Page 16 of Wrecked (McIntyre Security Bodyguard #16)

Monday morning, I’m standing near the entrance of Clancy’s waiting for Beth to arrive. Nine o’clock comes and goes, so it looks like Princess is running late this morning. I’ll give her five more minutes before I call and check on her.

I glance down at my hands. My knuckles are looking much better—just pink now instead of bright red. I took the bandages off this morning so it wasn’t quite so obvious I’d lost a round with a punching bag. I didn’t want to have to explain to Beth what happened.

While I’m waiting for Beth to arrive, my phone chimes with an incoming message.

Cooper: How’s it going?

Fuck that! He acts like nothing happened between us. I delete the message.

At twenty past nine, Beth and Lia pull up to the front of the building in a cab. Beth looks a bit harried as she rushes into the building. “I’m late,” she says as she passes me and heads for the stairs.

I follow her to the employee lounge, where she clocks in and puts her purse in her locker. Then we rush back downstairs to the sales counter, where Erin’s checking out a customer.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Beth says as she steps in and takes over for Erin.

“No problem,” Erin says gently, patting Beth’s shoulder. “I don’t think Vanessa noticed.”

The three of us are crowded behind the sales counter as Erin observes Beth going through the check-out process.

I stand a few feet away, leaning against a bookcase and pretending to be engrossed in a random book I pulled off the shelves behind us.

It turns out to be a book on military history, which I guess is fitting.

I’m doing my best to stay out of their way and not draw any attention to myself.

The Dragon Lady, herself, dressed in a tight, pin-striped pencil skirt and white silk blouse, walks up to the counter. “Ms. Jamison, how nice of you to join us.”

Beth smiles at the woman. “Good morning, Vanessa. I’m sorry I was late.”

“Don’t let it happen again.” The witch’s eyes shift to my direction. “Please don’t handle the merchandise, Mr. Harrison. This isn’t a public library.”

Beth stiffens. “Vanessa, can I speak with you? In private.”

“I’ll be in my office when your shift is over. Come see me then.”

As the Dragon Lady walks away, Erin and Beth both turn their empathetic glances to me. I roll my eyes at Beth, who laughs. God, I love making that girl laugh. Erin tries hard not to laugh, but she can’t help it.

The rest of the morning is pretty uneventful, except for Vanessa periodically coming downstairs from her throne to spy on Beth.

I honestly don’t know why Beth doesn’t simply fire Vanessa.

I mean, if Beth is the owner of the store, surely she gets the final say in everything, including who works here.

I get a couple more texts from Cooper.

Cooper: About Friday night. I thought I was pretty clear upfront.

I ignore him.

Cooper: I never meant to deceive you. Or hurt you. I told you how it was going to be.

I delete his messages, put my phone away, and find another book to pass the time with. This one is a sci-fi.

When Lia comes to pick Beth up at the allotted time, I wonder how long this part-time babysitting gig is going to continue.

I can just as easily pick Beth up at the penthouse in the mornings and take her home in the afternoons.

I won’t need to worry about running into Cooper because he’ll be at the shooting range.

* * *

Beth is ringing up another customer when Erin comes to tell her there’s a reporter from The Chicago Scoop asking to interview Beth.

“He wants to see me?” she asks. “Why?”

A stocky guy in jeans and a button-down shirt approaches the counter. He’s got a digital camera slung around his neck. Smiling, he takes a few shots of Beth standing behind the counter.

“What does he want with me?” Beth hisses at Erin.

Apparently, this guy is doing a piece on local women business owners, and Beth caught his attention.

“All right. I’ll talk to him,” Beth says.

Erin takes over for Beth as Beth walks out from behind the counter.

Whoa, sister, slow down. “Hold up, Beth. Do you know this guy?”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

The reporter extends his hand to Beth, and they shake. He gives me a quick once-over, then dismisses me entirely. “Derek Sanderson,” he says to Beth. “ Chicago Scoop. Can I have a few minutes of your time?”

I don’t like this guy.

“Sure,” Beth says. “Why don’t we sit down in the café?”

The two of them take a seat at a table for two in the café. I sit at an adjacent table so I can get eyes on both of them.

After he sets his camera and phone on the table, the reporter starts asking Beth questions about how she came to be the new owner of Clancy’s Bookshop. He turns on a mini voice recorder to capture their conversation.

