Page 66 of Forced Proximity

Enough is enough. The threat has escalated, and I’m in control. If the studio wants to keep me on this project, and my staff want to keep me safe, then it’s my rules from here on out.

Chapter 31

Lexi

I stretch my arms against the headboard and stare at the ceiling as the morning light streams through the blinds. Over a week without working with Justin, and the ache of missing him hasn’t dulled. I thought visiting my parents would help ease this monstrosity inside. Even though it was great seeing my family, I’m still hurting. I’ve been living off comfort food and our text message exchanges while scolding myself every day for what happened during my diabetic shock episode.

Last night, the messages stopped. I shouldn’t be this upset, but going to bed without hearing from him disappointed me more than it should. He’s a client. Former client, actually. I should let this go.

I hop in my Jeep and make my way to a coffee shop. During the drive, my mind flashes back to the way he looked at me in the nightclub. The way his hand grazed my thigh, the electricity that shot to my core. And even though I don’t remember much, and the humiliation runs rampant, the way he took care of me …

Stop. What am I doing to myself? I pull the Jeep in front of one of my favorite local spots, grab a coffee and bagel, and sit outside watching locals start their daily grind. But this is not where I want to be. I want to be with him.

Since I’m not protecting Justin, it seems like I could have free rein. Maybe call him up, ask him out, explore these feelings, but it’s not that simple. He’s still under a threat, the stalker has not been caught, and I work for the company assigned to his detail. Even if I did call him and confess how I feel, what then? Jack escorts us out? I try and separate my need to protect from my need to taste his lips. Zero good options exist.

After some time away, I’ll compartmentalize and drop him from memory. I’m a pro at this. I’ve done it before, I can do it again. Hopefully.

Who am I kidding? Last night I started watching one of his movies, but of course the opening scene was a shirtless Justin lying in bed, watching a woman leave his hotel room. The way he whipped off the blankets, the camera panning so damn close to exposing him, made my breath catch. I fought the urge to replay it and ended up shutting off the movie after twenty minutes.

I crunch into the bagel and wash it down with the coffee that isn’t as good as the stuff Justin makes when my phone buzzes. Damn my heart clenching at Justin’s name on the screen.

Justin: I’m sick of this shit. You want to keep me safe? From whatever the hell people are whispering about?

Justin: I just fired sunglasses man. And your agency. I refuse to work with anyone but you.

Justin: So, ask yourself one question. Am I safer on my own or with you?

I nearly choke on the coffee remnants. No. No, no, no … he can’t do this. He wouldn’t. This is beyond reckless. How the hell did his team agree to this?

My finger skips across the screen and taps on Marcus. When he answers, I belt out, ‘Is it true? Justin fired the agency?’

‘It’s true,’ Marcus says.

I leap from the café bench and pace the sidewalk. ‘Can’t you do something?’ I ask, already knowing there’s nothing we can do. The agency operates on a free will contract. If the client doesn’t want us, we walk. End of story. ‘This isn’t safe. Justin might be in real danger here, and we’re leaving him unprotected?’

‘You know I can’t do anything.’ The click of a keyboard sounds through the phone. ‘But yesterday he had a package delivered at the studio. Not good.’

My pulse thuds at the way Marcus said package. ‘What was in it?’

‘A jug of blood and severed fingers.’

Jesus Christ!

‘Prop blood only, and fake fingers, but they didn’t know that at first. It certainly got the attention of the higher-ups. Sounds like there were some serious discussions yesterday. But Justin remained firm, refusing to work with any other security personnel except you.’ Marcus pauses. ‘He agreed to keep Jack there last night, but sounds like it was only because his assistant convinced him to. If you return, he’ll reinstate our agency.’

A shaky breath leaves my mouth.

‘Do you want back on the job?’ Marcus asks.

Do I? Sitting in my apartment is giving me a severe case of cabin fever. Being restless made me participate in unholy activities, like going to Ikea to look at throw pillows and a wall clock. One afternoon I even attempted baking brownies, which was an utter fail. Who knew replacing butter with olive oil would make such a difference? The jobs Marcus presented – like working backstage at a state fair concert – were dull and beneath my skill level. After spending a profound number of hours at the shooting range, shopping for new shoes and even getting a pedicure, I’m officially bored.

The idea of being around Justin in a professional capacity is both thrilling and heartbreaking. Our texting banter gives me a lust buzz I haven’t experienced in a long time. But he could’ve been seriously hurt because of me, and I can’t just sweep that under the rug like nothing happened.

What do I do? I swallow back the rest of my coffee, chat another minute with Marcus, then hang up. Justin’s text haunts me: Am I safer on my own or with you?

Back in my Jeep, I review the message over and over and rest my head against the back of the seat. Breathing out, I type a reply.

Doc: I’ll be there at noon.