14. Hellena

14

HELLENA

I t's done.

I'm paid off.

Still means I have to work my ass off for Evan for the foreseeable future, but I think the drug dealer and his lackeys are gone. I hope they are. I've never seen someone so scared like he was of Gavin.

Hell, I've never been so scared. I barely slept last night.

I knew Gavin was protective, but the fact that he would kill to protect me… I don't know what to make of it. Except that I feel the same way about him. I would do anything to protect him.

Whatever that thing is, that darkness that lives inside him, it's not human.

But I saw him there, when he came back.

It's like someone let go of my throat. I was worried for a few seconds that he wouldn't come back, that he'd stay shut off and cold. Or that he'd just kill me.

Not that things went very well, anyway.

I shouldn't have put myself out there like that. At least not right after a life or death moment. Can you blame me? The rush of the fight…

And the sweat steaming off his muscles, soaking through his shirt, showing off every detail of his massive chest and arms…

The urge was overwhelming to let him have me, right there.

I squirm under the covers at the thought, debating whether I might have time to take care of that want before getting out of bed. I've got a hell of a long day ahead of me. Evan called to ask—well, told me I'm coming with him to several jobs today.

After the day I had yesterday, I need the distraction.

"You gonna get up today?" Gavin looks down at me, two to-go coffee cups in his hands.

Shit, I didn't even hear him come in. "Hmm… I don't know. Only if you brought me a bagel."

"Nah. Banana chocolate muffin. Guess I'll just toss it if?—"

He yelps as I pounce out of the covers and over the side of the couch at him, dodging and making a run for the kitchen. We face off across the table, and I see his eyes trail down my oversized T-shirt to my cotton panties.

If he wanted me for breakfast, I'd let him have me.

But the muffin will have to do. After a little back and forth chase, he lets me catch him and hip bumps me into my seat.

Asshole. Always using his superior strength.

After a pleasant, quiet breakfast, I dress for the day, sending a scathing snap to Evan with my outfit to make sure he doesn't have an issue with it. Of course, it is one of the sleek white blouses and gray pants sets he got for me, so I guess I still lose the round. I do look damn good, though.

Evan pulls up outside, popping the horn once.

"Gav, I'll be home later. Work stuff." He's just coming out of his room, his button-up hanging open, impressive pecs and that line down his stomach making me want to cancel on Evan and see where the day might take us.

"You tell Mister Moneypants that he needs to share you a little better."

"I have to work…"

"Maybe I'll think of a few things for you to work on, then."

"Make a list. I'll get the job done," I tease, biting my lip. The thought of flirting like this with anyone would have made me shake my head a few weeks ago.

Until I met Tell. And Gavin. And Evan.

He drinks me in one last time, shaking his head as I close the door.

It makes me ache, wishing he'd do something about it.

It's a vibrant, cool, early summer day. Basically, your perfect Saturday.

And I get to ride into the hills in a convertible. Evan's sunglasses don't hide the way his head drops, telling me he's getting just as much of an eyeful as Gavin.

Our drive is actually pleasant for a change.

Ever since my discovery of Evan's little secret, I've wondered how the next time we saw each other would go. Apparently, it means he's content to not criticize me or give me the list of how I should act. At least today.

Maybe he's lowering his defenses. Or I need to be very careful to keep mine up. In case this turns out to be another test.

It certainly tests my self-control the way he's dressed today.

I don't think I've ever seen him in anything but black, dark gray, or navy. The light blue shirt he's sporting, tucked neatly into his cream slacks, looks positively mouthwatering . He wears everything he owns like it was designed for his frame and his attitude.

So, despite the feeling that things are a little more relaxed, there's friction between us. Friction that was only hinted at before, simmering under the surface.

Now it's tangible. Tight.

I can't be around him without thinking about…

Heaven.

Knowing that there are tattoos hidden under whatever he's wearing, running the length of his back, stomach, legs, shoulders. All directing the eye to his best features.

"What are we getting into today?" I force out, trying to push my scalding thoughts aside.

