood at the elevator, I lectured myself, trying to be sensible. This was Nicholas Jenkins, after all. He could easily get bored and wander off before I even got home. I couldn't count on him for anything. But I didn't listen. I never did when it came to Nicholas. We were complete opposites, constantly butting heads from the moment we met. He was arrogant and flirtatious, not at all my type. I preferred serious guys with normal lives, not someone as hot and unpredictable as Nicholas. I laughed at the irony of it all. I was a perfectly normal girl with a perfectly normal life, until Nicholas came crashing into it, turning everything upside down. And I had no idea what I was doing with him, but I couldn't resist the pull.I found myself at a conference in Houston, teetering between boredom and amusement, eagerly anticipating the weekend when my best friend Isabella was scheduled to visit. Little did I know that Nicholas would suddenly appear out of thin air, claiming that Isabella's safety was in jeopardy and she required my assistance. If anyone else had uttered such a line, I would have promptly dismissed them, especially considering Nicholas' refusal to divulge any details about the alleged trouble Isabella faced or how exactly I could be of help. Deep down, I had always sensed that Isabella was entangled in something, but that didn't automatically grant my trust to Nicholas. Nevertheless, against my better judgment, I accompanied him on a journey all the way to Atlanta, quarreling incessantly throughout the entire trip. His overbearing nature grated on my nerves. He strolled in as if he owned the world, expecting me to obey his every command simply because he uttered it. It certainly didn't help matters that every time I laid eyes on him, my knees turned to jelly. Back then, he sported a military-style haircut, leaving every inch of his chiseled face exposed for admiration; from his dark brows to his piercing ice-blue eyes, his pronounced cheekbones, and his luscious lower lip. His face alone was enough to make any woman swoon, and his physique took the whole package up another notch. I didn't need to see beyond his impeccably tailored suits to recognize that Nicholas Jenkins was the epitome of sex appeal. He was completely out of my league. So far out of my league, it was almost comical. We bickered and flirted, and that was the extent of it. Until Isabella's wedding. Perhaps it was the champagne flowing a bit too freely, or maybe it was the disagreement over the wedding cake, but before I knew it, I found myself pinned against a wall, concealed by a cluster of potted plants, with Nicholas' hand firmly planted on my derrière beneath my bridesmaid dress. I could have blamed the champagne for our indiscretions, but that would have been a blatant lie. It had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with Nicholas Jenkins. Damn, that man knew how to use his hands. And his mouth. And every other part of his body. We spent Isabella's wedding night locked away in my hotel room. And the night after. And the night after that. Then, I flew back home, he left town for work, and I convinced myself that Nicholas Jenkins was merely a lapse in judgment brought on by the wedding festivities. Or maybe it wasn't a mistake. It's hard to label something that incredible as a mistake. And what's wrong with indulging in a fling every now and then? Every woman deserves a fling. However, I was more of a serial dater. Flinging wasn't exactly my style. One-night stands seemed like too much effort for such little reward. With Nicholas, it was all reward and no effort. When, a year later, I unexpectedly crossed paths with him at a client's party, my body immediately went on high alert the moment our eyes met. I had convinced myself that I had forgotten about Nicholas, but my body certainly hadn't. Not even for a single blazing second. Nicholas possessed a gravitational pull, a magnetic force that compelled me towards him, demanding my attention even when I was surrounded by clients. By the end of the night, there he was, casually leaning against my car, waiting. I invited him home, we ended up in bed together, and thus our non-relationship was born. He would show up sporadically, often without prior notice, and I would always welcome him with open arms. Occasionally, I would send a text, and he would come. I had never been to his place and wasn't entirely certain of his exact whereabouts in Atlanta. Somewhere within the city limits. I resided in Marietta, a town northwest of Atlanta. Close enough that we could have seen each other more frequently, but neither of us ever proposed or desired more. I didn't ask because I knew I wouldn't receive it, and Nicholas because he simply didn't do more. It was not in his nature. As I stepped out of my building, Giselle awaited me by the car, the music blaring through the open windows, an eager smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of me. I promptly fastened my seatbelt as Giselle remarked, "Your lip gloss is smudged." "I still have lip gloss?" I raised a hand to wipe my lips. It would have been astonishing if Nicholas hadn't kissed every trace of it away. The thought alone made me instinctively clench my knees together. Calm down, girl. Tonight isn't about you. Not until you get home. That's if he's still there. Giselle gazed at me for a moment before her eyes widened, and she glanced towards my building. "Is he up there? Did he come by tonight?" She viewed my peculiar situation with Nicholas Jenkins as something straight out of a fairytale. Nicholas Jenkins of the esteemed Atlanta Jenkinss. She imagined that he would fall madly in love with me, and we would live happily ever after in a charming mansion in Buckhead. I couldn't help but snort inwardly. Highly unlikely. I couldn't envision Nicholas settling down, and even if he did, it certainly wouldn't be with someone like me. Someone ordinary. Average. He would undoubtedly find some society princess or a former model. Perhaps an actress. Someone who possessed the sparkle and flair necessary to fit into his extraordinary life. Nicholas Jenkins hailed from a long line of Atlanta Jenkinss, who, a few generations ago, had established the foremost security agency in the nation. They safeguarded royalty, celebrities, and designed security systems that put Fort Xander to shame. He was like a real-life James Bond, from his impeccably tailored suits to his Aston Martin. I wasn't the first to be ensnared by his charm, and I certainly wouldn't be the last. I was merely enjoying the ride. I shook my head at Giselle. "Yes, he's up there, but don't worry about it. Tonight is all about you." Giselle hesitated for a moment before shifting the car into gear. "Are you sure? I mean, we can go out any night. He hasn't shown up in weeks, and—" "I'm sure," I insisted, growing irritated that even Giselle believed the world should revolve around Nicholas Jenkins. "If he wanted to know if I was available, he could have called. He shows up, he takes what he gets. Tonight is for you. He can wait." Giselle leaned over, embracing me awkwardly considering our seatbelts. "You're an amazing friend, Summer. Most girls would have abandoned me for a hunk like Nicholas Jenkins." My libido protested as I replied, "I'm not like most girls, and he'll still be there when I get home." At least, I hoped so. I really, truly hoped that he would be there when I returned home.
