Giorgio (Vigilance 1)

I maneuvered the car into a parking space near the shop.

Lane got plenty of looks as we walked down the street. Most of them were confused or curious. A few were appreciative. One man scowled, but my glare made him hurry away. No one was going to fuck with Lane. He was mine.

My client. My responsibility. I was supposed to protect him like this. It was my job.

You’ve never acted like this with other clients.

He is X’s son, so I need to be especially careful with him.

That’s why you were jackhammering his ass in the middle of the night?

I took very good care of him.

The asshole voice in my head mocked me as we stepped into the coffee shop. I looked around noting potential exits and studying the clientele.

The only people inside were a man in a suit, who I guessed worked at the local bank, a young woman with a toddler in a jogging stroller, and an elderly woman who was seated at a table by the window with a mystery novel. It wasn’t like I actually expected the man who’d come to the cabin to be there. Chances were he was from Boston if he’d been sent by Hendon.

“Tell me if you recognize anyone.” I kept my voice low as we approached the counter.

He nodded, but I wasn’t sure if he was paying attention. He seem transfixed by the menu hanging above the counter.

“They have everything,” he said.

The barista looked like she was in her late twenties. She had her long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a black apron over a floral dress.

“Just tell me what you like, and I can make something special for you.”

Lane turned to me, beaming. “Please tell me we can come here every day.”

“Fine.” If that was what it took to keep him out of trouble and make him accept the shitty cabin we were stuck in, then I could manage it.

He turned back to the barista. Something sweet and caramelly, please.”

“In other words, if you were at one of our competitors, you might order a caramel macchiato.”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

“Hot or iced?”

“Iced.”

“That’s my favorite too. Strong coffee flavor for you?”

He seem to consider that for a moment. “Kind of in the middle.”

“Lots of caramel?”

“Yes!”

“You got it, and I promise you’re going to like my version better. I love your jacket by the way.”

Lane petted the soft fabric, and I couldn’t help but notice how sexy his gesture was. He was way too fucking adorable.

“Thank you. It’s my favorite.”

“I can see why.” The barista looked at me. “And for you, sir?”

“Just a black coffee. Thank you.”

Lane looked back at me and rolled his eyes. “You can be more creative than that.”

I sighed. “I’ll have an iced mocha.”

“See?” Lane said. “I knew you must like some stuff that wasn’t boring.”

“I like you, don’t I?” I muttered under my breath.

Lane turned, eyes wide. Had he heard me? Had I wanted him to?

“You vacationing around here?” the barista asked.

Lane looked uncertain about how to answer, so I responded. “We are. We rented a cabin for a few weeks.”

“If you need any suggestions about things to do or places to eat, just let me know. I’m Cathy, by the way, and we’ve got a great local business association here.”

“That’s fantastic,” Lane said. “Do you have a favorite gallery where I could buy some locally-made art?”

I gave him a sharp look, wanting to remind him not to give too much information about himself.

“My aunt was really hoping we’d bring her something back, and she loves supporting local artists.” Apparently he remembered.

Cathy smiled. “Of course. There are lots of options, but my favorite is just down the street. It’s called Marshall Street Emporium, but they’re not open today. They’re only open Wednesday through Saturday.”

“We’ll try to come back then. Thank you.”

She rang us up, and Lane insisted on paying. He was the client and normally that would be standard procedure, but for some reason I wanted to step in and take over. Hell, I always wanted to step in and take over with him. I wanted to do everything for him—and to him. I wanted him to surrender, but while he loved that in bed, I knew better than to try it elsewhere unless his safety was in question. If I needed to protect him, I would step in and override him, no matter what. I wasn’t going to let anyone or anything hurt him.

“What’s wrong?” Lane asked.

Shit. I couldn’t even remember to keep my expression neutral around him. “Nothing. I was just thinking about”—I glanced at Cathy—“work.”

“Yeah, your work is pretty stressful.”

I gave him a pointed look. “It sure is hell is.”

We sat at one of the small tables, and Cathy brought our drinks over a few minutes later. “I hope you enjoy them, but if you don’t, let me know and I’ll make you something else.”