Chapter Two

Chapter Two

He didn’t want to like her.

He really, really, really didn’t want to like her.

She was a self-involved, conceited, money-hungry star who lived in a fantasy world and didn’t know a damn thing about real people or real problems. Just like every other actor in this fucked-up town.

He knew it. Was certain of it. He was familiar with the type, after all. Hadn’t they destroyed his childhood? Ripped away his fiancée?

Oh, yeah. He knew better than to like or trust this breed, and Francesca Muratti was no exception. She was just one more spoiled actress who’d caught the eye of a nut job with a grudge against spoiled actresses.

And yet…

He bit back a grimace, hating that he had to acknowledge those two little words. And yet…

And yet this spoiled, insufferable star was willing to put her life on the line to keep her fans happy.

This self-involved woman who made a living play-acting actually understood that the only reason she could enjoy the privilege of the life she had built was because she’d been lifted onto her pedestal by those fans. More than that, she not only understood it, but she was willing to risk literally everything to offer her thanks to those fans the only way she knew how—by being there for them.

He didn’t have to like her. Hell, he didn’t like her.

But he damn well respected her.

“All right,” he said, hopping down from the buffet and moving to stand opposite her across the table. “We’ve settled that you’re going to the con.” He glanced around the room, making sure no one intended to keep up the argument. When all remained silent, he nodded. “Good. That means we’re to the final point on today’s agenda.” He met Francesca’s eyes. “Who sent the note? And what does he want you to reveal?”

He kept his attention locked on her, so there was no missing either the way her eyes widened just a hair or the slash of fury that cut across her undeniably beautiful face.

“Do I need to write you a song?” she snapped. “Do a tap dance? Or maybe you want me to tattoo the answer on my forehead. Some asshat wants me to say some magic words or else he’s going to kill me, and I. Do. Not. Know. What. They. Are.”

A tear snaked down her cheek, and she swiped it away, the gesture both angry and impatient.

“I can’t tell what I don’t know.” She spoke directly to him, and he took the challenge, moving closer until he was breathing her air and could smell the lilac in her perfume.

“That’s kind of my point, sweetheart,” he said, studying her expression. Every tiny tick, every movement of her eyes. “I think you do.”

“Excuse me?” She glared at him. The kind of look designed to melt a lesser man.

Too bad for her, he wasn’t a lesser man. “You heard me,” he repeated.

Sparks flew from her eyes. Not literally, but he could damn sure imagine them. He said nothing. Just looked back at her mildly, keeping his own temper in check. He was an expert at not showing his feelings, and that was a skill that would come in handy with Francesca Muratti. Probably more than his dead-on aim with a pistol.

With a huff, she turned to face Ryan, then Damien. “Assign another agent, or I’m firing the lot of you.”

“And here I thought you liked me. What with convincing them to let you go to the con.”

She whirled on him. “You insufferable prick. Don’t you dare—”

“Frannie. Calm down.” Damien’s voice was low. Reasonable. And Simon was absolutely positive that was the wrong approach to take.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Stark? The man just called me a liar to my face. I have no idea—zero theories—as to what’s going on, and he’s accusing me of…well, fuck him. Fuck all of you. Dammit.”

She blinked, her lips pressed tight together as she spun away, giving all of them her back. And for a moment—a very, very fleeting moment—Simon had the urge to put his hands on her shoulders and tell her that it would all work out.

“Frannie,” Damien said softly, “we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

Her shoulders shook, and as much as she grated on him, he also knew that she was truly afraid. And because he was a damned idiot, his heart softened a little. At least until she spoke again.

“I don’t want him here.” The words were low. Barely audible. “He’s an arrogant prick, and I don’t want him in my home. For that matter,” she added, turning to look at Damien and Ryan in turn, “I don’t want anyone here. I got some stupid note, and I freaked, okay? But I shouldn’t have, because there’s nothing for me to tell. Nothing. Which means it’s a prank. A joke. I’m safe. So go. All of you.” She shifted, eyeing everyone in the room. “Go on,” she snapped, her voice rising. “Get out of my house.”

Nobody moved.

“Dammit, go.” A stray tear snaked down her cheek. Damian started to stand, but Simon stepped forward, cutting his boss off. He’d triggered this with his typically brash bullshit. Yeah, dealing with Hollywood types was as much fun as dragging his fingernails down a chalkboard, but there was no denying the woman was legitimately scared.