Chapter Two
: Summer I made a valiant effort to immerse myself in girls' night out. Truly, I did. Tonight held significance, for Giselle needed her friends and some genuine fun. I played my part. I sipped on a drink and flirted with a guy at the bar, someone Giselle found attractive. I lured him in, ensuring she could grace him with her shy, sweet smile. Giselle was quite the catch. Beautiful, intelligent, easygoing, and fun. Plus, she had a great job. Sure, she settled for Crew, but she didn't have to. She would find a good man, I just knew it. Maybe not tonight, but eventually. As the clock neared ten, Giselle and the other girls embarked on a round of shots. Giselle leaned over, nudging me, and whispered, "Go home." "No, I swear, I'm having fun," I protested. Giselle rolled her eyes. "You're not fooling anyone. You're a sweetheart, and I appreciate you being here, but go home. Someone needs to have amazing sex tonight, and it's not going to be me." "You don't know that," I argued, even though deep down, I knew it. We both did. Giselle may have been four drinks and two shots into the night, but picking up a guy at a bar wasn't her style, and I doubted it ever would be. "I'm not," she confirmed, her words slurring slightly. "We both know it. I'm getting drunk, Steph can drive me home, or we’ll get a rideshare and I'll pick up my car tomorrow. Go home. He might not be back for a few weeks or a month, and I won't be responsible for you going without. You get cranky when you do." She wasn't wrong. "Are you sure? I don't want to abandon you." "You're not abandoning me, you idiot. If he had been waiting for me at my apartment, I would have left you in a heartbeat." “Liar.” Giselle would never prioritize a guy over our friendship. Friends always came first. "If you're absolutely certain," I mumbled, already opening the rideshare app on my phone. I rode home in an aging sedan, gazing emptily out the window, attempting to suppress the restlessness consuming me as I fantasized about all the things I desired to do to Nicholas once I arrived. In my mind, he would have discarded his suit coat and loosened his tie. I yearned to unbutton his shirt, one by one, slipping it off his shoulders and down his arms, revealing his flawless skin. My fingertips longed to trace every contour of his chest, leading down to his defined abs. I envisioned undoing his belt... I crossed my legs, the heat between them already spiraling out of control. Nicholas had this effect on me. Incredibly irresistible. It felt like an eternity before I finally slid my key into the lock and opened the door. My anticipation to pounce on him was so intense that if he had been waiting in the foyer, I would have taken him right there on the floor. But instead, my apartment greeted me with silence, save for the murmurs of a sports announcer emanating from the living room. The game was nearing its end, the volume set low, the only source of light the flickering television screen. Nicholas lay sprawled across the couch, his feet propped up on the armrest, sound asleep. With his eyes closed, his hair tousled, and his mischievous smirk wiped away, he almost appeared boyish. I reached out to brush his hair away from his forehead, a wave of tenderness washing over me unexpectedly. Startled, I snatched my hand back, staring down at him in horror. I couldn't allow myself to feel tenderness towards Nicholas Jenkins. Tenderness was not synonymous with lust. Tenderness meant emotions, and I couldn't afford to have feelings for Nicholas. I had feelings about having sex with Nicholas, no doubt. Intense feelings. Incredible feelings. That was it. I did not feel tenderness towards him. I didn't want to lie down on the couch beside him, tracing my finger along his lower lip, running my hand down his back, and curling up against his warmth. No, I wanted to wake him up, undress him completely, and engage in passionate lovemaking. Purely physical. Having genuine feelings for Nicholas would only lead to a broken heart, and I was determined to keep mine intact. I turned away from him, needing to regain my composure. Seeing him so defenseless in slumber had caught me off guard. I couldn't afford to be caught off guard when it came to Nicholas. Our arrangement worked because I adhered to the rules I established from the very beginning. No overthinking. No expectations. No demands. No emotions. Quietly making my way to the kitchen, I placed my purse on the counter, scanning the room for my key ring. Earlier, I had removed my door key, but if I didn't put it back on the ring, I would inevitably misplace it. Eventually, my gaze landed on my jacket draped over the chair near the front door, reminding me that I had casually tossed it there upon my hurried return. Nicholas' briefcase sat atop the jacket, its zipper partially undone. He must have done some work while waiting for me. As I reached for my jacket, the handle slipped from my grasp, causing both the jacket and bag to tumble to the floor. Perhaps those last few rounds of drinks had affected me more than I realized. I felt giddy, not tipsy. Certainly not drunk. Nonetheless, the mess at my feet suggested otherwise. Kneeling down, I began to tidy up. It wasn't too disastrous—just a few files, a pen, and a half-eaten bag of sunflower seeds.The first two folders slipped effortlessly into the briefcase, their contents barely registering in my peripheral vision. The Jenkins Security logo adorned each one, an ostentatious amalgamation of a regal crest, a majestic lion, and the company's name. However, it was the third folder that caught my attention. Emblazoned on the label were the words 'Smokey W.' Smokey W. My heart skipped a beat. Smokey W. was my father's name. Why would Nicholas have a file with my father's name on it? I sank back on my heels, fixating my gaze on the unremarkable manila folder, my mind racing. My father's given name was Maximus Simmons, but everyone knew him as Smokey. He and my mother were die-hard hippies, always had been. And it wasn't hard to guess why my dad went by Smokey. He firmly believed in the spiritual and medicinal properties of marijuana and indulged in it regularly. He wasn't the most responsible of parents. Maximus was a perpetual man-child—reckless, immature, but undeniably fun. If I'm being honest, I can't say for certain whether he was a good father, but he loved me unconditionally. Lately, I hadn't seen him as often as before. After my parents' divorce a few years ago—my mom, an energetic activist hippy, had grown weary of being the only adult in the relationship—he hadn't been around much. And lately, he'd been acting strange. Off. Tense. Maximus was never tense. It was against his nature. He made sure of it. I had intended to call him, sit down with him and find out what was going on, but work had consumed my life, leaving me with no time for personal matters. But why did Nicholas have a folder with my father's name on it? What the hell was happening? Unabashedly invading his privacy, I pried open the folder and began flipping through its pages. Ice coursed through my veins as I beheld its contents. Reports. Reports about me. They dated back to Isabella's wedding. Reports about my father started six months after the wedding and continued consistently. Reports detailing his movements, his activities. And comments about me. What I was doing. Where I had been. Reports about my clients. Most of it was incomprehensible. Written in a code that rendered the language meaningless to me. Yet, I managed to decipher a few based on the dates. 