the buffer,” she admitted, reluctance dripping from every syllable. “Twenty-four/seven is more than I expected.”
“Good!” Grant beamed. “We aim to exceed expectations in every aspect of our operation.” He stood, returned her cell phone and brought the meeting to an end. “Send me a copy of that file, Miss Cooper. I added my contact information to your phone. Mitch, I’ll cover the rest of your shift at the bar. You take good care of our new client.”
“Of course.” Mitch opened the door, tipping his head for her to go first. The woman wasn’t happy, but she’d stopped protesting. His curiosity about her and the situation revved into high gear and he found a new appreciation for the free time created by his administrative leave.
Maybe this unexpected career detour would prove a little more interesting than he’d thought.
Knowing it was the smart choice, her only choice, to accept help, Julia wondered why it felt like such an irrevocable mistake. When her friend had enlisted the Escape Club’s help, she hadn’t mentioned dealing with anyone as tall and imposing and...virile as Mitch.
Virile. Yes, that was the best word to describe him as he stood silently looming over her in the hallway between the raucous club and the office. His brown eyes were intense and curious. He kept his thick blond hair short and burnished gold whiskers shaded his jaw. His bright blue uniform polo shirt with the club logo embroidered on the chest hugged his defined biceps and trim torso that narrowed to trim hips and long legs. She had her doubts that any fat cells would dare to linger on his fit frame.
She’d dated a guy in law school who’d worked his body into this kind of shape. That guy hadn’t been interested in anything that didn’t benefit him directly. This man had been assigned to stand between her and the stalker who’d turned her life inside out in the space of an afternoon. She wondered if he had as many doubts about that 24/7 concept as she did. Willing away her immediate reaction to his tall, fit form, she raised her gaze to meet his and caught the spark of amusement.
“Satisfied?” he asked, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his khakis.
“How tall are you?” Her cheeks turned warm when she realized she’d voiced the question.
“Six-three most days. Am I taller than your stalker?”
“Yes, I think so. Fortunately, he hasn’t been close enough for me to be sure. Yet.”
“And I won’t let him get that close.”
The determined set of his mouth gave her a ridiculous amount of reassurance. Did he practice that expression? He hadn’t even done anything truly helpful yet.
“What do you need, Julia? Should we stay for the music so you can unwind or should I take you home?”
“I’d like to go home.” What was it about his voice that sliced through her defenses? Home didn’t sound scary anymore and yet nothing had changed. Not really. A stranger was still out there somewhere, expecting her to cooperate. What was the protocol for dealing with a temporary bodyguard? “What does twenty-four/seven mean?”
“You’re an attorney. I think you’re smart enough to figure that out.”
“You can’t really expect to...to stay with me,” she protested. She needed more space in her life, more than the average person. Her mother, friends and both former boyfriends were all in agreement on that.
His eyebrows dipped low over his eyes. “Do you believe you were followed here?”
“No.” She swallowed, knowing the immediate response might be inaccurate. She couldn’t know for sure. She’d just admitted to two strangers that a man had followed her for days and she’d been none the wiser. “At least I don’t think so.”
“Did you drive here?”
She shook her head, forcing her gaze to remain on his eyes. Steady eye contact conveyed confidence, and she needed him to know she wasn’t always frightened of every shadow. “I thought a cab was the safer choice.”
“Probably right on that one. Safety in numbers, I guess,” he said, echoing her deciding thought.
She folded her arms over her chest. “How many women have you saved from stalkers?”
His eyebrows arched and his lips twitched into a half smile, but his voice was serious. “I’ve only been on the job here for two weeks. That makes you my first.”
She rolled her eyes to the dingy ceiling tiles over his head. “Grant assigned you to me because I’m with Marburg. He’s going through the motions for me, that’s all.” She fisted her hands in her coat pockets. “This was a mistake.” She’d find a way to navigate this on her own.
“Hey.” Mitch stepped closer, crowding her. “You came here for good reason. We can help. Personally, I think the boss would be within his rights to turn away anyone from your firm. But he didn’t. That’s not how he operates. Just because I’ve never done something doesn’t mean I can’t do it. I happen to know a few things about getting people out of trouble.”
“Then show me your skills,” she said, spreading her arms wide and then dropping them back to her sides. “What comes next?”
He’d better have some answers, because she was at an absolute loss. Another trickle of icy fear rolled down her spine. If she turned away from Escape’s help, the cab fare home would wipe out most of the cash in her wallet. She had more money stashed away at home, but not nearly enough to cover her expenses if the stalker didn’t give her access to her accounts. Trying to focus on what she could control, on choosing the best option out of the short and lousy list, she pressed her lips together and waited.
“One step at a time,” Mitch began in a soothing voice. “I’ll drive you home. I’ll walk through your place and make a decision after that.”
Him. In her apartment. An image popped into her head, confounding her. The studio space was almost too small for her. “What kind of decision?”
He gave her a pleasant smile she didn’t quite trust. “One step at a time,” he repeated. “Come on.”
“Where?” she asked as he turned his back. Faced with the view of his wide shoulders tapering to lean hips, her feet moved forward of their own volition. Her responses to him embarrassed her, made her feel too much like her mother—the woman who used anyone and everyone in her orbit. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.”
“Okay.” He kept walking.
She followed. “I’m not a drama queen.”
“Got it.” He pulled open a door at the end of the hall, encouraging her to enter first. “Break room,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “I need to grab my coat and keys. Unless you changed your mind about staying for the band?”
“No, thank you.” She scolded the voice in her head that encouraged her to forget responsibilities and problems and dance all night with Mitch. “I have to be at the office early tomorrow.”
With a nod, he pulled a worn leather bomber jacket from a peg on the near wall and shrugged it over his shoulders.
