Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)
“Uh huh. No worries, man. I had a great time.” He slides his feet into his shoes and finds his shirt on the couch, yanking it over his sculpted abs.
Without another word, he opens the door and is gone. I jump out of my chair and turn the deadbolt behind him. Paranoia has taken hold of me lately, causing me to worry about every little thing. Exhausted from lack of sleep, I let my muscles relax, feeling the tension drain.
I have got to get my shit together. Checking the clock, I realize I only have thirty minutes until I have to leave for the meeting at Ross’ office. A meeting about a stalker. My stalker. I drag a hand down my face and start getting ready.
***
“Amanda, you look lovely.” I smile at one of the junior agents at Ross’ firm.
“Thanks Gavin. You’re not too bad yourself.” She winks as she passes by.
Paul, the bodyguard who picked me up this morning—his name is definitely Paul—shadows me the entire way to Ross’ office. I knock and walk into the room without waiting for a reply.
“Gavin!” Ross stands up, coming around his desk to give me a hug while slapping my back. He pulls back and I see the flicker of stress on his face before he pastes on a smile. I’ve known him too long not to notice. He looks like shit.
“Hi, Ross.” A quick glance around the empty office lets me know I’ve arrived before the new security expert. “Where are we meeting?”
“In here,” Ross says, directing me over to the conference table. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“I’ll just have some water.” I sit and pull out my phone, more for something to keep my hands occupied than out of necessity. Guitarists tend to have restless fingers. Or maybe it’s just me, who knows?
Ross pushes a button on his phone. “Donna, can we get water and some coffee please?”
Less than five minutes later, Ross’ administrative assistant sweeps into the room and deposits a tray with a pitcher of ice water, a carafe of coffee, and all the accompanying items needed to dress it up.
“This guy that’s coming in—”
“Is going to take care of this, Gavin.” Ross takes the chair across from me. “He’s good. According to Ellie, he used to track serial killers for the FBI.”
My mouth falls open. “Seriously? You think my problem is that bad?”
“No. I think we should have the best, and this guy is the best. The pe
rsonal references by Ellie and her friend back in the U.K. are just the icing on the cake.”
Before I can ask any more questions, there’s a knock and the door opens a crack. “Mr. Evans, Mr. Hale is here.”
“Send him in please, Donna.” Ross stands and adjusts his suit, straightening out the cuffs and fixing his expensive tie until it lays just so.
I rake a hand over my hair, but it’s pointless. I’m lucky I bothered to shower this morning after my company left. I’m sure I look like shit—with the lack of sleep and the constant stress I’m surprised I don’t look worse.
Good genes, I guess. I frown at the thought of my father.
I can hear Donna outside. “Go right on in.”
The door opens and a man enters. No, not just a man. A gorgeous man. Stunning, actually. For the second time in five minutes, my jaw hangs open.
The man is a study in opposites. His hair, swept back from his face and so dark it’s nearly black, is paired with bright slate grey eyes, a color I’ve never seen before. He looks rugged and dangerous, as if he could kill a man with his bare hands. Yet he’s wearing a tailored and expensive charcoal grey suit that showcases his body to perfection. He’s rough and he’s polished.
And I can’t stop staring.
“Mr. Hale, thank you so much for coming on such short notice.”
Ross has circled the table and is shaking the man’s hand.
“Call me Mitch, please.”
Jesus, even his voice is hot. Deep and silky, it’s as smooth as fine whiskey.