1.26.18 Su.W. ctc Sm.W. Cl mt Atl. Su.W. Il 2d. Sm.W. mt B. January 26, 2018. On that day, I had called my dad while en route to a client meeting in Atlanta before heading to Illinois for a two-day stint with another client. I remembered it vividly because I had experienced a flat tire on the way to the airport, nearly missing my flight. Since my client was meeting me there and had an intense fear of flying, the flat tire had caused a cascade of problems. I handled it, as I always did. Handling things was my forte. But that day etched itself into my memory as one of the worst. The epitome of a disastrous day. And Nicholas had been watching. Documenting every moment. While I stood on the roadside, freezing and covered in ice from passing cars, he had been there. Somewhere. Watching me. I had no clue what "Sm.W. mt B" meant. Sm.W. referred to my father. Based on "Su.W. mt Atl," I assumed "mt" stood for meeting. But "B"? No idea. Not that it mattered. My father's life was not my concern. I continued flipping through the file, encountering page after page of cryptic notes. Me, my father. A few about my mother, spanning over two years. Nausea replaced the ice in my heart. I thought about Isabella and how she had met Nicholas' brother, Joshua. Isabella had been a job. Joshua had investigated her on behalf of a client who suspected her of embezzlement. She turned out to be innocent, but that wasn't the point. She was a job. Just like me. I was a job. My mouth watered, and suddenly, I realized I was going to vomit. Placing the folder on the floor, I rose and made my way deliberately to the bathroom, then hastened as my mouth filled with bile and my stomach churned. I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet, expelling the remnants of last night's indulgences—frothy drinks and shots—everything within me turning inside out, my body wracked with sobs as my head spun. I remained there for what felt like an eternity, my clammy forehead resting on my arm, leaning over the toilet bowl. My mouth tasted sour, my breathing shallow, my heart racing. I couldn't find my footing. I should have known. I should have known it was all a lie. I had the foresight to keep my distance from him. I believed he was a player, a flirt. I didn't want to fall for him and have my heart shattered. But the pain in my chest told me that I had messed up. I hadn't protected myself at all, and now my heart was breaking, regardless. I hadn't even known it was possible. Not because of Nicholas. I had fought so hard to maintain control, to keep him at arm's length. I thought I could safeguard my heart if it was just about sex. I thought I was being smart, protecting myself from being broken by him. I was wrong. I was a fool, and he was a liar. I had believed I knew him. I had believed I held the reins. Seeing the past two years laid bare in black and white, I realized how blind I had been.He had been observing my every move, meticulously documenting it all and feeding the information to an unseen recipient. The question that plagued me was: who? And why? None of this made any sense. I hadn't done anything wrong. My father, as far as I knew, was innocent too. There was no reason for this invasion into our lives. I lived a simple life, working, enjoying time with friends, and even indulging in a passionate affair with Nicholas for a while. He had brought excitement into my world, but now I realized it was all a facade. He wasn't here for me; he was here on a mission. But not anymore. Not for another second. With mechanical movements, I rose from my seat, leaned over the sink, and turned on the faucet to brush my teeth. After finishing, I returned the toothbrush to its holder, flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and placed my father's file back in the briefcase among the others. I zipped it closed and left it on the floor before heading to wake Nicholas. Each step toward the living room felt like a burden. Standing over Nicholas, my fists clenched at my sides, I stared down at him. His eyes fluttered open, a sleepy grin spreading across his face. The smile abruptly vanished as he took in my expression. "Hey, what's wrong?" "Get. Out," I managed to say, my voice filled with raw emotion. I couldn't bring myself to say anything more. I couldn't trust myself to speak without choking on the words. Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, and I refused to let Nicholas witness my vulnerability. He had lied to me. He had used me. That chapter was over. I had been foolish, but I wouldn't allow him to see me cry. He already knew he had deceived me; he didn't need to know he had caused me pain. Nicholas rolled out of bed, instantly taking command of the situation. He was in control of his body, the room, and everything else. I took a step back and repeated my demand. "Get. Out." "Summer, did something happen?" I refused to play along with his attempts to charm or manipulate me. Flirty, mischievous Nicholas wouldn't be able to coax me out of my mood this time. "I saw my father's file in your bag. I know you've been watching me all this time. I don't know what you want. I don't know why you're here. But get out. Do your job somewhere else." His face turned blank. Most people would have immediately become defensive, making excuses or accusing me of snooping. But not Nicholas. A wall came down behind his eyes, his jaw set, and his shoulders squared. "Summer, if you give me a minute, I can explain," he said, his tone devoid of any flirtation. The glint in his eyes had disappeared. This wasn't the charming Nicholas; this was the Nicholas on a mission. Cold. Calculating. Detached. This was the side he had hidden from me. "Can you?" I demanded. "Can you explain lying to me for a year? Watching my every move? Is there anything you can say that makes that okay?" Our eyes locked, Nicholas' icy blue gaze assessing and analyzing. He may have been flirty and sexy, but beneath that surface, he was a ruthless machine. I had always known it, even if I had fooled myself into thinking he left that part of him at the door. "Summer," he began, "it's complicated." "Just tell me one thing, Nicholas. Was it planned when we first hooked up at Isabella's wedding?" "No. Absolutely not." That was something, at least. I had suspected that our initial encounter had been a result of chance, fueled by desire and champagne. I already knew the answer to my next question. "And what about last year? At my client's party?" A muscle twitched in Nicholas' jaw before he admitted, "I knew you would be there." "So it was all a setup. This entire thing is a setup." The muscle in his jaw twitched once more, and he nodded. My heart tightened, and I fought back tears. I had about a minute before I lost control. The wave of anger and pain surged within me, rising too fast for me to suppress. I couldn't bear to listen to him anymore. There was nothing he could say to justify his actions. He wasn't my boyfriend. This wasn't real. It was just convenient sex, and now it was over. Turning my back on him, I walked a few steps down the hall to where his briefcase still lay on the floor. With one hand, I scooped it up and turned towards the door. Nicholas' hand closed around my elbow, halting my movement. With a jerk, I pulled free and reached the door, with him following closely behind. I swung the door open and tossed his briefcase into the hallway. "Get. Out. I don't care what you have to say. Leave. This is over. Find another way to gather your information." "Summer, at least let me explain." "What is there to explain? Are you going to tell me why you're investigating me? Whose orders you're following? Why you're really here?" Nicholas stared at me, his silence confirming what I already knew. "That's what I thought. Don't come back." I watched him leave, briefcase in hand, his smooth stride carrying him effortlessly to the elevator. If I had known he would return so soon, I wouldn't have just thrown him out the door. I would have pushed him out the window.
