Page 27 of Forced Proximity

‘I’m diabetic, asshole!’

He freezes. His mouth opens, closes and opens again. ‘You’re … what?’

‘I’m diabetic.’ The embarrassment from having my disease outed morphs into a rage-filled lava coursing my veins. ‘Jesus Christ. Drugs? Really?’

‘I’m … I’m so sorry.’ His cheeks alter from red to pink. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Doc. I just saw the needle … and …’

He puts his arms out like he’s going to touch me and I seethe. How fucking dare he? I’ve given Marcus my word on accepting this assignment. I’m under an oath, sworn to protect and have personal integrity. That is the only reason I’m not bolting right this second back to our headquarters and demanding an immediate reassignment.

‘Please … I didn’t know. I had no idea.’ He steps toward me, hands outstretched. ‘I’m so sorry. We, there’s history … my sister. Mia … It’s not you. I promise it’s not you. I just panicked.’

His words mean nothing. I reach into my bag. ‘Can you leave so I can take my insulin in private?’

He nods, shifts his gaze to the floor and walks away.

I’m not a crier. Ever. Crying shows weakness and will only add ammunition to those that think a woman shouldn’t be a bodyguard. But the back of my eyes sting, a sensation that hasn’t happened since the divorce.

After injecting, I chomp on a protein bar and suck in a few cleansing breaths. I need to grab my sandwich from the kitchen, but if I see his face, I might tear it off, and then I’d really lose my job. After doing a few yoga moves then eating another protein bar – which I’m officially sick of – I calm the tiniest bit.

Over an hour goes by before Justin walks into the room, clasping and unclasping his hands.

Whatever he has to say, he can shove it. From here on out, whatever this thing is – this tiptoeing on flirtation, these butterfly flutters – is dead. I have seventy-five days left on the three-month contract, and I won’t be here a second longer. Marcus can find someone else for the rest of the contract if needed. Stalker or no stalker, I’m done.

‘Doc,’ he says, meekly. ‘That was so unfair of me.’

I don’t even glance up from the laptop.

He clears his throat. ‘My sister Mia, was, is, an addict, in recovery … and … I have so many issues around it … it was such a dark time. For years she hid it, and I didn’t know, and I just saw a needle and panicked.’ He exhales. ‘My reaction was totally unreasonable. Hurtful. You didn’t deserve that.’

‘It’s fine.’ It’s not, but the damage is done. All this situation did was prove what type of person Justin is. I scroll through the blurry email and pretend to read.

He hovers with sad puppy eyes, and I’m over it.

‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’ he asks.

I slam my laptop shut and point at his face. ‘That! That look right there is why I don’t say anything. There’s nothing I despise more than someone pitying me. You’re looking at me like I’m weak or defective. You’ve already lowered my abilities in your mind by twenty to thirty percent minimum. Not to mention, its none of your goddamn business. So, now you know, okay? We never need to speak of it again.’

His chest falls and he crosses the space toward the kitchen. Before he reaches the edge of the room, he turns back. ‘Just so you know, it’s not pity.’ He inhales a sharp breath. ‘It’s admiration. You can do what you do while managing that? You’re fucking Superwoman.’

Chapter 12

Lexi

Bacon grease, pancakes and sugared butter scents bounce from the sticky floors, red booths and Elvis posters. If I could eat the air at my favorite diner, I would. ‘Did you and Ethan properly celebrate his promotion last night?’ I ask Marcus, who unrolls his wrapped silverware and places the fork, knife and spoon in the proper order.

‘Yes, finally. Pretty sure he would’ve divorced me had I waited any longer.’ He nods at the server who sets down a plate of eggs and hashbrowns in front of each of us. ‘The new recruits are taking up all my time. But yes, yes. I took him to his favorite vegan restaurant. And then came home and ate a burger when he went to bed.’

I spread grape jelly on my toast and lick the back of the knife. ‘He’s gonna catch you one of these days.’

‘I know.’ Marcus cuts into his sunny-side up eggs. ‘How did it go last week with Justin?’

‘He’s still kind of a dick, but he’s easy enough to manage.’ So far, I’ve avoided telling Marcus about the interaction. None of what happened that night was the best version of myself, but the blow to my ego is still raw. The words ‘red flag’ run rampant in my mind, and I hate it. ‘He’s so, ugh, you know?’

‘He’s so “ugh”? What does that even mean?’

I swallow the bread. ‘He saw me with my needle.’

Justin was clearly remorseful after our argument, speaking softly and being overly agreeable to my instructions for the rest of the week. Being a woman in a heavily male-dominated field is a ton of pressure. Him knowing about my condition amplifies my already intrinsic need to show my capabilities by an infinite amount.