Chapter Twenty-Five

Three months later.

“What I’m hearing is, we will be your first stab at campus security.” Dax Gorsuch, the insufferable human answer for a fart, AKA the provost of Clarence University, Chicago, sat in front of me in my boardroom. He looked so full of himself, as if all I’d need was a pin to make him burst and bleed liquid ego.

I felt Tom’s eyes land on me. I was the one who handled potential clients. Tom wasn’t good at public speaking. Or, you know, at speaking in general, for that fucking matter.

“No.” Tom cleared his throat finally, when he realized I wasn’t going to say anything. “That’s incorrect, sir. We actually have extensive experience with securing large events and parties. We are experts at access control, security assessment, systems monitoring, and preventive hallway and parking lot intervention.”

“It’s going to be bad.” Gorsuch stroked his wobbly chin, drumming his fingers on my custom oval wooden table, leaving marks. “We’re bringing in this whacky, extremist political news personality. He’ll bring his own security, but we’re already seeing demonstrations on campus. It’ll get violent. One hundred percent. And I really don’t want a lawsuit on my hands.”

The words went in one ear and right out the other. I couldn’t give two shits about this lecture at Clarence University. All I could think about—all I’d been thinking about—in the past seven months was Hallie Fucking Thorne.

Her scent.

Her smile.

Her ink.

The goddamn doodles she left everywhere. I was a man possessed, and I couldn’t have a straight thought without her tainting it. She haunted me during the day and came to me at night. I couldn’t escape her. And I wanted to. Fuck, I wanted to forget about her.

That was what she wanted. She told me to stay away. So I did.

Through the fog in my head, I could hear Tom stuttering a lackluster answer to Gorsuch.

“…train our bodyguards to make the safest decision at any given time. We’ve dealt with many situations where high-profile media personalities were under threat in the past. Isn’t that right, Ransom?”

My name was more spat than said. I shot him a sidelong glance. If looks could kill, I’d be slumped on my crème leather upholstery chair, suffering eighteen gunshot wounds.

I finally ripped myself out of my haze and pinned Gorsuch with a vicious glare.

“Look, you’re here, which means that you’ve pretty much already decided who you’re going with. Rightly so. We’re the best in Chicago, and we have federal contracts to testify to that fact. We’re not going to sit here and list the reasons why you should hire us. Now, here’s the part where you want to call us out on our hubris. That’s fine. Take your business elsewhere. Just put aside the money for the lawyers, settlement fees, and mediation for when something happens on campus and dozens of lawsuits get shoved up your ass.” I buttoned my blazer with one hand, to the stunned face of the provost. “Have a nice day.” I walked out.

“Excuse him. He’s…uhm, clinically insane.” Tom darted up behind me, following me out of the boardroom.

The gray hallway closed in on us. Had it always been this fucking narrow and dim? Not that I was missing Los Angeles and its traffic, pollution, and plastic people, but Chicago could be miserable sometimes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tom whisper-shouted under his breath.

I waved him off, not breaking my stride to my office. “It’s a small job, and he’s making you sweat for it. Fuck it.”

“A job is a job,” Tom insisted.

“No,” I explained with patronizing patience. “A job is a contract between two parties, based on mutual respect. I’m not kissing anyone’s ass.”

“You’ve never kissed ass.” Tom jumped before me, blocking my way to my door. We both knew I could punch him square in the face and get to my destination. But the truth was, work could wait. I’d done nothing but work for the past seven months.

“What’s eating you, Ransom?” His eyes searched mine frantically.

“Nothing.”

“You haven’t been yourself.”

“Myself is a total pain in the ass, and that’s exactly what I am right now.”

She’s twenty-one. Twenty. One. What is it about her that made her impossible to forget?

“Look…” He sighed. “You’re giving me unhinged vibes, and seeing as you’re my business partner, it makes me feel some kinda way. Come over to dinner tonight? Lisa would really like to see you. The kids miss you, too.”

Biggest load of horse shit I’d ever heard, but my social calendar was wide open. Plus, seeing Lisa and the kids might wrestle me into something resembling chivalrous. Or at least not total dipshit behavior. Gorsuch trailed out of the boardroom, shoving a bunch of papers in Tom’s chest on his way out.

“Don’t fuck it up,” he muttered.

I arched an eyebrow to Tom. “See?”

Tom shook his head, looking exhausted. “Just be at my place at six. Look presentable. Oh, and don’t drink!”

“I haven’t drunk in months.”

“Yup.” Tom retreated, walking backward to his office as he watched me. “I’m well aware, assface. You’ve been insufferable to a fault.”

One kid sat in my lap, and another on my shoulders as I tried watching a football game in Tom’s living room.

“Have they always been this heavy? This needy?” I asked as a tiny finger found its way into my nostril, its owner giggling in delight.

Lisa stared at me levelly from the recliner. “Ransom, they’re five.”

At six, I was already an expert pickpocket who stole to ensure my belly was full, and fought tooth and nail for my spot on a grubby cot. I had no idea how normal kids behaved at that age.

“Uncle Rand-son, do monthsters exist?”

“Uncle Rand-son, who is stronger, Thor or Spiderman?”

“Monsters don’t exist, unless you count politicians and lawyers. Thor is a hammer-wielding god, and Spiderman is a teenager wearing a latex suit, so you do the math. Also, tell your mommy to bring me a beer.”

“Tell your uncle to get his own,” Lisa said sunnily.

I shook the children off of me and stood up, walking to Tom and Lisa’s kitchen. Food was going to be ready in ten minutes, which meant I needed to endure the excruciating punishment of small talk until then. I didn’t feel like eating. I didn’t feel like being entertained. All I wanted to do was go home and conduct one of my weekly online searches on Hallie. Searches that were becoming more and more frustrating, seeing as she had disappeared from the face of the earth, or at least the reach of the internet. No movie premieres, no parties, no paparazzi pictures at The Ivy.

