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“Not every day, but with some regularity. Please let me in and I’ll explain.” There’s no denying I’m intrigued.
Also, she’s as wet as a stray dog. If I keep her out here to get sick, Bryce will use it as evidence of how difficult I am to work with. Not that I care what he thinks.
“Fine. There’s room for your Suburban if you pull up behind me.” When I open my garage, that’s exactly what she does.
Once we’re in the kitchen, I make us some tea. Kina is hesitant to take the hot beverage I bring her.
“Not sure what Bryce told you about me, but poison isn’t my weapon of choice,” I say, sipping from my own cup.
She laughs. “He never insinuated anything about weapons. It’s just that I should be the one getting you tea, as your official live-in chef.”
“About that. In about fifteen minutes, I’ll need to start preparing for tonight’s reception. That should be enough time for you to make good on your promise outside. Please explain why you have to pretend to be my chef.”
She nods curtly and pulls up the tablet again. “When I got assigned this protection duty yesterday, Bryce had already talked to your brother about the threats. This surveillance analysis”—she points to the Camry on the screen—“indicates an imminent threat to your safety. Bryce rightfully assessed the need for a personal bodyguard.”
“My brother only learned about that threatening note recently. Somehow, he had time to consult with Bryce, who generated a comprehensive surveillance analysis? That’s unbelievable. Something isn’t adding up.”
She looks at me blankly, making no effort to confirm or deny.
The timeline doesn’t make sense. Has Bryce’s security detail been following me all this time, without my consent? That should upset me. And it does. But the insult is mired in something else. A curious thrill I’m not able to fully articulate, even to myself.
“And how in the world would you know if someone is following with, what did you call it? A sporadic but distinct pattern.”
“I’m sorry I can’t say more. Answering your question will breach proprietary technology.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s my privacy that’s breached, Kina.”
Instead of responding, she jumps to her feet and washes her hands. “Since Bryce is a senior partner and head analyst, I’ll assume he has more leeway to answer your questions. In the meantime, should I put together a healthy snack before you prepare for tonight’s event?”
“Kina, I appreciate your, um, work ethic. But this is all a misunderstanding. There’s no need to act like my chef.”
“I went to culinary school before joining the military. Cooking in your kitchen would be a treat.” She gestures at the barely used appliances.
Her energy has made me aware of my own fatigue. Unfortunately, I can’t give in to the desire to wear pajamas and crawl under some blankets. Tonight is important.
The reception kicks off a fundraising campaign for the STEM Equity Initiative. I represent Petrov Shipping, which is a major sponsor, but I’m also on the nonprofit’s board to make sure the raised funds go where they’re supposed to: provide underserved local schools with STEM learning experiences.
“I’ll need to get ready,” I say to Kina as I leave the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess. We can talk when I get back tonight.”
“I’ve texted you my direct line. I’ll be running another periphery check in about half an hour. If you need me for anything, I won’t be far.”
“I won’t need anything.”
She acknowledges my statement with a nod and a friendly expression.
It’s hard for me to admit, but Kina’s competent and proactive presence is more reassuring than I expected. If I truly need a personal bodyguard, she would be more than qualified. Surely that’s a compromise Sergei can appreciate. I get extra security while keeping Bryce where he belongs: out of my life.
He made that choice for both of us a long time ago, and I’m holding him to it. Even if I agree to hire MacElroy Security Services, he doesn’t have to be involved.
Bryce asking if I knew about his company felt like an accusation. Of course, I’ve googled him a few times. That’s normal, right? To semi-stalk a man whose career you derailed? My curiosity about his success was natural.
I might have also glanced at one or two photos of him in Sergei and Maeve’s family albums. Parents stick holiday or vacation photos in front of you every chance they get. It would be weirder if I didn’t look.
Still, I barely recognized him today. Pictures didn’t capture the impressive breadth of his shoulders and bulk of his arms. There are still traces of the old Bryce in the aquiline nose and pretty eyes. But that’s what they are: mere traces.
It’s as if this man buried the youthful version of himself under a mountain of muscles covered by a custom-made suit as elegant as it is intimidating. Like he could toast with champagne one minute and snap a man’s spine the next.
Bryce was a handsome young man in college. Now he’s the walking, talking, smoldering version of Zeus ready to smite enemies and ravish maidens in the twenty-first century.