" Mailman jobs." He smirks as he says it. "Simple things. Little favors I like to see to personally."

"I take it there's a difference between these and the petty squabbles you avoid?"

"Naturally. It doesn't pay to get caught up with every menial task. Everyone has money to pay for conveniences. That's what Uber and DoorDash are for."

It makes me think of how Todd or Jake from SHSU would blow up my phone day and night asking for stupid shit. Stuff they just didn't want to be bothered buying or doing.

And I was happy to do it.

It's what Evan would call ‘chump change'. Wastes of time.

More importantly, I'm beginning to learn how emotionally driven requests and petty asks can cause unnecessary conflict. Unhappy customers blame the provider.

"It really comes down to positive or negative. I'm pleased to take on positively driven desires. I try to avoid the ones driven by hatred and malice." Interesting. Not that I thought Evan was a contract killer, but it is relieving to hear more and more that the bulk of the work we do is for good reasons.

The first three stops are simple. Drop offs at a small church parish, a food bank, and an orphanage.

Someone signs, shakes Evan's hand. They're grateful for whatever it is we've brought.

And Evan is gracious, quiet, and… kind.

Especially to the older man at the orphanage. They chat for a moment while I wait in the car, and I see just how little I know about my benefactor. There's more to Evan than his cool fa?ade. I know there had to be, but he's convincing.

And any trace of the warmth I see traces of with each delivery vanishes the second he turns away to walk back to the car.

I'm definitely going to bribe Geneviv to let me see the reports on these on Monday.

Our next stop is more in line with my expectations for the day.

Mrs. Hildebrandt. She's an older woman, a widow. The house isn't the biggest on the block, but she clearly lacks for very little.

What strikes me immediately, when she opens the door, is the way her eyes light up. Not just in a "want to devour him" sort of way. She's genuinely happy to see him. Like a relative or close friend.

And to my absolute surprise, he is, too.

The smile he gives her is several steps closer to warm than any I've ever seen on him. There's something close to tenderness there.

"Gloria, you look radiant. Please, let me introduce my assistant, Hellena Michaels."

"Charmed, my dear. Gloria Hildebrandt." She takes my hand delicately, confidently. "Come in, Heaven, come in." The use of that name has me wondering a whole bunch of things about what his relationship with this lady might have been. She's beautiful, even in her sixties. But would he…?

According to him, no.

I'm fairly sure she would jump at the opportunity. I'd be hard pressed to say no if he…

Nope. No way. Stop that!

He's my boss. He's a dick. And my life is complicated enough as it is.

Even if I feel more like myself than I ever have. Go figure. Brushes with death, a job for a secret organization, rooming with a hired killer, or kill cleaner. Not to mention the dreamboat who I'm pretty sure is an informant for the Mob or something.

Reminds me, I need to call Tell…

"Tell me, Gloria, were you able to make it to the ballet on your trip?" The first word snaps me back to attention. Of course Evan wasn't talking about my Tell.

"Oh, Evan, it was magnificent! A reprieve from an otherwise dreary visit. My sister is worse than the doctors." She guides us into the sunroom, a spread of tea and cookies set out. A wave invites us to sit.

"I'm glad. Jean-Pierre wanted to know what you thought of his new prima."

"She was no Eva-Maria. However, I can tell you that the girl has a future. Jean always knows how to find such unique stars. Not unlike you…"

Evan chuckles softly, genuinely. "You flatter me."

"You eat it up because you know it's true. Hellena, don't ever let his modesty fool you."

"He has modesty?" I take a quick sip of tea to keep from laughing out loud.

Gloria tilts her head back in a full belly laugh at the remark. "I like her, Evan! It's about time you found… someone ." Her eyelids dip, hiding a momentary shadow, a flash of sadness.

"She's a natural at the job," Evan replies quickly, as if to excuse the idea that we might be anything other than employer and employee.

"Hmm. Always deflecting. Business aside, how are you doing, my dear?"

"Business is never aside, Gloria. Ah, but you know, I love my work. Living life to the fullest, living the dream. Or making them come true." The admission is accompanied by a self-deprecating smile.