When he starts asking a lot of personal questions about who her boyfriend is and how long they’ve been dating, Beth is becoming increasingly uncomfortable with his line of questioning.

Then he starts asking her questions about Andrew Morton, the kid who physically assaulted her a few months back when she worked in the medical school library.

This guy’s obviously trying to dig up some dirt.

Beth’s face is turning red, and she looks at me as she shoots to her feet. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work now.”

Sanderson picks up his camera. “Wait. Do you mind if I take some more photos?”

I’ve had enough. Obviously, the guy’s here to harass Beth. I grab the camera from him.

“Hey!” Sanderson says, trying to snatch back his camera. “You can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can. This is private property.” I remove the data card and slip it into my pocket. Then I hand him back his camera. “You’ll get your data card back after we’ve deleted the images of Ms. Jamison.”

The reporter continues to whine and complain.

I tell him to forget writing an article about Beth. “You got that? No article, no photos. Ms. Jamison is completely off limits to you.”

A pissed-off Sanderson turns off his digital recorder. Then he slings his camera strap over his neck and glares at me. “We’ll see about that, asshole! Ever heard of freedom of the press?”

I watch as Sanderson storms off toward the exit.

Crisis averted.

* * *

Friday evening, I find myself sitting at home, alone. It’s been a full week since I saw Cooper. A week since we fucked. That’s what I’m calling it because that’s all it was—fucking. There was nothing more to it, at least not on his part. There was for me. Or, at least I hoped there was.

I haven’t seen him since, and I probably will never see him again. Maybe we’ll cross paths at the company picnic. We can ignore each other and pretend we’ve never met.

Why does that hurt so much?

I decide I’ll play some video games, something violent, anything to keep my mind off my nonexistent love life. But first, I go to the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer. On my way back to the living room, there’s a knock on my door.

It’s probably Liam or one of the other guys, coming to invite me to another guy’s night out. I appreciate being included, but I don’t feel like going out tonight.

When I peer out through the peephole, my heart slams into my ribs. It’s not one of the guys. It’s Cooper, in the flesh, standing there looking very serious and not the least bit happy.

I freeze as my pulse starts racing.

I can’t go through this again. This back-and-forth is giving me whiplash.

He knocks again, harder this time.

I open the door and glare at him, words caught in my throat.

He gives me a curt nod. “Hello, Sam.”

“What are you doing here?” I’m kind of proud of myself for not falling to pieces at the sight of him.

Because he looks amazing. Angry, but amazing. He’s dressed up for a change in black trousers and a white button-down shirt. The top two buttons at his collar are open, revealing the strong, tanned column of his neck. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms.

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly.

He’s keeping his volume down, and it occurs to me he’s talking quietly so he doesn’t draw attention to his presence on this floor.

Because that would be awkward, wouldn’t it?

I shake my head. “No. There’s nothing to talk about.”

He winces as if I slapped him. “Sam.”

When he takes a step forward, I lay a hand on his chest and push him back over the threshold. “I said no.” My voice sounds surprisingly firm. “Do us both a favor and stay the hell away from me.”

And then I close the door in his face and throw the deadbolt.

Breathlessly, I wait, expecting him to knock again. One minute passes, then two, but I hear nothing. I finally dare to look through the peephole, only to find that he’s gone.

My heart sinks and my stomach knots painfully. I should be glad he’s gone. I don’t want to jump back on the roller coaster of emotional whiplash with him again.

I should be glad he listened, but I’m not.

My chest aches instead.

* * *

The next morning, intending to head down to the fitness room to get in a much-needed workout, I open my door to find a round metal tin on my welcome mat. My heart leaps in my chest, careening against my ribs as I pick it up. I glance down the hall, but I don’t see anyone.

Back in my apartment, I close the door and open the tin. Inside are homemade chocolate chip cookies layered neatly on round sheets of parchment paper. There’s a small piece of white paper on top, folded in half.

I open the note and read the handwritten message.

I’m sorry.

He didn’t sign it, but then he didn’t need to. Who else would leave me cookies? And who else has a reason to apologize to me?

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I set the tin on the coffee table and sink down onto the sofa. Pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes, I attempt to stop the flow of tears.

Damn him for making me cry. Again.