“It’s my house.”
“It’s still polite to announce your presence.”
“I would’ve, but I was too fascinated by the sight of you stumbling around my living room like a drunken baby elephant.” Laughter rumbled from his chest at my indignant gasp. I wasn’t the best dancer, but I was a better dancer than a drunken elephant. Probably. Maybe. “In a charming way, of course.”
My dignity would never recover from this.
“Of course. That makes me feel so much better.” I lifted my chin and switched subjects before I exploded from sheer mortification. “Speaking of performances, I have my first Delamonte photoshoot next week. In New York.” Christian’s laughter died down, though traces of amusement lingered around his mouth. “Dates?”
I told him.
“Noted. We’ll take my jet.”
I stared at him, sure I’d heard wrong. “You’re coming with me?”
“The word we does imply that, yes.”
In public, he was so polite and friendly, but in private, he could be a sarcastic ass.
“Don’t you have a business to run?” He must have more important things on his plate than accompanying his fake girlfriend to a photoshoot.
“If my business can’t survive two days without me, then I haven’t done my job as CEO. Not to mention, your not so friendly secret admirer is still on the loose. Chances are slim he’ll follow you to New York, but we don’t want to risk it.”
“Brock can accompany me. I like him. He’s nice.”
Granted, I’d met him once and never saw him again, but I felt his warm, reassuring presence whenever I left the house. Having a bodyguard wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined.
Plus, I wasn’t tempted to have sex with him, which was a big plus.
Christian’s expression didn’t shift, but the temperature suddenly plunged twenty degrees.
“Brock will not be accompanying you. I will.” His words contained so much frost I could’ve used them to carve an ice sculpture. “His job is to stay out of sight and keep you safe. Nothing else. Has he been doing his job, Stella?”
I sensed it was a trick question.
“Yes?” I ventured.
I didn’t know what raised Christian’s hackles, but I didn’t want to get Brock fired.
“Good.”
I was beginning to hate that word.
I crossed my arms, both to hide how unnerved I was and to shield myself from the arctic waves of Christian’s displeasure.
“Bad day at work?” I asked. “Or is morphing into a mercurial beast part of your nighttime routine?”
His only response was the press of his gaze on my skin.
I’d been joking, but now that I looked more closely, I observed tiny signs of stress. Tension tautened the blade of his jaw, and a small furrow creased his brow. His body hummed with the dark, restless buzz of frustration.
“Bad day at work?” I repeated, softer this time.
I expected Christian to brush off my concern. To my surprise, he answered frankly. “Difficult client.”
“I imagine you deal with a lot of those.”
Harper Security’s client list was a who’s who of CEOs, celebrities, and royalty. That was a ton of ego for one company to handle.
“Not as much as you’d expect.” He slid out of his jacket and draped it over the back of the couch. His shirt stretched taut over his broad shoulders, and his muscles flexed with every movement.
Stop. Now is not the time to ogle.
“If someone insists on being a pain, we show them the door, and they’re never allowed back in. I run a security company, not a daycare. I don’t have time to babysit inflated egos. That being said…” A wry note crept into his tone. “Some egos are attached to useful contacts. This client is pissed because I signed a contract to provide services to their competitor. He’s threatening to pull his account if I don’t dump the competitor.”
Grown men were truly pettier than high schoolers. “I assume he’s a big client?”
“One of my biggest.”
“You don’t want to lose the account, but you also don’t want to tarnish your reputation or set a bad precedent by cutting the other loose,” I surmised. I chewed my lip, thinking it over. “I mean, it’s a pride issue. He doesn’t want his competitor to have what he has, so why don’t you offer him something extra? Upgrade him to a VVIP package and make it clear his competitor doesn’t have the same level of access.”
VIP was the standard for his clients, but VVIP was the next level.
“I don’t have a VVIP package.”
“Now you do. At least make him think you do,” I amended. “Throw in some extra security features, take him out for drinks. Tell him to keep the package quiet because it’s available only to a very select few. Kind of like a secret club. It’ll soothe his ego, and he’ll be thrilled because he has something over his competitor. People like that just want to feel like they’re better than someone.”
It was a lesson I’d learned after years of working in the fashion world.
Christian examined me with a faint smile. “Perhaps you have more business acumen than you give yourself credit for.” His low murmur wrapped around my senses like a lush velvet blanket.
“More empathy than business acumen,” I said, embarrassed. “I’m still terrible at negotiations and accounting.”
Learn how to accept compliments, babe. “Thank you” is a perfectly adequate response.
Jules’s voice echoed in my head.
I was trying, but some compliments were easier to accept than others.
“Anyway, try it and see how it goes.” I cleared my throat. “In the meantime, you need to destress. Do you meditate?”
He stared at me.
“It’ll help you sleep better.”
Silence.
Okay, then. I guess that was a no.
“How about yoga?” I tried. “We can do it together. I’ll coach you through it.”
Christiaan looked like he would rather drown in a vat of acid. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll stick with a hot shower and sleep,” he said dryly.
“Shower and sleep aren’t enough.” Not with how deep the frown lines were carved into his brow. Businessmen were all the same, forever chasing the next big deal with no regard for their health until it was too late.
I snapped my fingers. “Okay, I have an idea. Sit on the couch.”
“I’m not meditating.”
“You already said that.” Not in so many words, but his silence spoke volumes. “It’s not meditation. Just sit. Please?”
Suspicion lurked in his eyes, but he complied.
My heart hammered hard enough against my ribcage to bruise as I came up behind him and rested my hands on his shoulders.
His muscles immediately bunched.
“What,” he said, his low voice twined with so much danger I tasted it in my throat, “are you doing?”
“Giving you a massage.” I forced my stampeding nerves behind a veneer of calm. This is to help him relax. That’s it. “Don’t tell me you’re opposed to those, too.”
His jaw tightened.
Night had descended, draping the floor-to-ceiling window across from us in inky black. Our reflections were so sharp the window doubled as a mirror.