she asked as he walked up the path.
“We should find you a relative to stay with,” he said, motioning for her to go inside. He closed the door behind him, willing the warmth from the apartment to seep into his limbs.
Silence.
“What if I don’t have anyone?” she asked, her voice icier than the snow-covered ground outside.
“What about your father?”
“It’s complicated. We’re not...” She attempted a smile but it came out more like a grimace. “No, I can’t.”
“He hired me to look after you. Obviously he’s concerned for your safety.”
She put up a hand to stop him arguing with her. “I’m not staying with him. End of story. Besides, lightning doesn’t strike twice, right?”
She wanted him to reassure her. But he couldn’t, not after what had just happened. He wouldn’t jeopardize her safety, not for anything.
“Don’t you have anyone else to stay with? A friend, another relative?” He knew her mother was deceased, but surely she had someone else in her life.
“I’ve only been back in New York a month. The closest thing I have to a friend is the barista at the coffee shop I go to every day,” she said, her eyes meeting his, her chin tilted.
She didn’t want his pity. He could see that as plain as day.
“You shouldn’t be alone.” Max shook his head again and raked a hand through his hair.
Everything about this scenario rankled. His gut had told him this was more than a simple robbery. The intruder’s question only solidified his suspicions. The jewels in Rose’s bedroom appeared untouched apart from them being dumped onto her bed, though she’d have to confirm it. He wasn’t a jewelry expert, but he was sure her pieces would be worth something.
No, this wasn’t just a robbery. A dangerous person wanted something from Rose Lawson, and he was going to find out exactly what it was.
AS IF IT wasn’t bad enough to have her place of work and her house broken into, now she had to reveal the sorry state of her personal life to Mr. GI Joe Wannabe. The superhot, muscled-beyond-belief GI Joe Wannabe.
Rose cringed; there was no way she was going to stay with her dad. It’d been eleven years since she’d seen him, and they were far from being a happy family. Rose hadn’t wanted to reconnect with him, but after she’d moved to New York, he’d pushed harder for a reconciliation.
Staying in London hadn’t been an option, not with memories of her mother lingering on every corner. New York was the only other place she’d known to be home, but coming back here had meant starting from scratch...again. She hadn’t kept in contact with a single schoolmate or friend. But that didn’t mean she was ready to trust her father yet.
“Like I said, I’ll be fine here.” Rose took a long, slow breath and ordered herself not to cry. She was not going to let Max Ridgeway see her crumble.
As much as she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she was starting to agree with his earlier assessment that this situation was more than a simple robbery. She wasn’t rich by any means, but there were several things in her apartment that would fetch a few dollars. The strand of cultured pearls that had belonged to her mother, for one. Not to mention her electronic equipment, including the new laptop she’d bought at duty free and the iPad on her bedside table. All of it untouched.
A wave of emotion washed over her, causing her stomach to rock like a buoy in rough waters. Sighing, she looked through the apartment. If she hung out in the entrance she could pretend it had never happened.
“Come on,” Max said, his hand landing briefly on her shoulder before he jerked it away as if he’d changed his mind about touching her. “You can’t stay here. Let’s pack you a bag. We can call the police and tackle the clean-up tomorrow.”
His voice was crisp and businesslike, but the furrow of his dark brows and the determined set of his deep brown eyes spoke volumes. He was invested in taking care of her. His commitment seeped from every pore. Despite the chaos around her, Rose felt safe for the first time in a long while...as much as she hated to admit it.
The only person who cares about your safety is the one guy getting paid to do it. Typical.
Trusting someone else was uncomfortable, like a jacket that hugged too tight and squeezed her insides just enough to make breathing hard. Trust made her palms itch and her eyes dart. She never left her well-being in the hands of another person. She was her own protector, her own teacher, her own motivator. Everyone else sat at the periphery, whether she wanted them to or not.
“I don’t know about the police,” she said, shaking her head.
“Why?”
“I’m worried about the jewelry store’s reputation. Someone posted about the break-in on a blog, and we had customers questioning whether our security was up to scratch. We do a lot of repair and repurposing, but customers are worried to leave their items with us now.”
“It’s not your store to worry about.”
“Part of it is,” she insisted. “I have a dedicated space for my work. I’m building my clientele. It’s not just a sales job for me. It’s a platform to start my own business.”
He sighed. “Are you sure? No cops?”
“They have no leads in the store break-in. And it doesn’t look like anything was stolen here.”
“We’ll go through it all tomorrow to be certain, but we still need to sort where you’re going to stay tonight.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“No,” he barked. “Don’t even try and tell me you’ll be fine on your own. It’s not happening.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but tiredness had seeped into her limbs, deadening them and dampening her desire to argue. Right now she wanted a hot bath and a large glass of denial. Tomorrow she would formulate a plan.
Heading into her bedroom, she stepped over the scattered papers and spilled lingerie. The scent of her mother’s perfume hung in the air, a dense cloud of memory. Green flowers, a slight sharpness from the aldehydes. Chanel No.19, the only perfume her mother had ever worn. Through the days when they’d had very little money, she’d savored it, using only a single spritz for a special occasion, stretching the bottle because she couldn’t afford a new one. The scent made Rose’s eyes fill with tears.
Desperate for distraction, she grabbed a small suitcase and unzipped it. In her head she ran through the items she would need for a night away, cataloging them to prevent herself from thinking about how badly her life had been violated.
“T-shirt, jeans, underwear, deodorant,” she muttered, folding and stacking the items neatly into the bag. “Bra, hairbrush, cardigan...”
Max leaned against the door