"Everyone's but your own, eh?" she prods, giving me a strange glance. The comment is left hanging in the air, the three of us sitting in silence for a time.

Our host lets the silence rest, looking out at her garden, bathed in morning rays.

I feel the mood shift, the time for pleasantries passing.

"Is it done?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.

Evan nods slowly and sighs before he slides an envelope across the table. "The good news is that your painting will be here in two weeks. My dealer in France assures its authenticity and that you will be most pleased."

Gloria smiles sadly, waving her hand dismissively. She seems far less concerned about whatever Evan brought than the fact that he came to see her. I wonder how many of these clients he has, who buy an hour of his time every so often, just for the company.

"Sheila, the grandchildren, they're… safe?"

"Yes."

Gloria opens her mouth a fraction, another question on her lips, but Evan interrupts. "You know that's all I can say."

"I know. It has to be enough."

"You still have time to change your mind."

"Oh, there's no backing out now. Not in my condition. It's all yours." Gloria sips from her cup, wagging her hand reassuringly. "Would you like to stay for lunch? Both of you?" Her smile melts my heart, the implication clear. She wants Evan to be happy. Like a family member wanting to set him up.

The thought of being with him, like this, being together…

How would that even look or work with someone like Evan?

And why am I suddenly very curious to find out?

I see Evan shift in his seat slightly, looking for an excuse.

"I'm sure we'd love to, any other day…"

I immediately step in, reaching out to place my hand on hers. Evan gives me a side-eye. "Can we come back next week, Evan?"

"Indeed. Unfortunately, we have several more appointments today, but I will check in on you the day after tomorrow." Evan stands, looking intensely at the matronly woman across from us. They share a quiet moment before they both nod, and we see ourselves out.

I wait until we're driving, leaving the somber tone of the meeting behind before I ask the burning question, "Is she…?"

"Dying. Yes."

"And you are taking everything. Her estate. And more."

"In exchange for a complicated favor. Yes."

Outrage blossoms in my chest at the comment, at how flippantly he treats the fact that a woman is dying and that he is just taking everything she has. Logically, I know there must be more to it. Still. He's so…

I'm about to lay into him, my mind racing.

"Be very careful what you say next," he almost growls, meeting my eyes in warning.

I take a breath, clenching my fists to steady my tone. "What is the favor ?"

"This job requires making difficult choices. You must learn how to subdue your sense of outrage, right and wrong, and make the best decision for the situation . The decision that best benefits the organization, future exchanges, the betterment of the many over the few. However, in certain cases, you still can save ‘the few' if you're careful." The last statement is softer, less frigid.

The car slows, pulling into a long driveway that leads back onto a sweeping property. Massive trees line the entry, leading to a colossal mansion. It's out on the skirts of the hills, heading into the mountains where only the most elite have their estates.

Evan stops the car in an alcove along the drive, hidden behind some trees. Reaching back, he passes me a bag. "Change."

"Only if you explain to me what the hard choice was this time. What you just did for her. I need to know." Shimmying out of my pants leaves me feeling exposed, but I'm too frustrated and angry to care if he sees me in my underwear.

"Gloria's sister was all but bled dry by her own children. They abandoned their own kids in the process. Squandered all the money. They came back for more. She wanted to save her grandchildren. Save what was left of her family's legacy. So, we made a deal. The grandchildren are cared for. Sheila, too, though she's in poor health. Kept safe from the vultures trying to find them, as well."

"And their inheritance?"

"Doesn't exist anymore."

"How so?"

"Because the heir to both family branches appeared, conveniently."

"You. I won't even bother asking how you pulled that off. What happens to the parents, the ones trying to get the money?"

"They've been warned. Consequences are in place to be executed if they do not comply."

A chill settles into my bones at the flat, casual comment. The real meaning behind the words makes me instantly nauseous. "So that's that. Her family is safe. You get her whole life ."

"Her late husband's bank. The property. Overseas holdings. Gloria had no children herself. Her cancer is terminal." He shakes his head, like that explanation is enough.

