9. Tyson

9

TYSON

I use myself as a shield, pushing Kiana down and covering her body with my own. The crackling noise lasts for another tense second as people scatter around us and chaos follows.

Kiana's in as much shock as everybody else, curled up into a ball beneath me. Once I'm certain I've got her completely covered, my right hand reaches the Glock holstered on my hip. I scan the area, searching for the source.

My gaze lands on the rooftop two buildings away. A film crew is in the middle of filming a scene for what looks like a foot chase.

It slowly dawns on me what's going on.

"False alarm!" yells the director in charge of our interview. He, like the others, has ducked for cover. He stands back up, holding his phone out. "It's the movie filming a few buildings away. The shots being fired are dummy rounds. No need to panic."

The rest of the crew on our rooftop seem to give sighs of relief, laughing and joking about the overreaction.

I'm not so amused.

I rise from my crouch, helping Kiana up by the hand. She's dazed all over again, like she can't believe what's happened. Even if it was a so-called false alarm.

"You okay?" I ask, giving her a once over.

"Yeah…" she answers hesitantly, running a hand over her long, wavy hair. "It's just… feeling like I'm being shot at the second time in days is…" she sighs, her shoulders tense. "It's wild."

"You've had enough for today. Time to take you home."

Before she can protest, I'm approaching the director and the rest of his crew.

"This interview is over," I say. "We were never made aware there would be another project being filmed in the vicinity. When I requested the information about the location, that was never mentioned."

The director rolls his eyes, folding scrawny arms over his chest. "Who cares if it was never mentioned? This is LA. There're people filming all the time?—"

"I care," I growl, taking a step toward him. "It could be a life or death situation when the client is experiencing heightened threats. We asked for specifics on the venue, and you provided inaccurate information. This event is over."

"You can't just cancel the rest of the interview. We can't use unfinished footage. Get back here!"

I've already turned my back on him. I head in the direction I came from.

Kiana stands watching me like she can't believe her eyes. "What did you just do?"

"Ended your interview," I answer. "It was a clusterfuck anyway, and it's been a long day. Any complaints?"

For a brief moment, her gaze shifts to the rest of the crew scattered across the rooftop of the music media outlet, then she shakes her head. The corner of her lips curl as if she's tempted to smile.

"Then let's get out of here, princess."

Tommy bitches me out minutes after leaving the Jamz interview. Me and my men are driving Kiana to her penthouse when my phone rings and Tommy's number pops up on my screen.

"You have no authority to dictate her events schedule," he snaps the second I answer. "So unless the team at Jamz are lying bastards, you've got a lot of explaining to do."

"There was an incident on the rooftop?—"

"Believe me, I heard all about the incident. It was an accident. But, Tyson, you had no authority to end a press event. You are Kiana's security. You are not her manager."

I grit my teeth. "Then maybe as her manager you should be looking out for her best interests. You've got this girl overworked, underfed, and overexposed in public settings that are questionable at best. Downright dangerous at worst."

"Do you know who you're talking to? I'll be the decider of that. Know your place!"

"Know yours," I rumble as my temper pulses to life and my fists draw tight. "Talk to me like that again and I'll knock your teeth out. I don't care who the fuck you are."

I hang up on him before he can bitch me out some more.

In the absence of my thick rumble comes an awkward silence. The rest of my security team know better than to utter a word.

But it's Kiana's reaction I'm more cognizant of. She's sitting across from me in the limousine we've taken today, eyeing me like she's never seen me before.

I might be pissed the fuck off from what's happened, but her curious stare has a unique power—it makes my stomach clench and unclench from uncertainty.

I scratch at my coarse beard and grunt, "What?"

The almost smile I'd spotted earlier makes its return on her full lips. "Want to come over for takeout?"

The offer's so unexpected, completely out of left field.

"Takeout?" I repeat gruffly.

"Yes, Goliath, takeout. As in food. As in dinner. I'm starving. There's this great Peruvian spot that delivers to my penthouse," she explains, reclining in her seat, head tipped back. "I've got no other plans thanks to you. And Amari's busy working for another client."

…she wants company.

Anytime assets have offered to take me out for a drink or invited me over their home out of gratitude, I've declined.

I'm well known in my field for more reasons than one. While I'm known for my expertise and skill, I'm also known as a cold, detached asshole for a reason.

I've never liked making things personal.

Work is work.

Just about everyone in my life is kept at arm's length—except Jaxon, and now that I've lost him, I've realized why it's necessary I need to keep people out.

But I've never met someone who's so damn difficult to say no to.

Peering at princess after she makes her offer, I find that, for the first time in my life, the word no is no longer in my vocabulary.

"Alright," I answer stiffly. Then, to rationalize it with work, I add, "That will give us time to go over the rest of this week's schedule."

Kiana's smile remains as she rolls her eyes. Probably some funny thought in her head. Possibly her picking up on my hesitation.

We ride the elevator up to her penthouse to the disapproving stare from the same doorman who had given me hell days ago. We're outside her door when my phone rings a second time in the last half hour.

"Go ahead," I say. "I've got to take this."

"Bison, what are you doing, my friend?" Hal says in place of hello. "I just heard from Tommy, and he's upset. He said you threatened to punch his teeth out?"

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I don't have time for this conversation. Call me back tomorrow."

"If you even have a job left by tomorrow. He is livid."

"I did my job. I protected the asset."

"But the interview?—"

"I did my job," I repeat. "I protected the asset."

"Bison, my friend, you might not get Tommy like I do. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants. How do you think he wound up with a client like Kiana in the first place?" Hal asks. "He swept her right out from under me."

"I'm confused why you think I give a damn about what you or Tommy Tocha have to say," I grumble. "Don't fucking call me with bullshit like this again."

I hang up on Hal, pocketing my phone and turning toward Kiana's door. The doorknob has been left unlocked. I step inside the spacious penthouse expecting her to be dressed in the same outfit from the last event with Jamz.

Instead, she's changed. The wavy, honey brown wig is gone. Her real hair let out from the cornrows it was braided into. The sparkling dress has been shed. In its place is a similar outfit to the one she'd worn in recent times—a crop top and cotton shorts that sit distractingly on her hourglass-shaped hips.

"There you are," she says. "I'm about to order the food."

Stay professional, asshole. This is a job. She is your asset.

But as I give a nod, I've never been more certain that I'm fighting a losing battle.