“What?”
“That’s how Isaac’s mother died.”
“Oh.” My brow furrows. “Why did that make you stop running?”
“I don’t know. It was a car accident. There’s no reason for that to bother me.”
“But it does,” I supply.
“Yes, it does.”
My brow furrows. “You think it could have been murder?”
“No, but then again, I don’t know what the fuck to believe with this family or why this is bugging the fuck out of me. I need to think.” He grimaces and turns back to the treadmill, and restarts the machine. I don’t feel shut out. I want him to think. I want answers.
So I do the same. I turn my machine back on and start running, but there is no question, murder is in the air, and it wants to stay there.
***
Two hours later, we’re not only done with our workout, we’re showering together. We don’t tal
k about Isaac. We don’t fuck. We’re just together. We’re under the spray. We’re holding each other. He’s thinking. I sense this. I understand it. I feel that I need to give him the space to use that brain of his, that I have to be the person who understands when his mind takes over. This doesn’t take away from the intimacy, though. He’s present. He’s with me even when he’s in his own mind. If anything, our ability to be together and say nothing, deepens the connection between us.
Once we’re done showering, we complete our morning routine together at the bathroom sinks, side by side. We share these intimate looks in the mirror that have my stomach fluttering and my heart expanding. This is where I belong. No one is going to change that. I feel that now, though I’m certain, too, that this family will try. They will fail.
Eric doesn’t shave, leaving a sexy, thick three-day growth of whiskers on his jaw. It’s rugged and rough, a reminder that he is both the boy who lived in a trailer, the SEAL that roughed it in enemy territory, and the man who has become a self-made billionaire. He heads to the back of the closet, and I finish drying my hair before using the random new make-up items I’ve purchased, or rather, he purchased. I’m still trying to find my way with his money, which makes me eager for this visit to the office. I need to find my way with my money. I need to contribute. I need my path by his side.
With that in mind, I head to the closet and Eric and I end up dressing together, right after he shoves me into a corner and thoroughly fucks me. We still don’t talk but when it’s over, we laugh and smile. And then we get dressed. Him in dark blue jeans, black boots, and a navy Bennett logo shirt. Me in black jeans, a black turtleneck, and black knee-high boots, all of which we bought at the Chanel store yesterday. Once we’re both ready, we’ve managed to maintain the quiet of the outside world, but that has to end at the office. We decide to leave early, venturing out to head to a diner Eric loves on the way to the office, which I’m feeling both nervous and excited to experience.
I almost forget the assassin and the family, but watching Eric slide a gun into the back of his pants is a jolt of reality. “Is it safe to go out?”
“I had Blake heighten our security again just to be certain. He has several men following us and we’re not hiding. Not now. Not ever. That doesn’t end this. It drags it out.” He helps me with my coat and then turns me to face him, his hands sliding to my face. “We’re well-covered. You have my word.”
I decide just to trust him, of course, I trust him. The assassin is gone, though that feels odd to me and I find Eric’s gun comforting. “I need to go to the shooting range and practice,” I say, as we exit the apartment.
“I think that’s a mandatory item for our to-do list,” Eric agrees. “And we’ll get you a personal weapon.”
I’m not sure if it’s legal to carry in New York City, but I don’t care or ask. I need a weapon, at least until this is all over.
***
The walk is short but chilly, however walking arm and arm with Eric while he tells me about the NFL deal is more than a little perfect. I don’t care about the cold. Soon we’re in a cozy corner booth with floral-printed seats and a wooden table, with egg white omelets and coffee in front of us, both of us talking about the city when Eric’s cellphone buzzes. He grabs it, reads a message and while his expression is unchanged, there is a slight crackle in the air, a barely perceptible tension in the line of his jaw. He sets his phone down. I study him. “What just happened?”
“You read me that well?”
“Yes. What just happened?”
“No one reads me that well.”
“Eric—”
“Isaac managed to slip past the guy who was watching him.” He sips his coffee. “They don’t know where he is.”
My eyes go wide. “What? When did this happen?”
“On our way over here. They’re watching my father, Grayson, and Mia. And us. They have a man on us.”
“Because you think Isaac wants to do what?”