"What about the painting you mentioned?" I shift gears, trying to clear my head, to reconcile the awful interchange.

"Something I know she's always wanted, like the tickets to the ballet, to decorate her hospital room. Something nice to look at until she goes." Evan reaches over, helping me hold my hair out of the way.

Changing in the car has gotten easier, although I am getting sick of his playing dress-up-doll with me on the fly like this. "Can't I get a changing room every now and then?" I mutter, sliding the dress down over my chest before wiggling out of my bra straps and dragging the cups out from underneath.

"I'll have one installed in the carriage at once, milady," he drawls, pulling out and delivering us to the valet at the front steps. It's obscene, four stories, the white marble, the soaring flower decorations. It must be a ball or a gala.

Evan stops me short of the front door, turning me to check my outfit, my hair. "Let's make this one quick, shall we?"

"I'm not done talking about Gloria."

"Clearly."

"Or about your springing surprises on me, costume changes." I'm still fired up. The flare of the glorious red dress he picked just seems to accentuate my mood.

"I'm sure I'll never hear the end of it."

"Or your not filling me in on the deals beforehand. I hate walking in blind."

"You've done just fine thus far," he mutters, offering me his arm.

"And felt like an idiot almost every time!"

"Well, you're in for a treat. This is just a birthday party."

"For whom? The president?"

"Senator's daughter. Sweet sixteen. Well. Not really sweet . She's a monster."

"This is exactly what I am talking about!" I hiss, keeping a pleasant smile on my face as we step into a chandelier-lit entry, complete with matching marble staircases on either side. Ushers wait at the doorways to guide us into the parlor, the dining room, the ballroom.

"I can't have you questioning me in front of clients."

"Then give me the rundown in advance so I don't have to."

"I'll consider it. Now go mingle. I have to check on the aerialists and collect payment from the senator."

"We're going back to have lunch with Gloria."

"Agreed." And he's gone, striding off with purpose. Probably just to get away from me.

Asshole.

He always puts work first, always ahead of himself, always ahead of everything. Just like Gloria said.

Snatching a glass off a passing tray, I take a few sips to cool down and meander through the party. Most of the guests are in formal wear, so I don't stand out, but I still get the odd glance, mostly from men in summer suits.

The ballroom seems to be my best bet for blending in and losing myself for a bit while Evan works. After I get some much-needed food.

The dining hall is packed with tables, right on point with the rest of the palatial decor. Ice sculptures. Caviar. A champagne glass tower.

It's stereotypical, but I've never actually seen any of it in real life.

Or seen myself dressed like I am.

The floor to ceiling mirror just before the ballroom stops me in my tracks, and I stare, just long enough to wonder at my outfit, at myself. I look… amazing.

Every time Evan picks something out for a specific effect, I feel out of my element. Nervous. Then exactly how I am supposed to feel for the occasion. It's infuriating how good he is at it.

In general, he's better at coordinating fashion than I'll ever be.

Still shocked he's not gay.

Not that he doesn't flirt with a few of our rich, gay clients I've seen him meet with the past week.

The hors d'oeuvres are like something straight out of a royal banquet. Crab cakes and things I don't even have names for, but they're all delicious.

Don't go overboard. The last thing I need is a stomachache today.

With my little horde of treats in hand, and another glass of bubbly for good measure, I skirt around the side of the ballroom, admiring the crown molding, the tapestries, and most of all, the glossy, glittering dance floor beneath me.

They practically glow with the sunlight coming through the massive veranda doors, open to the fresh May afternoon. Just as I'm stepping outside, letting the rays bathe my arms and shoulders for a moment, I feel as much as see a familiar presence off to my left.

At first glance, he's a run of the mill, private security guard. Suit. Stern visage. Hair pulled back neatly in a ponytail. Neat beard.

But there's something about the way he stands. Head slightly slouched, hands clasped. No one would give him the time of day. No one should.

Until his eyes drift toward me nonchalantly.

And I know exactly who I'm looking at.

Except the eyes aren't green this time. They're brown.

Why the hell is Tell at some Senator's daughter's sweet sixteen?