Chapter Three
: Nicholas The monotony of the meeting was shattered by my brother Jason's words, "Maximus Simmons is missing." My head snapped up, instantly alert. I locked eyes with Jason, silently demanding an explanation. He casually picked up a pencil, pretending to jot down notes in his file. I knew better. He was deliberately messing with me, that asshole. Maximus, or Maximus Simmons, to give him his full name, had been my case. Until I screwed up big time and my brother Xander swooped in to take over. Jason chose to remain silent, simply raising an eyebrow at me. Turning in my chair, I faced Xander, who lounged in an oversized armchair next to me, a ridiculously large gas station travel mug in hand. He gave me an impassive look and said, "What?" "You lost Maximus? How the hell did you manage that?" I seethed. "Why are you so worked up?" Xander responded in that infuriatingly calm tone he knew would push my buttons. Brothers. I loved them all, but they were a bunch of jerks. "I care," I ground out, clenching my teeth, "because he was your case." Xander nonchalantly shrugged and took a leisurely sip of his coffee. "If it meant that much to you, maybe you shouldn't have screwed up the deal in the first place." He wasn't entirely wrong. I messed up the case because I cared. For the first time in my career, I let personal feelings interfere with business, and it ended in disaster. I had become entangled in a web of emotions, and it had cost me dearly. Xander had a point, I had indeed messed everything up. "Maybe if you joined the twenty-first century and stopped relying on paper files, none of this would have happened," Joshua, my older brother, chimed in with a sly smile. Joshua ran the Western division of Jenkins Security and rarely visited Atlanta. He had shown up unexpectedly the previous night, claiming it was for business. I hadn't had a chance to pry the details from him, but his presence at this meeting indicated something big was going on. Something beyond Maximus Simmons going missing. Used to their teasing, yet unable to resist firing back, I retorted, "I happen to like paper files. Back off." Back off. It was the standard response to brotherly banter. It never worked. Not even once. Joshua had a valid point though. Clinging onto paper files had been foolish, a stubborn habit I refused to let go of until it was too late. Nowadays, not a single scrap of paper could be found in my office. Every piece of case information was securely stored behind layers of encryption. I wasn't about to get caught off guard again. Not that it mattered. The worst damage had already been done. Joshua wasn't ready to let it go. "The how doesn't matter now. What matters is that Summer's father has vanished without a trace. He's like a ghost. We need to find him. And fast." "Is that why you're here?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued. "In a way," Joshua replied, exchanging a significant glance with Jason. "Show him." Jason plucked a page from the stack on his desk and handed it to me. It contained rows of numbers, meticulously arranged columns, and Jason's precise notes scribbled along the margins. Account numbers, dates, amounts. Payments or transfers. I absorbed the information, the names, the timeline. Money flowing from a hidden account under a shell corporation we suspected our father had set up before he disappeared. Money moving from our father to William Davis, who was now deceased, and from Davis to Maximus 'Smokey' Simmons. Damn it. This was bad. Our father, Dawson Jenkins, had vanished five years ago. We believed he died when his car careened off a bridge into a rain-swollen river. No body had ever been found. But a few months ago, evidence emerged suggesting that Dawson Jenkins was alive and well. Alive or dead, he left us with a mess. I grew up idolizing my father, thinking he was invincible. He protected celebrities, even royalty. Everyone adored and respected him. But that wasn't enough for Dawson Jenkins. Long before I was born, he dabbled in the dark side. I assumed it was for the thrill. Money wasn't an issue. He had inherited millions from my grandfather and had a knack for growing his wealth. A few years before his disappearance, my brothers and I took over the company. Since then, Jenkins Security had flourished, nearly doubling in size. Whatever my father was involved in, it wasn't about money. We had uncovered disturbing details of his partnership with William Davis, an old friend. Together, they delved into all sorts of illicit activities—gunrunning, illegal adoptions, and worse. The question remained, what did Maximus Simmons have to do with any of this? I could understand my father's connection to William Davis. They had been inseparable since high school, attended college together. William, who had recently passed away, was unhinged, to say the least. Imagining William operating without a moral compass was not a stretch. And my father? I was discovering that I knew far less about Dawson Jenkins than I had believed. But Maximus... Maximus was a laid-back stoner who relied on alimony and a trust fund he miraculously hadn't depleted. Occasionally, he supplemented his income by selling weed.Maximus, despite his shortcomings of smoking half the product he was supposed to sell, had a knack for getting by in life. His presence in this situation involving my father and William Davis seemed inconceivable, yet there he was, appearing in black and white, with numbers, dates, and large sums of money. As I stared at those numbers, meticulously written by Jason, a knot formed in my stomach. Cold, slimy fear crept through me, spreading its tendrils to my heart and up my spine. Summer. If Maximus was involved, it meant she was dangerously close to all of this. If her father had any part in it, she was in danger. Damn it. Summer. The thought of her alone made me want to shut down, to walk out of the room and forget about everything. She shouldn't have anything to do with my father's mess. From the moment I first laid eyes on her, with her long blonde curls and bright blue eyes, she drove me crazy. Crazy and stupid. I had never messed up so badly with a woman in my entire life. "Isabella doesn't know about your mistake," Joshua said bluntly. "I'm going to be around more until we figure out what's going on with Dad, and eventually Isabella will want to come to Atlanta to see Summer. You better fix whatever you did before she finds out, or she'll kick your ass." "I'm not afraid of your wife," I retorted with a sneer. Joshua raised an eyebrow. "Liar." "If you're not scared of Isabella, you're an idiot," Xander chimed in. I wasn't exactly terrified of Isabella Jenkins. Alright, maybe I was a little bit afraid of Isabella Jenkins. Isabella was a great sister-in-law. A redhead with a sharp mind and a stunning body, she had hooked Joshua from the moment he laid eyes on her. She wasn't one to mess with, but she was tough and didn't take any nonsense. If she found out I had screwed over her best friend in the world? I was in deep trouble. "I still don't understand why you lied to Summer," Xander said. "It was easier," I muttered. "Easy, maybe. But that's not why you lied." Xander wasn't much of a talker. He chose his words carefully, only using them when they would have the greatest impact. Or cause the most damage. I didn't want to hear what he had to say, but I knew he wouldn't let it go. I should have kept my mouth