“Oh, come on,” she said as he approached her. “Won’t you please just go?”

He pulled a chair out for her, then gestured for her to sit, surprised when she actually complied. He squatted down, one hand holding the table for balance, so that she didn’t have to look up at him. Across the table, in his peripheral vision, he saw Stark and Ryan exchange a glance. Matthew Holt and Aaron were as still as stone. He remembered that Francesca was rumored to have a fiery temper on set; presumably, they were preparing for the explosion. As for the rest of the team, they’d long ago slipped out of the room. Good.

“Hear me out,” Simon said, his attention now entirely on her. “Then, if you still want us to leave, we will.”

He paused, giving her time to answer, and was relieved by her small nod of consent.

“You say you don’t know what the note is referring to and that it must be a bad joke. A prank.”

“That’s the only thing that makes sense,” she whispered, so low he had to strain to hear her.

“And you may be right. But the flip side is that you’re wrong.” He lifted a hand, halting her before she spoke. “Just hear me out. If you don’t know what the note is referring to, that makes it more dangerous, not less. Presume it’s legit. By not answering—by doing nothing—you’re basically flipping the guy off. And an angry stalker is a dangerous stalker.”

“That’s all conjecture. It’s bullshit. Why am I the only one who sees that?”

Simon drew a breath. She was fighting back and pissing him off, and as much as he wanted to tell himself it was because she was a spoiled little Hollywood starlet, that wasn’t the case. It was because she’d been threatened, and she was scared.

“I get that you wish all this would go away. I get that you’re scared. But even if you really don’t know what this thing is you’re supposed to know, someone thinks you do. You’re not safe. You can’t control the scenario, and you need help. If you don’t want me, that’s fine. You take that up with these nice gentlemen here. I promise you I don’t like the situation any more than you do.”

“Barré.” That from Ryan.

“He’s signaling that I’m being unprofessional, and maybe he’s right. But right now, I’m not interested in doing my job. I’m interested in making sure you feel comfortable and safe in your own house and at tomorrow’s event. That means you need someone here for the safe part, and you need someone you trust for the comfortable part. Right now, both those roles are mine. But you say the word, and they’ll find someone else.”

He turned to look at the two men who’d recruited him. Who signed his extremely nice paycheck. Who’d told him he was assigned to this job even though he’d rather eat glass than work with an actress, much less the biggest actress on screen today. And he wondered just how much he’d pissed them off.

Maybe in the end, it didn’t matter. Neither he nor Francesca wanted him here. She said the word, and he was history.

He drew a breath. “That’s it. That’s my speech. There’s evidence that you’re in danger, and you say you don’t know why. All the more reason for someone to be with you.”

“You said I’ll be safe tomorrow.”

“And I believe that. But I might be wrong. More important, I’m not just talking about tomorrow. I’m talking about the day after, and the day after that. All the way until we figure out who’s harassing you. And right now, all those days—and all those nights—are on me. If you want someone else, now’s the time to say so.”

“Then I want Leah,” she said, and he was shocked by the disappointment that slammed against him. “Have Leah move in.”

Simon pulled out another chair and sat opposite her, then turned his attention to Ryan. She’d really rather have Leah than him? Leah was a solid agent, no doubt. But she was a small woman. Hardly the forbidding presence that could deter a hostile attack.

Still, if he was off the case, that would be a good thing. And this Hollywood princess would no longer be his problem.

“It makes sense,” she continued, making her case to Ryan and Damien. “I know you think having a guy is better, but I know her socially. We can say she’s staying at my place because she’s remodeling. That she’s shadowing me because she’s writing a screenplay. Anything.”

Ryan glanced at Damien and shrugged.

“I’m not sure I like that idea,” Holt said. “I’m sure Leah is excellent at her job—and don’t lay into me about being sexist—but Simon’s a big man, and if Frannie’s going to have a bodyguard…”

“Leah can handle herself,” Ryan said. “We were playing the boyfriend card, but the best friend ploy works, too.”

They all looked to Aaron, as if he had the final say, and Simon wondered about his relationship with Francesca. Just business, or did those two have a history?

He winced, realizing the direction of his thoughts. Why the hell did he care if they slept together?

