Page 45 of Damaged Desires

“I’m not.”

I crossed my hands over my chest. “What do you mean, you’re not? If you went through their plans, then you’ve done yourduty. Go back and figure out how to fix your own life.”

He didn’t rise to the bait I’d laid out. His position mimicked mine—arms over his chest, making the muscles and tattoos on his arms flex.

“Are you leaving?” he asked.

I scoffed. “Why would I leave?”

“Because it isn’t safe. Last night you were collateral damage.”

“I’m not quitting,” I said, gritting my teeth. Last night had been awful. It had triggered my feelings of powerlessness and caused my emotions to run rampant in the elevator. It had brought back all the feelings I’d hated most after Fenway’s attack. But I hadn’t backed down when he’d originally assaulted me, and I certainly wasn’t going to back down now when I’d accidentally been hit by firecrackers aimed at my friend. I’d support Brady any way I could. Skittering away like a mouse with a light shined on it was not me.

I wasn’t a mouse.

The muscle in his cheek flexed as if he were trying to hold back the words he wanted to say.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“This isn’t a poker game, Athena,” he said, pushing on my button just like I’d tried to push his.

I stepped back and let the door shut in his face before I said something I’d regret. I was fuming on the inside. Fuming that he’d used the poker game against me. Fuming that he’d asked me to quit. Fuming that I’d let Fenway impact me again. Fuming that someone who had worked for Brady was now threatening him.

I let my emotions drive me through the pile of work I had to do, trying to shake off the negative press. I was limited in what I could say because of the nondisclosure agreement, especially when I hadn’t even been fully read in on it myself. I spent an inordinate amount of time on scheduling social media posts for the next few days, looking over the list of VIPs for the next day’s concert, and pretty much redotting my i’s and recrossing my t’s.

After I’d done as much as I could, I ordered room service and turned on the TV. My phone rang, and I saw, with surprise, that it was Bee.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” she said back, and then silence drifted over us. I loved Bee, but we didn’t really have the kind of relationship where we called and told each other everything. Mac and Georgie were the people I opened up to the most. I’d always had a shield up with Bee because she’d been hurtful with her words more than not. Because she’d never defended me to her friends or the people in her life, starting in high school all the way to her husband, Thomas, who enjoyed being snitty at my expense.

“You okay?” I finally asked when she hadn’t said anything and the quiet became painful.

“Me? I’m fine. I was actually calling to see if you were okay.”

Surprise wafted over me. “You were?”

More silence, and then she said, “I feel like I pushed you into this job, and now you got hurt.”

I almost had to smile because it was really Bee making it about her again, trying to lessen her own guilt. I said, “You didn’t push me into this job. You didn’t even know about it.”

“But I was all over you to get a job.”

She had been.

“You just wanted what was best for me,” I told her, swallowing back my initial reactions.

“I did. I do. Are you going to be okay?”

The last thing I wanted was my family to continue to worry about me. “I am. Nash is down here fixing the security problems.”

“Nash?”

I rolled my eyes. “You know, Mac’s SEAL buddy.”

“Is he the blond or the dark, tattooed one?” Bee asked, and I wanted to strangle her for not knowing. For not remembering that the blond she was talking about was dead and that she’d just had drinks with his widow barely a month ago. For not remembering that the “dark one” had barely escaped with his own life.

“The tattooed one,” I retorted drily. “He’s the one that didn’t come home in a body bag.”