“So, Spring Mountain Nursing Home, huh? Not a place I would’ve pegged you to visit on a Sunday.”

Since they’d walked into Brett’s house fifteen minutes ago, he’d done just about everything possible to avoid sitting down and talking to her. If she was honest with herself, she’d much rather be curled up on her own couch, decompressing after a stressful few days, before attempting to prepare for even more stress filled days.

“I’m not familiar with the nursing home.”

Oh, he so did not just do that. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lie to me, Brett.”

“Why do you think I’m lying?”

This was going to be tricky. What she’d done wasn’t unethical and she’d done it with previous clients. The difference between then and now had been, she’d told the clients what she planned on doing. She hadn’t mentioned it to Brett. “Well, you see, I installed an app on your phone at one of our planning meetings, and connected it to my phone so we can both see where the other one is.”

Brett shot out from the chair he was sitting in and turned his eyes onto her. They resembled ice chips. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. You did what exactly?”

Cassandra sighed. She deserved his anger. “You heard me.”

“I can’t believe you did that. Isn’t that an invasion of privacy or something?”

“I suppose it is, but it’s something I do with all my clients. I can see where they are and they can see where I am. It’s helped a couple times when clients have found themselves lost or caught in a compromising position. Or if I’m running late, they were able to see how far away I was. Plus our contract states that we can do whatever means necessary to ensure the safety and wellbeing of our clients.

His hands clenched and unclenched at his side. “I don’t like it,” he ground out. “I want you to remove it from my phone, now. Once you’ve done that, you can see yourself the hell out. I don’t owe you any explanations. My private life is that—private.”

He went to walk away, but she got up and moved quickly, reaching out to grab his arm.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Your private life is plastered all over the press. It’s not me who’s done that—it’s you. You’re the one who’s done a bang-up job of getting your every move reported in the press. Plus, you left without a word last night. You weren’t answering my calls or my texts. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

“That I’m a grown ass man who can look after myself?”

“If you didn’t have your track record, I might believe that. But given your tendency to attract trouble, I’d prefer to keep tabs on you.”

Cassandra was pretty sure that if she were a man she’d be lying flat on her back. The anger radiated out from Brett like the heat blast from an explosion. His hands curled into fists again.

“What about the past few weeks? Haven’t I proven that you can trust me to do the right thing? I haven’t let you down at all.”

“No, up until last night, you hadn’t. What I think last night told me was, you’re a man who’s running from something. And I’m pretty sure where you were this morning is a big part of what you’re running from.”

His shoulders dropped as though the tension had been released out of him like air escaping a tire. In that moment, she knew she’d hit her mark. The question was, would he share with her what he was running from or would he keep running?

Out on the porch when he’d kissed her, she’d sensed his desperation. His need to connect with someone. Slowly, she was beginning to understand Brett was more complex than the bad boy persona he showed the world. He was someone who’d seen or experienced pain, and that pain had defined the path he now walked down.

"Talk to me, Brett."

"I don't have anything more to say to you."

His tone might suggest he was done talking to her. The desolate look in his eyes suggested differently.

Knowing what she was about to do was going to cross that professional line she'd told him not half an ago they couldn't cross. Cassandra walked over to where he stood, resolute like a brick wall.

She laid a hand on his cheek, the flesh jumping beneath her fingertips. "I think there’s a lot you need to talk about, but don't want to. It may help you if you do. A problem shared is a problem halved, so they say."

For a moment, she thought she’d penetrated his steely resolve. But then he turned away.

“There’s nothing I need to talk about. And if I did, I’d think twice about sharing it with you.”

Cassandra inwardly flinched at his words, his lack of trust cutting deep. As though she’d been slapped, it hit her why he didn’t want to talk to her. Her job was to improve his image. Which mean using everything at her fingertips to show the public Brett had changed. Even the show he was participating in was all about showing a different side to him. A side the public could relate to. No wonder he didn’t want to share anything personal with her. Not that she didn’t know pretty much everything about him. His agent had provided her with a comprehensive file about the life and times of Brett Hunter. What else could be in his past that he didn’t want to share? Whatever it was, she had to convince him that if he shared it with her, she wouldn’t say a word or use it to her advantage.

“I want you to know that you can trust me with whatever you tell me.”

He scoffed. “Says the woman who loaded a tracking app on my phone. Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you. I also know the moment the shit hits the fan, you’ll pull out anything to make it better.”

“Are you telling me things are going to get bad again? Do you have something planned that’s going to undo everything you’ve achieved over the last few weeks?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“Nothing. I’m worried about nothing.”

This back and forth volleying was annoying. Today was a day she wasn’t going to get any answers, but she would. And soon. “Fine. I get the message.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Finally.”

Exhaustion from a sleepless night and catching an early flight caught up with her. Not to mention the worry about if Brett was okay. She sank down on the couch. “I’d love some coffee if the offer of a drink still stands.”

If her complete about face surprised him, Brett didn’t show it. “Yeah, I think I can come up with some coffee.”

He left the room and Cassandra let out a breath. She may not have gotten to the bottom of what Brett had been doing at that nursing facility today, but she would. Whoever or whatever that place held was the key to Brett and the way he acted. She cared about him and, if he could let her in, she’d be able to help him. No matter how much he resisted her, she had to try.