Watch Me

As I escaped into one of the elevators and quickly hit the button to prevent anyone else from getting on with me, I allowed my thoughts to drift back to the place they'd been all night.

Get it together, Jude. Focus.

I used the couple of minutes of freedom I had to straighten my tie and smooth down the wrinkles that I was sure had somehow magically appeared in my suit. By the time I stepped off the elevator, I felt a little bit more like myself and I managed to get my racing mind back on track. The events of the night before meant I hadn't finished reading through the various contracts I'd been hoping to get signed off on before Monday and I'd been too jittery to attempt to read them at home. I reminded myself that there would still be weeks of days like this. Endless days where I had to push myself to the limit. But it would all be worth it. Every lost hour of sleep, every headache from forcing myself to work beyond my brain’s naturally set limits… it would all be proof that those looks of pity were wasted on me. That they'd always been wasted on me.

As I left the elevator and rounded the corner that led to my office on the east side of the building, I blessedly managed to avoid running into anyone. That was, until I reached my office. Just outside the door was yet another security guard, though he wasn't someone I recognized. I knew it had to be Cliff just taking extra precautions, so I didn't spare the guard any mind as I moved past him and into the office. I also tried to convince myself that the nerves in my belly had nothing to do with a complete stranger, and an armed one at that, standing outside my door.

Despite being pissed at Cliff for hiring Falkov in the first place, I knew he’d meant well. And I doubted that he had any idea that he'd hired a mercenary wannabe instead of an actual security professional. In any case, I needed to give Cliff some time to deal with the close call that hadn't really been one. But the last thing I needed was for him to keep sending so-called protection my way. I understood that the older man was worried about me, but his insistence on providing me with my very own bodyguard not only perpetuated the rumors about my relationship with him, it also allowed for self-doubt to creep in where it wasn't welcome. I'd been taking care of myself my entire life and nothing and no one would change that. I didn't believe in fate.

Fate was just an excuse people used to not push themselves.

By the time I reached my office door, I almost felt like myself again. Thankfully, my brain clicked over into work mode as I pushed the door open, and I headed straight to my desk and set my coffee cup down before waking my computer up.

"Is what's on that computer more important than your life?"

The unexpected yet very recognizable voice caused me to knock my coffee cup over. While the lid managed to prevent the contents from spraying over everything, my arm still got doused with a hefty splash of the hot liquid. "Fuck!" I shouted as the coffee soaked through my jacket and shirt and began to burn my skin. Thankfully, the fabric was thick enough to prevent any significant pain. My heart raced as I searched out the source of the voice.

He was sitting in the middle of my office on the white leather sofa. Like the night before, he was all dressed in black. And yet, somehow, I had managed to miss him yet again. How was that even possible?

I hated the fear that reverberated through me. In my mind, I knew that the guy wasn't there to hurt me, but I still couldn't shake the memory of that gun being pointed at me. The man's dark eyes met mine and I saw something flicker in them for a brief moment before it was gone.

"Good," he said as he climbed to his feet. Despite his size, his moves were graceful. "Remember this feeling—the one that reminds you that no matter how hard you try, you aren't always in control."

His words hit so close to home that I could hear that ringing sensation starting in my ears again. Somehow, though, I managed to tamp down on the unwanted sensation. I reached for the handset on my phone. I fully expected the man, Falkov, to stop me from dialing, but he did nothing more than stand in front of my desk, his arms behind his back and his feet slightly separated. The stance had a very military feel to it.

"Yes, Mr. Archer? Can I help you?" the operator asked.