CHAPTER 39
EMILY
He stayed at my house when our work schedules dovetailed with Phin and Brenda’s. He and Fabian quietly worked out scheduling with Carlos so that when Carter was around, Fabian wasn’t. I was still Fabian’s principal. Even though Carter insisted he was useless as my bodyguard as long as we were sleeping together, doubling up seemed ridiculous as well as uncomfortable.
“Are you in trouble?” I asked one morning after he hung up with Fabian. “For sleeping with a client?”
“Only a little.”
I didn’t want to hear that, but I needed to.
“What does ‘a little’ mean?” I bent over to get my heel into my shoe.
“It means he fired me—”
“What?” I almost fell over.
He caught me and pulled me up, holding me steady until my foot slipped into my sneaker. Was I supposed to give him up so he could work? Was that the ethical thing to do? I wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
“I talked him off a ledge,” he said.
“How?”
“I told him how incredible you are.” He shrugged as if it was nothing and my incredibleness was a blue sky or wet rain.
“Why would that make a difference?”
“It means you’re not a fling. We should go or we’re going to be late.”
Over the next two weeks, I figured if I was going to be trapped in a cage, I could do a lot worse than Carter Kincaid. My life wasn’t my own, but I didn’t want for sexual satisfaction. He took care of my every need, held me close, talked and laughed with me in the night, tickled me, stroked me, sighed in my ear. He watched me as if he wanted to eat me alive, which seemed possible because I was alive. I didn’t realize how lonely I’d been until Carter found me.
The birds sang their improvisational jazz of notes, and the morning sun cut through the slit in the curtains. I reached for his pillow and buried my face in it. It smelled like a certain midsummer morning. Me on my bike telling Mommy I wanted to go to Darlene’s. She sent a cab for my friend instead, and we played on the block (no farther—do not cross the street by yourself) picking up dud bottle rockets that had flown over the roofs the night before. It was the memory of the fifth of July, when the air smelled of crackling fire and unexpected treasures, the scent of endless possibilities and Carter Kincaid.
When I got to the kitchen, he was laying out eggs, toast, and yogurt with the granola from the pantry. He held my chair out for me, then sat across the little breakfast table.
“Sunday morning suits you.” He flipped the Tapatío against the heel of his hand and unscrewed the cap. He liked his eggs spicy, so I’d stocked up on hot sauce.
“What does that mean?”
“Saying you look fucking gorgeous seems like I’m exaggerating—even if it’s true.”
I pressed the side of my fork into my egg. The yolk was wet, with a fold of gooiness in the center, but not enough to create a flow onto the whites.
“Perfect,” I said. “Again. I wish you’d let me watch you make them.”
“Then you’d know my secret.” He slid his fork into his mouth, and the gesture seemed so fluid and masculine I could barely swallow.
“I might just turn one of the cameras on you one of these mornings.”
“Good luck with that. What do you have planned for today?”
“Why?”
“I just spoke to Carlos. Fabian’s with Darlene. He’s got someone else to work with. So I’m going to coordinate with you.”
He was all business. I loved how seriously he took his job.
“Okay, first of all, does Fabian ever take a day off?”
“Nope. The thing is, I have something to do with Phin.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere today.”
He looked at me suspiciously. “Nothing?”
“Really. Go do your thing with Phin. If I want to go grocery shopping or something, I’ll do it when you get back. Or I’ll get delivery. Whatever.”
“I should be back by four.”
“That’s a long day.” I blurted it out before I thought it through. I sounded judgmental and, worse, I sounded like I was trying to get information out of him. “Sorry.”
He shook his head and waved away the apology.
“It’s a robotics tournament. I’ll be in a gym all day cheering for a robot to pick up a ball.”
“A big robot?”
“No. It’s on a table. They program the robots to push things and pick them up. It’s . . . We get all wound up like it’s a football game.”
“Without the concussions.”
He smiled over the rim of his cup, and for a moment I imagined us eating breakfast on any given morning, preparing for our day. Phin would chatter at us, and Brenda would insist I call her Brenda. I’d be sore from the previous night, and he’d make eyes at me across the table.
I imagined a life with people around me. People who loved me. Noise. Talking. Plans and preparations around each other. A life that buzzed with love.
I didn’t picture it as unsafe. I didn’t feel the lockdown. Didn’t make sure the imaginary doors were locked. The safety didn’t come from dead bolts, alarms, and closed-circuit monitors. The safety came from family.