Chapter Ten
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I can’t say I’m surprised Hart’s symbol I’ve made for him pops up on my cell screen a few days later. I’d been hoping he’d call but worried he wouldn’t. He’s had more time to think about the fact that my life is kink and he doesn’t think he’s into “that, uh, stuff,” and it wasn’t while I was distracting him with the head of his life.
Absurd. Thinking about it makes me roll my eyes, but it’s best to leave people some space around these things, let them come to you instead of reeling them in like a fish on a hook. Especially a man like Hart.
I answer the phone as I would for anyone else, confident he won’t be wasted at…the watch India gave me for my birthday last year says quarter after eleven. Which means, much as I’d like to take the time to chat with Allie, no can do. I’ve got a client in an hour, and I have to go to them. Fuck do I hate driving out to Silicon Valley. Maybe I’ll have Matthew drive me…
“What can I do for you, Hart?”
“You can mind your own goddamn business you manipulative, meddling son of a bitch.”
Ah. Perhaps I’ve miscalculated. I lean back in my office chair, crossing an ankle over a knee and rubbing the bridge of my nose.
“First, I’m rather attached to my mother, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disparage her. She’s quite lovely. I’m sure you’d like her if you met her.”
Yes, she and Hart would get along well. Once he got past the Chanel suit she’d probably be wearing and the perfectly coiffed hair and manicured nails, anyway. Likely both would give me crap until I turned into a twitchy pile of gelatin, and then they’d love me up until I forgave them. Note to self: never let those two into the same room. Although judging by how ticked off Hart sounds, it’s unlikely I’ll be finding myself in the same room as him anytime soon, if ever again.
“Second, I’ll cop to the manipulative, but I prefer the term managing. Sounds less…evil. I can assure you my intentions are entirely magnanimous. Third, meddling makes me sound like someone’s nosey grandmother. Might we go with officious instead?”
There’s silence on the other end, and I wonder briefly if he’s hung up on me. Then there’s a low grumble, and I think not. “I’m not looking for a fucking vocabulary lesson, you goddamn walking thesaurus.”
Even though he can’t see me, I try to limit the smile breaking over my face because surely he’d be able to hear it in my speech. “Then you called because?”
“I got a call this morning. From Loch Security.”
“Oh?”
“Fuck your oh, Walter.”
I have to pinch my nose shut so I don’t snort. He couldn’t sound more like India if he’d met her, taken lessons, and practiced an imitation for hours. Though the “Walter” piques me. I’ve told him to call me Rey.
“They offered me a job. Out of the blue. For four times as much money as I ever made in the military, plus benefits. Why did they do that?”
“A friend of mine works there.” By “works there,” I mean owns it and several other security companies. Details. “She’s always looking for good people. I thought of you.”
“I don’t need—” He huffs out a violent breath like he’s trying to control his temper. I want to tell him he doesn’t need to. He can rage at me all he likes. In fact, I’d like him to. I want to see every inch of him, every ugly, violent, crass impulse. Until I don’t. Then I’d ask him to stop and he would. I can handle him no matter what he has to throw at me. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need your charity. I don’t take handouts.”
“I’d hardly call this a handout. It’s not as though you’d be sitting in an office doing nothing all day.”
Though I’d prefer that, knowing he’s safe. Not out on the street, toting a gun, being paid to step in between some Hollywood star and danger. And they do attract the crazies—oh yes, they do.
“I don’t care. I need to do these things on my own. If the best I can get is a few weeks on a construction site, that’s what I’m going to do. I’d rather sleep in my truck by making an honest living than live like a king because some guy who wants to tie me up and all kinds of other weird shit got me a job.”
“I didn’t make those calls because I want to fuck you, Hart—”
“Calls?” he splutters. “More than one?”
“Yes. Several. I wanted…I wanted to help. It was easy for me to do something kind for you.”
“That’s why you can’t. Don’t you understand? I’ve had to rely on other people’s good opinions to live before, and I don’t want to do it again.” That catches me up. What does that mean? I suppose that’s true for all of us to some extent, but it sounds as if Hart’s been under the weight of that more than most people.
Has he been thinking more about what it would mean to submit to me? If he has… Yes, I can see how being at another person’s mercy for so much would be disconcerting. Some people find relief and comfort in it, and some, like Hart, would feel hemmed in, overwhelmed, subjugated. That’s not what I want from him at all. I’d like a chance to explain all, that but before I can get one, he bites out, “So you can take your good intentions and shove them.”
Then there’s a click. Goodbye, Allie.