Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“I mean, that’s what Maisy’s there for, and all she says is that he’s doing crazy well. He hasn’t walked half a mile for years. He’s eating and his energy is through the roof. They’ll be home in about a week, supposedly. He’s doing great, and it’s all thanks to you.”
Brock gives me a curt nod.
I frown.
What’s going on?
I stand and move toward him. His body language matches a wounded dog guarding its injury, and I don’t want to set him off. So I reach out slowly, running a hand up his arm.
“London,” he says, staring past me.
He gazes out the window at a few lazy sailboats on the water.
“Come again?”
“You should go to London. You haven’t had a chance to travel internationally much and my grandparents love you. You’ll have a mountain of content when you start up your videos again. Hell, you can stay with them—”
“What the hell? No!”
He throws me a worried look before his face sets like stone again.
“Okay, I get it. You don’t have to stay with them; I’m sure they’d put you up in a complimentary room at the Winthrope London. They’re odd birds, even if I love ’em to death—” He stops and shakes his head. “Especially Gramps. But they own thirty other gorgeous properties in the UK. You can have your pick.”
I stare at him until he meets my eyes, and it scares me.
He’s so cold. Distant. Frightened.
“Brock...are you trying to get rid of me? If you don’t want me around, just say so. I’ll go home. You don’t have to send me across the freaking ocean if it’s space you’re after.”
“Not space, Pippa,” he growls, pulling me into his arms. “It’s for your own good—until this shit with Finch gets sorted. Can’t risk him sending his little minions to hound you with cameras or God knows what else.”
“Finch? Did something else happen?”
His jaw tightens, but he won’t answer me.
My mouth twists.
“Yeah, I’m going home.” I spin around, reluctantly leaving his embrace, and head for the bedroom to pack up anything I’ve been stupid enough to bring here.
But before I get two steps away, he grabs my arm. “Pippa, no! I need you to listen.”
My heart stalls as I throw a look over my shoulder.
“Excuse you?”
“That came out wrong.” He pinches the bridge of his nose before he looks at me again. “Look, anywhere you go is more secure than here. Not less. Trust me, I’m not pushing you away. If I wanted ‘space,’ you’d already be gone. I just need you safe, and that means I need you out of Seattle for a couple of months—”
“A couple months? Brock, this is bonkers.”
“I think once the fashion show and the hotel conference are over, the immediate threat from Finch vanishes. I won’t be the reason he hurts you.” His eyes stab through me.
“And I’m not leaving you high and dry in the middle of this crap. If he’s after me, then I’m already too involved. Dad taught me you don’t run from bullies.”
“This isn’t a damn playground fight,” he bites off. “Pippa—”
“Brock. I have a job here. A life. Dad and Maisy are coming home, and I also have you. I should stay.”
He paces the room like a lion.
I want to reach out for him, but he’s trapped in this bubble of pain and worry. I swallow thickly, trying to find the right words to make him listen to reason.
“I know you’re just looking out for me, but I’ve made up my mind. I can’t leave.”
He jerks to a stop and looks at me with anger flaring in his eyes. “That’s exactly what you’ll do.”
I stiffen.
“No, I’m not.”
Snarling, he squares his shoulders and crosses his arms. “It’s not a request. Effective immediately, you’re on administrative leave for the next sixty days. You’ll decide where you’d like to go and tell Keenan so we can make the proper security arrangements. Anywhere but Seattle, I don’t care.”
Oh my God.
He can’t be serious?
But he is. The rough, ragged lines in his face leave no question.
“Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t just wave your hand and banish me.” My voice shakes. I’m flipping bristling.
“Who does it look like? Your boss.”
“Boss or not, you can’t just order me around. Do you tell anyone else where to go every time some crisis erupts?”
“There’s never been a crisis like this, so no. If I had to protect them, I would in a fucking heartbeat. I’d also offer them the same two months of paid vacation to make sure they’re safe,” he says, still glaring.
Holy hell.
I need to choose my next words very carefully.
“You do a lot for me, Brock Winthrope, and I’m grateful. But you don’t have the right to move me around like a pawn.”
“Then leave if you won’t listen!” he snaps, stomping across the room.