shut. But I didn't. "Really? Then enlighten me, oh wise one, why did I lie?" "Because Summer Simmons terrifies you. You do realize you're not Dad, right?" Heat surged through me, and anger clouded my vision. Only sheer willpower kept me in my seat. I gritted my teeth. "Shut up. You have no idea what you're talking about." Xander knew exactly how close I was to throwing a punch at him. He took a sip from his oversized mug and calmly stated, "Go ahead, get angry. It doesn't make me wrong." I was furious. And he wasn't wrong. "Cut it out," Jason interjected, eyeing both Xander and me. "Why he lied doesn't matter now. It's done. He messed up, and now he has to fix it." "Why do I have to fix it? If I screwed up so badly, why don't you put someone else on the case?" Just the thought of one of my brothers trying to fix things with Summer made the knot in my stomach tighten even more. She wasn't mine anymore, if she ever was. But that didn't mean they could have her. I handed the paper with the banking information back to Jason. He took it, shaking his head at me with exaggerated patience and a hint of pity. "It has to be you. Trust me, I like Summer. I'd love to spare her from dealing with you. You'll be lucky if she doesn't try to kill you in your sleep. But it has to be you. Summer is our best chance right now at finding her father. Xander and I will keep following his trail, but he's like vapor. Summer, we can track. And we just got the perfect opportunity." Under his breath, Joshua muttered, "You're going to love this one." "What? Is something wrong with her? Did something happen to Summer?" Jason shook his head. "Summer is fine. Remember she works for Elizabeth Washington?" I nodded. Summer had an interesting job, but she was good at it. She worked as a virtual assistant for a few high-profile individuals. Sometimes she would travel to work with them in person, while other times she managed their emails and social media remotely. She handled everything they needed, from booking flights to arranging appointments. I knew she had worked for Elizabeth Washington on occasion. Jason nodded again. "Elizabeth wants to come back home while she prepares for her next role. Her ex has been causing problems. Rehab didn't work, and he won't leave her alone. He claims he wants her back. Elizabeth wants to be close to family and avoid the drama of daily life. So, she had Summer rent the Rycroft estate. Elizabeth, her entourage, and Summer are all moving in." "Guess who's in charge of security?" Joshua asked, a sly grin on his face. Fuck me. He continued, "Elizabeth specifically requested you." "I don't do security details anymore." "You're making an exception this time," Jason said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. This morning had started off badly, and it was only getting worse. Damn it all.Elizabeth Washington, the granddaughter of my grandfather's close friend Rupert Washington, was a true Southern belle, raised in the traditions of old Atlanta. Everyone expected her to return home from Hollywood within months after running off at eighteen. But instead, she defied all odds, working tirelessly as a waitress and taking on small acting roles until she finally caught her big break. She possessed an undeniable beauty, demanded high maintenance, and was talented beyond measure. Elizabeth Washington was a diva. She was also my ex. Desperately hoping this was all a terrible dream, I mustered the courage to speak. "You want me to assemble a team, led by me, to live in the Rycroft place with Elizabeth Washington and Summer? Do you realize what a disaster that's going to be?" I pleaded, my voice filled with desperation. My brother Jason simply shrugged, his dark, piercing eyes, reminiscent of our father's, locked onto mine. "It doesn't have to be a disaster. You've been wallowing in misery ever since Summer kicked you out. This is your chance to fix it. And while you're at it, find out where her father is and what he has to do with Dad." "Jason—" I began, but he interrupted me. "No, Nicholas. I don't want to hear it. Xander is right, you messed up with her because you were afraid. If you want to bury your head in the sand and deny it, go ahead. Lie to yourself. But deep down, you know she mattered. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been so affected when she kicked you out. You would have moved on to the next woman without a second thought. But that's not what happened, is it?" Joshua, always the instigator, chimed in with a smirk, "So, Nicholas, when was the last time you got laid?" Damn my brothers. "None of your damn business," I snapped, my frustration seeping through. Xander, ever the mediator, filled in, "There's your answer." I would rather let them set me on fire than admit that I hadn't been with another woman since I walked out of Summer's apartment. It wasn't for lack of desire, but no other woman had managed to capture my interest. I didn't want anyone else. "And what about when you were with her?" Joshua taunted, determined to dig deeper. "We weren't together. It was just a fling," I protested, my voice laced with defensiveness. Joshua's words dripped with sarcasm as he continued, "Ah, the stereotypical commitment-phobe. So, in the year you were keeping an eye on her—and sleeping with the target—you didn't even touch another woman. Is that right?" I refused to dignify his question with a response. They already knew the answer. "But she didn't mean anything to you. You're over her," Joshua declared, trying to push me into admitting something I couldn't bring myself to say. A sound escaped my throat, a weak attempt at a yes. But I couldn't form the word. The truth was, I wasn't even close to being over her. I had spent countless hours trying to figure out how to win her back, how to explain myself. It all began innocently enough. My brothers and I had grown up alongside the Simmons family, despite their immense wealth and scandalous reputation. They were like family to us. So when we discovered that Isabella's best friend was an estranged cousin, we decided to keep an eye on her. We had to ensure she wasn't just aiming for the Simmons' fortune. But Summer surprised us all. She didn't reach out to the rest of the Simmons family, nor did she take advantage of their connections. Instead, she built her life in Atlanta, making friends, going out, and even dating here and there. She kept her distance from the Simmons' high profile, despite the potential benefits for her business. I could have observed her from afar, without making contact. But my self-control was nonexistent when it came to Summer. In every other aspect of my life, I had unwavering control. But with her, I couldn't stop myself. Jason opened his laptop and began typing away, not bothering to look at me as he said, "I'm sending you the Washington file. They'll be moving in on Friday. You need to gather a team, secure the house, and be there when she arrives. All the details are in the file." He finally glanced up at me. "This is your chance, Nicholas. Don't mess it up again." I stood up, eager to escape the confines of the office building. I needed to clear my head and think. I had been searching for a way back into Summer's life, but being tasked with babysitting my ex-lover while trying to win back another woman seemed like a recipe for disaster. It was a disaster, but it was also my only shot. Failure wasn't an option. Not with Summer. Not this time.