“All right, Barré,” Ryan said, the words getting Simon’s thoughts back where they should be. “You’re off the case. We’ll get Leah, and—”

“No.” It took a moment for Simon to realize he was the one who’d uttered that one strong syllable. “No,” he repeated, not quite able to believe what he was saying. Clearly Francesca couldn’t believe it, either, if the way she was gaping at him was any indication.

“But you just said—”

“I know,” he told her. “But Matthew’s right. It’s better to have a guy with you. It’s better to have me with you,” he added, not sure if he was saying it because the words were true or because he resented that look of pure relief he’d seen on her face when Ryan had agreed about Leah. “The assignment is mine.”

Francesca’s eyes were wide. “Then why did you suggest—”

“I’m sorry. I changed my mind. The boyfriend ploy is better. And, honestly, there’s no one you should trust more than me to keep you safe.”

Her brows rose. “I’m betting Damien and Ryan disagree with you about that. Not to mention all the other agents at Stark Security.”

He shrugged. “Probably, but this is the way it’s going to be.” He turned to face Ryan and Damien. “Maybe it’s just a hoax and there’s no real danger, but if there is, then Ms. Muratti wants me.”

“No, I—”

“Yes,” he insisted, turning his attention back to her. “I’ve got my issues with Hollywood, but they aren’t personal. I’m sorry if I’ve been an ass,” he said sincerely. “I’m usually more professional, and I will be going forward. Because you need to keep me on,” he continued, his mouth continuing to blather on even while all of his common sense told him to take the opening and run, run, run away from this Hollywood ice queen.

Apparently, his listening skills were forshit, because he didn’t run. Instead, he just kept talking. “And, sure, Leah’s got skills. But I’ve been doing this longer, and I’m a better option. I’ve done this before. Protected celebrities and power players from threats from unknown sources. Plus a lot of other jobs I can’t tell you about, but that I promise will help me to keep you safe.”

He paused to study her face, satisfied when he saw that she was listening. Really listening. As for Damien and Ryan, hopefully he’d still have a job when he shut up because otherwise, he’d be working freelance. Damn him for letting his personal feelings get in the way of client safety.

He knew better. It was this Hollywood bullshit. That whole goddamn business. But he was bigger than the industry. Bigger than his past. And he was determined to protect this woman.

“Mr. Barré,” she began, but he cut her off.

“No. Let me finish. If this somehow went south and I wasn’t on it, I’d never forgive myself. And neither would you, because you’d be dead. This threat is bigger than we first realized, and I’m staying on it,” he said firmly and was surprised to see respect in Francesca’s eyes where he’d expected irritation. “I’m the man for this job. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Frannie?” Ryan asked from behind him.

“Yes,” she said. “He’ll do.” She drew in a breath and sat up straighter, her shoulders going back in a way that made her look both regal and powerful. “But why do you say the threat’s bigger?” She looked at him, then glanced over his shoulder at Ryan and Damien, neither of whom answered her question.

“Because you know something,” he told her. Then hurried on when she opened her mouth to respond. “I’m not saying you can pull it out of the sky right now, but you do know something. You saw something or overhead something—or you were in a positionto. However it went down, someone is convinced that you have knowledge. Something they want to know as well, and they want it enough to threaten you.”

“But I don’t know wha—”

“I believe you. But here’s the thing. Someone is threatening to kill you if you don’t tell. That also means there must be someone who wants that secret held close. Someone your antagonist is trying to intimidate or blackmail or ruin. And once that person learns that their secret may come out—”

“I’ll have someone who wants me to stay silent just as much as our Mr. X wants me to talk.”

“Bingo,” he said, flashing her a smile. Not because of the danger, but because right then—for just a few heartbeats—they were actually working together. “There are two threats against you, even if one isn’t viable yet. Two very serious threats.”

“He’s right,” Ryan said as Damien nodded in silent agreement.

“Yes,” Francesca said. “I’m afraid he is.”

“That’s why I’m not walking away. It’s why you’re stuck with me and not Leah. But we will find out who’s behind this,” he said. “I promise.”

“I’m all for that,” Francesca said. “But I don’t see how.”

“That’s where the fun part comes in,” he said with a smirk. “You and I will be getting to know each other pretty well over the next few days. Because we’re going to dig into your life. We’re going to dig deep. And we’re going to figure out what it is that somebody thinks you know.”