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I huffed. Of course. One of the largest public libraries in the world.
“It’s why Jager said the security footage would be useless. So many people go in and out of there.”
“True, but I wonder if Jager can find out if anyone has checked out any books on privacy laws. If this person doesn’t want this bill to pass, then they are probably doing their research.”
His grin spread from cheek to cheek. “That’s fucking brilliant, Nikki.”
The nickname caught me off guard, and I sucked in a breath.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I meant, Nikole. Or Ms. Adams.”
“No. Nikole is fine. And I don’t mind Nikki, either. No one else calls me that.”
He licked his lips, then turned away. “I’ll text Jager about the checkout list now.”
I nodded and watched as he typed. He was pretty quick, considering his hands were much larger than his phone’s keyboard.
When he finished, he walked over to the couch and dropped down beside me. He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “That was brilliant thinking. If you weren’t such a great lawyer, I’d try to convince you to work for us.”
“I’ve always been good at figuring puzzles out. But not so lucky figuring people out.”
He turned his resting head to look at me. “I think that’s an impossible task.”
“I’m starting to think that of you.”
He frowned. “Me? Why?”
I smiled. “You’re a soldier, turned bodyguard, who’s a millionaire, maybe even a billionaire,” he had the grace to cringe a little, which confirmed it was the latter. “You are smoking hot, but single. You protect people yet have no problem knocking out a reporter if need be. I really don’t get you.”
“You think I’m hot?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s what you took from my little speech?”
He smiled. “Do you want to know why you’re so terrible at figuring people out?”
I tucked my arm underneath my head and stared at him from the top of the couch. “Why?”
“Because most people don’t want you to look too closely, often keeping the real parts of themselves hidden.”
Mmm.
“What’s the real you, Jake?”
His face clouded over, and he turned to stare at the ceiling again. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I’m someone who is still trying to figure himself out.”
I nodded. I got that.
I watched as he rubbed his forehead, massaging every crease that stretched from his eyebrows to his hairline. A new question popped into my head and I nearly spoke it aloud, but I pressed my lips together and closed my eyes. It was too personal. And what if the answer hurt too much?
But there was this chasm between us. Something I had to know if I would ever imagine becoming friends with this man, trusting him, letting him into my life.
Staring at the ceiling, I exhaled slowly and asked, “Why did you keep driving that night? What was it about me?”
He exhaled softly beside me and made a choking noise. I couldn’t look at him. My cheeks burned. I was too embarrassed to even open my eyes. I waited for his reply, telling myself that I had to accept whatever he said because I was the one who had asked.
I waited.
And waited.