Chapter Four
: Summer Rycroft Castle appeared as if it had been plucked from another era, perhaps even from another world. Nestled in the heart of Buckhead, shielded by a lush forest that muffled the noise of the outside world, it felt like stepping into a fairytale. Originally the brainchild of a tech billionaire enamored with the idea of constructing his own castle in Atlanta, Rycroft Castle exuded an air of timeless grandeur. The billionaire spared no expense, importing marble from Italy and a bar straight from an Irish pub. Modeled after a French château, its walls were three inches thick, crafted from creamy limestone, and its slate roof added to its imposing yet whimsical presence. Inside the castle, opulence reigned supreme. An indoor pool mimicked the splendor of a Roman spa, four separate kitchens catered to every culinary whim, and a theater, card room, three formal parlors, music room, and a wine tasting room larger than my own condo offered endless entertainment possibilities. It was difficult to fathom that the previous owner had grown tired of such extravagance. After a brief stint at Rycroft Castle, the owner, a restless soul, had abandoned it in favor of a modern monstrosity in Silicon Valley, closer to his corporate headquarters. Nevertheless, he still retained ownership and occasionally rented it out to high-profile guests. When Elizabeth Washington expressed her desire to return home for a few months without staying with family, I knew exactly where to turn. The sight of this place would surely overwhelm Elizabeth. She was a force of nature, her talent as awe-inspiring as her beauty. She possessed an innate regality that would seamlessly blend with the aura of Rycroft Castle. Of all my clients, Elizabeth held a special place in my heart. She could be demanding, with the high standards and impatience that often accompanied wealth and success. Yet, she possessed a humor and kindness that made her endearing. We weren't exactly friends; after all, I was nothing more than a glorified personal assistant while she was an Oscar-winning movie star. But Elizabeth treated me as a partner, recognizing the role I played in shaping the persona of "Elizabeth Washington." If any other client had asked me to move in and manage their life full-time, I might have hesitated. Living in close quarters with someone, especially when they were your employer, was an entirely different ballgame. However, for Elizabeth, I was willing to give it a try. She had endured a challenging year, and her upcoming role demanded both physical and emotional stamina. She needed this break, this time at home, and I was determined to make it happen. I had lightened my workload with other clients, ensuring that I could devote my attention to Elizabeth. Although I oversaw almost every aspect of the move to Rycroft Castle, security was one area Elizabeth insisted on handling personally. I hoped this meant she would bring her team from Los Angeles, solving any potential issues. Glancing up from my tablet, I observed two men in matching polo shirts carrying Elizabeth's Louis Vuitton trunks up the grand limestone stairs leading to the entrance. I knew better than to question why she required ten trunks for just two months. Soon enough, I would unpack them and discover countless pairs of shoes, piles of dresses, and everything else Elizabeth deemed necessary for her two months of rest and seclusion. My plan had been to have the movers finish their tasks and unpack everything before her arrival. However, the sound of an engine rumbling up the driveway shattered that notion. If there was one thing Elizabeth could be counted on, it was her unpredictability. A white SUV, larger than life, came to a stop in the circular drive, directly in front of me at the base of the stairway. The passenger door swung open, and Elizabeth emerged, her platinum locks cascading in the sunlight. Her vibrant green eyes met mine, and a genuine smile lit up her face. "Summer, darling, you're here!" Her heels clicked against the cobblestone driveway as she glided toward me, as graceful as ever. She enveloped me in a warm embrace, the scent of her perfume creating a cloud around us. She pressed her cheek against mine, alternating sides and leaving a soft kiss with each movement. "I knew I could count on you to have everything under control. We arrived earlier than expected, but I couldn't wait to get started. This place is beyond magnificent!" "Just wait until you see the inside," I replied, returning her hug. "I haven't unpacked your trunks yet, but I've taken care of shopping, supervised the cleaning service, and double-checked the sleeping arrangements. Once we settle in, I'll give you a tour. However, I haven't received confirmation from the security team. We need to go over the system." Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. "The security team will arrive later this afternoon. We can discuss it then. For now, let's focus on settling in. These two gentlemen will suffice." She gestured towards the hulking figures in suits who had emerged from the SUV. Ignoring their presence, she looked up at her new home. "This place is like a dream. I had no idea it even existed. Show me around; I have a feeling these next few months are going to be absolutely wonderful." Looping her arm through mine, we ascended the stairs together. Room by room, we explored Rycroft Castle, and Elizabeth's delighted smile made all the hard work worthwhile. The lavishness of Rycroft Castle suited her perfectly. When I revealed the expansive master suite, her delight was palpable. Only in a house like this could all ten trunks be unpacked, leaving ample space in the closet. "Now, where will you be?" she asked. "I didn't bring everyone, just Jeffrey and Odette. But there will be occasional visitors during our stay. I have combat training for the movie, and my acting coach will come a few times to work on the script. Aside from that, I want peace and quiet. I need tranquility." I reached out, squeezing Elizabeth's hand in understanding. Over the past year, she had endured a bitter divorce. Her husband, also an actor, had experienced a string of box-office failures and sought solace in alcohol and other women.Elizabeth rarely spoke about Brayden Ross, but their love had once been palpable. Desperate to salvage their failing marriage, he had entered rehab, quit drinking, and vowed to remain faithful. However, Elizabeth's hope came crashing down when she saw tabloid photos of Brayden with a young ingénue half-naked on his lap. Just days later, she made a decision - she would leave California, escape the clutches of Hollywood, and most importantly, leave Brayden behind. Brayden didn't take her departure lightly. He vehemently denied any wrongdoing, insisting that the pictures were misleading. But Elizabeth had reached her breaking point. She blocked his number and hired extra security to ensure her safety. Rycroft Castle, a magnificent residence, spared no expense when it came to security. However, Elizabeth wanted more. She demanded round-the-clock security while she stayed there, seeking solace and peace away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi and the clutches of Brayden. I guided Elizabeth through the opulent halls of Rycroft Castle, leading her to a secluded wing away from the main area. This wing, originally intended for staff or less esteemed guests, boasted six elegantly-appointed bedrooms. One for me, one for the head of security, two for Jeffrey and Odette, and the remaining two for any additional staff. Even in this less prestigious wing, Rycroft Castle displayed its grandeur. Plush carpets, silk drapes, and marble bathrooms adorned each room. I couldn't help but feel spoiled in this luxurious setting. Our wing also featured a cozy sitting room at the end of the hallway, complete with a large-screen television, comfortable couches, and a kitchen equipped with top-of-the-line appliances and a wet bar. It seemed that even the staff at Rycroft Castle lived better than me, and I wasn't exactly living in squalor. "Darling, have you arranged for lunch?" Elizabeth asked, her voice filled with anticipation. Despite her strict diet, she never missed a meal. Her love for food was one of the things I admired about her. Maintaining the facade of a renowned actress required immense effort and discipline. Elizabeth had both. Vanity fueled her motivation, but I had witnessed her relish every bite of a cheeseburger, even if she only ate half. Leading her back to the main section of the castle, we made our way to the kitchens. The cook and two housekeepers had arrived the previous day, settling into their rooms above the garage. As we entered the kitchen, the cook, a plump woman in her sixties with gray hair, blushed upon seeing Elizabeth. Accustomed to celebrities making people nervous, Elizabeth quickly put her at ease with a warm smile and a handshake. She thanked the cook for taking on the challenge of her dietary requirements and expressed her gratitude for her patience. I knew the cook had initially scowled at the list of demands, but Elizabeth's smile melted away any reservations. The cook gushed with delight at the opportunity to cook for Elizabeth Washington. She promised to exceed Elizabeth's expectations with every meal. After expressing our gratitude, I inquired about the timing of lunch. The cook assured us that it would be ready in half an hour. Elizabeth decided we would dine in the main dining room, and with another radiant smile, she left the kitchen, leaving behind a lingering scent of her perfume. I followed, ticking off tasks on my to-do list as I went. Tour for Elizabeth. Done. Introduce her to staff. Done. Unpack trunks. TBD. Lunch. In 30 minutes. Meeting with security. Time undetermined. "When are we meeting with security?" I asked. Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. "Sometime after lunch," she replied absentmindedly. "I need to check my phone. They've been texting me. They assured me that the property is secure. I'll wander around until lunch." I understood the signal to leave. It suited me just fine; I had trunks to unpack. "I'll start with the unpacking and join you in the dining room for lunch." "Fine," Elizabeth responded, already engrossed in her phone. I made my way up the stairs, hoping to make progress on organizing her closet before our meal. I managed to tackle three trunks filled with shoes and daywear before the cook called us to lunch. As we finished our meal, Elizabeth's phone chimed with an alert. A secretive smile played on her lips as she read the message. "The security team has arrived," she murmured with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "This should be interesting." Finally, the moment we had been waiting for - the meeting with security. Uncharacteristically, Elizabeth had insisted on handling all the arrangements herself. She rejected any assistance I offered, leaving me in the dark about her motives. I should have pressed for answers or demanded an explanation, but instead, I allowed Elizabeth to take the reins. After all, I was handsomely paid to make sure her wishes were fulfilled. Little did I know that this decision would soon leave me feeling queasy.
Chapter Five
My heart plummeted, the weight of disappointment settling in my chest. I should have anticipated this outcome. How could I have deluded myself into thinking that Elizabeth would bring her team from L.A.? She was an Atlanta native, after all. It made perfect sense for her to have ties with the Jenkinss, especially since Jenkins Security was renowned for being the best in the business. While her security on the West Coast was managed by Nicholas' brother Joshua, it seemed that Nicholas himself would be taking charge here. His ice-blue eyes bore into mine, impenetrable and fixed. A stray lock of dark hair tumbled onto his forehead, tempting me to reach out and brush it away. I longed to run my thumb over the grooves beside his mouth, but resisted the urge. He appeared exhausted, the harsh July sun casting a revealing light on his face. I wondered when he had last slept. Despite his tan, there was a paleness beneath it, a weariness that tugged at my concern. But I quickly dismissed it. His fatigue was not my problem. It had never been my problem. I briefly caught sight of his full lower lip before averting my gaze. Nicholas Jenkins had been a constant thorn in my side ever since we first crossed paths. I fought against the gnashing of my teeth, summoning every ounce of professionalism within me. With an even, composed voice, I addressed him, "I assume you're here to represent our security team?" Nicholas' lips curved into that disarming smile that had women swooning from coast-to-coast. Not me, though. Not anymore. "Simmons. I almost forgot you worked for Elizabeth." "Liar," I retorted, my tone devoid of any inflection. I despised it when he called me Simmons. He knew very well that I had been working for Elizabeth while he had been investigating me. There was no chance he had genuinely forgotten. From behind Nicholas, a voice spoke up. "Ev, the girl's got your number. Are you going to get out of the way or should we conduct this meeting on the steps?" I stepped back, allowing them to enter the house. Nicholas brushed past me, and his companion took his place, extending his hand with a grin. I shook it, meeting a pair of playful sea-green eyes. He was slightly shorter than Nicholas but still towered over me, his broad shoulders, sandy hair, and stubbled jaw exuding a rugged charm. A distinct bump on the bridge of his nose, accompanied by a scar running over it, hinted at a previous injury that only added to his roguish appeal. Handsome would be an understatement; he was downright captivating. Unfortunately, he didn't ignite any spark within me. Since the fiasco with Nicholas, I had lost all interest in men, even those as attractive as him. "I've heard all about you, Summer Simmons," he said, winking mischievously. It became immediately clear that he was well aware of what had transpired between Nicholas and me, likely familiar with every detail from my file. Before I could grow irritated, he offered his arm, guiding my hand onto it, and began leading me towards the house. Ignoring Nicholas, he smiled down at me and drawled, "I'm Russell Cox. I'll be working alongside Nicholas on this assignment. This place is incredible, isn't it? We installed the original security system and I saw it during construction, but I haven't been back since. It's such a shame that it remains empty most of the time. Should we convene in the front parlor?" He didn't wait for my response, leading me down the hall towards the formal living room. Nicholas trailed behind us, scowling at Russell. "You don't have to show her the way to the parlor," he grumbled under his breath. "She knows where it is." Russell glanced back, his eyes meeting Nicholas' with a sly grin. "I'm a gentleman, unlike some people." Nicholas responded with a low growl. I paid him no mind. The corner of Russell's mouth curled up, and he directed his gaze towards me, our eyes locking before he closed one in a slow wink. It caught me off guard, and I barely managed to stifle my own grin in response. It seemed that Russell was ready to toy with his friend. I couldn't fathom why Nicholas would care if Russell flirted with me, but I relished any opportunity to provoke him. Casting him out of my condo had been a mere fraction of the punishment he deserved for his betrayal. If I had the chance to rile him up, I wouldn't hesitate. Elizabeth entered the room, her arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture and a radiant smile gracing her pink lips. "Nicholas. Nicholas Jenkins. Darling, it's been far too long," she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms. Her hands linked behind his neck as she pulled him down for a lingering kiss right on the mouth. I averted my gaze, a burning ache spreading through my chest as their lips met. Nicholas' hand rested on her back, her fingers caressing his neck. My stomach churned with unease. He was never mine. He had never been mine. And Elizabeth was my boss. Russell cleared his throat, catching Elizabeth's attention for the first time. "Well, aren't you straight out of a movie. Rugged and handsome. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting," Elizabeth remarked, offering Russell a prolonged, appreciative smile. She extended her hand, which Russell took in both of his, bowing low over it in a chivalrous gesture that should have appeared comical but instead seemed graceful. "Russell Cox, ma'am. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." "Oh, no need for formalities. Just call me Elizabeth. We're all going to get to know each other quite well. No need to stand on ceremony," Elizabeth replied with a touch of horror creeping into my mind. I desperately hoped that the room I had reserved upstairs for the head of security was intended for Russell. For now, though, I silently cursed Elizabeth for keeping me out of the loop regarding the security arrangements.The undeniable chemistry between her and Nicholas was palpable. She exuded friendliness and affection, but she wasn't the type to kiss a man she had just met. She had kept her security plans under wraps, perhaps to ensure both safety and companionship. Just the thought of them meeting in her room made bile rise in my throat. I couldn't bear the thought of hearing their voices from across the hall. I suppressed the urge to vomit and swallowed hard. Of course, they would meet in her room. After all, she was the princess, and it was unlikely that she would go to him. Elizabeth gestured towards the two white sofas flanking the cold fireplace and said, "Let's discuss the arrangements before we indulge in any pleasure." We took our seats, with Elizabeth beside Nicholas and me beside Russell. As Elizabeth leaned closer to Nicholas, her hand found its place on his knee, her long pink nails caressing his thigh. They exchanged murmured words that were indecipherable from where I sat. Russell turned to me and asked, "How long have you been working for Elizabeth?" "For a few years," I replied, confident that Russell was already well aware of my employment history with Elizabeth Washington. I couldn't fathom why he had asked until he inched closer to me, draping his arm over the back of the sofa and letting his fingers rest on my shoulder. Nicholas, with his ice-blue eyes, caught sight of Russell's movement and narrowed his gaze, a muscle tightening in his jaw. Russell's face bore a smirk, though I could only sense it rather than see it. "Is she going to cause us any trouble?" Russell inquired, his voice low enough to prevent the pair on the other couch from overhearing. "Hmm?" I responded, momentarily losing track of the conversation. "Elizabeth," Russell clarified in a hushed tone as we observed Nicholas engaging in an intimate conversation with the client, their words just beyond our reach. "Oh, no. I don't think she will," I assured him. "She's usually level-headed, but the situation with Brayden has put her on edge." "Good. That's a relief. Nothing worse than a client who interferes," Russell remarked. His fingers grazed my shoulder once again. Nicholas kept his gaze fixed on Elizabeth, yet that muscle in his jaw twitched. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have subtly moved away from Russell's touch. He seemed pleasant enough, but it was too much physical contact for someone I had only just met. Nevertheless, I remained rooted to my spot. I knew he was touching me to provoke Nicholas, though I couldn't comprehend why. "Is she a good boss? Elizabeth?" Russell inquired quietly, ensuring that their conversation would not reach the other couch. "Usually," I replied in the same hushed tone. I pondered my response. She was an exceptional boss—generous, kind, and no more demanding than any other person in her position would be. So why did I feel the urge to stand up and leave the room? Why did it even matter? I was the one who had ended things with Nicholas. I didn't want him back. I truly didn't. In fact, I had never truly had him. He had been using and deceiving me. Whatever he had going on with Elizabeth was none of my concern. Thoughts of my mortgage payments and the new car I was saving up for flooded my mind. Elizabeth was generous and expected excellence, but leaving her side would be unprofessional. If there was one thing I excelled at, it was my job. I couldn't abandon her just because my not-really-an-ex-boyfriend jerk, Nicholas Jenkins, had reappeared. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I maintained the low, barely audible tone and replied, "She's great. Truly great. She may be a bit flamboyant and stubborn, but she's a good person. She's actually my favorite client," I added, genuinely meaning it. And I did mean it. I wouldn't let Nicholas Jenkins ruin a fantastic working relationship. Nicholas straightened up across from us, distancing himself slightly from Elizabeth and redirecting his attention towards Russell and me. "There's not much to discuss," he began. "We'll have security teams on the premises twenty-four seven. Two guards inside the house and another two patrolling the grounds and perimeter. The property is enclosed by walls, which simplifies our job. "We recently upgraded the motion sensor cameras and set up a control room on the lower level. Someone will be monitoring the screens at all times. No one will be able to trespass without us being aware of it." He turned to Elizabeth and said directly, "I strongly advise that you keep the alarm system activated while you're in the house." Elizabeth shook her head in defiance. "I won't do that. The gardens are beautiful, and I enjoy being outside." Nicholas muttered under his breath, "At least the pool is indoors. You won't leave the house without a guard. Is that understood?" "Understood," Elizabeth replied with a wry smile. "I don't want to feel like I'm imprisoned, Nicholas, but I'm not foolish either." Casting doubt on her own statement, she retrieved a folded piece of paper from her pocket. "I do have a challenge for all of you," she announced, offering a sweet smile to Nicholas before turning to me with sympathy. "Now, please don't hate me, but I've decided that we must have a party. A small gathering to welcome everyone home. Nothing extravagant." She met my gaze, accompanied by an apologetic shrug of her shoulder. "Summer, my dear, I know this is a lot to handle, but if anyone can make it happen, it's you." "No parties," Nicholas declared firmly. I stifled a laugh. He glared at me. "Is there a problem, Simmons?" "No, no problem," I assured him. There was indeed a problem, but it wasn't me.
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