Naturally, I could get her ass tailed and find out whatever I wanted to know about her. But it was such a dick move—such an obsessive stalker vibe—I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I flung the fridge open, taking out three beers for Lisa, Tom, and me. I popped the caps with my thumb. They slam-dunked straight into the sink. Pivoting, I was about to make my way back to the living room when I found Lisa standing in front of me. She stared at me primly, her hands pinned to her waist.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” I frowned, sidestepping her. “Mind your business.”

“It’s hard when you’re making it impossible for my husband to handle his work professionally. You’re not all in, are you?” She followed my steps, staying closely behind.

Snorting out, I said, “That’s a bit fucking extravagant, sweetheart. I clock in about three times the amount of hours your husband does.”

“You’re distracted, agitated, and you’re not bringing your A-game,” she continued, undeterred. Goddamn Lisa and her BA in psychology. “Stop. Turn around. Help me set the table,” she commanded.

I halted, glancing at the dinner table. “It’s already set.”

“Help me get the roast out of the oven, then.”

I took a swig of my beer, setting all three on the table before making my way back to the kitchen. “You’re a pain in the ass, Lisa.”

“Sure. But you can’t afford to be picky with your friends, so just roll with it.” She hopped onto the counter, watching as I served my hostess her dinner at her table.

“The lasagna and casserole are in the other two ovens,” she sing-songed.

“Yeah, Roger that.”

“So…” Her eyes were on me the entire time. I grabbed the kitchen towels and started setting the table with food. “I think I know what’ll make you feel better.”

“Doubt it,” I grumbled, setting the roast down onto the table. “You’d have to shut up and leave me be, and I’ve a feeling I’m not that lucky.”

“I have someone to set you up with,” she said.

“No, thanks.”

“She’s brilliant!” Lisa exclaimed. “Funny, smart, beautiful…”

She’s not Hallie,I finished for her in my head. It was impossible to move on.

“I’m not in the market for that,” I snarled, returning to grab the lasagna and casserole.

“Why, is there someone else you’re interested in?” she cooed.

“No,” I hissed.

Lisa dangled her legs over the counter, hands tucked under her ass. She was glowing, and I hated it. “I think there is.”

“Dinner’s served,” I ignored her. “Call the parasites you refer to as family.”

“Just go to L.A., Ransom. If you love her so much. It’s obvious that you do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I jammed the carving fork and knife into the roast, carving it like it was the face of someone I hated.

“This isn’t something you’re going to get over.” She hopped off the counter, making her way to me. “You’ve obviously never been in love before.”

She touched my shoulder. I jerked away on contact, turning to growl in her face. “I’m not in love with anyone, and even if I was—which I’m not—she doesn’t want to see me. She made it abundantly clear. I’m an asshole, and a bastard, but I’m not so selfish as to shit all over her valid request. Happy now?”

By the size of Lisa’s eyes—two fat moons glowing back at me—I knew I looked like I needed to calm the fuck down. And if that wasn’t a telltale sign, then the fact that Tom appeared in my periphery, his stance inviting trouble, was.

“Immensely!” Lisa flung her arms over my shoulders in a hug. I froze, still holding the knife and carving fork. What the fuck was happening? I wanted it to un-happen. I didn’t want to be touched by anyone. Well, not anyone. But not her. “Finally, you feel something, Ransom. This is huge.”

“This is stupid.” I pulled back, face thundering. “Nothing about this is okay. I have a weird obsession with a woman I used to work for. A woman who is eight years my junior.”

“You’re in love.”

“This isn’t what love looks like,” I spat out.

“It’s exactly what love looks like,” Tom interjected from his spot by the table. “Go to Los Angeles, you prick.”

“She doesn’t want to see me.”

“She said that seven months ago,” Tom pointed out.

“She also doesn’t have the memory of a goldfish,” I countered. “She meant it then. She means it now.”

“Ransom—go!” Now it was Lisa’s turn.

“I don’t want to bother her.”

“You won’t be,” Tom assured me.

“How do you—”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Lisa threw her hands in the air. “Because I talk to her, okay? I talk to her on the phone about twice a month, and she is still crazy about you. She hates you for what you did, for how you treated her, for a lot of things, but she is still very much into you. So, for the love of God, please, please, Ransom, just go to Los Angeles and man-up. The ship’s sailed. You’re never going to be able to un-feel again. Not once you’ve gained feelings. They won’t go away. Now that you know what it’s like to feel—make sure you both feel good.”

She was going to strangle me.

First and foremost, for grabbing a private plane from Chicago to Los Angeles.

A billionaire client had owed me a favor and he agreed to lend me the plane if I paid for the pilot and fuel.

Second, because I was showing up at her doorstep.

While it was entirely possible that Hallie still thought about me occasionally like Lisa said—she was a sentimental creature—she also nearly pushed me off a fucking cliff the last time we saw each other.

But at the end of the day, Lisa was right. I had to at least try to plead my case.

There was only one tiny problem—I had no goddamn idea where she lived these days, and very little time to conduct my research. I boarded the plane just two hours after my conversation with Lisa and Tom.

My first call was to Keller. He seemed to be her good friend, and I still had his contact from when I worked for her.

“Hola?” he chirped into the phone.

I sat back on the plush white recliner on the plane. “Keller, it’s Ransom.”

There was a pause before he said, “The fuck?”

“Hallie’s former bodyguard.”

“I know who you are. My memory is impeccable. Do you know how much gingko I consume? The levels of flavonoids and terpendois in my body are insane.”

Was he even speaking in English?

“What do you want?” Keller asked.

Obviously, Hallie had not sung my praises to her best friend after our showdown.

“I’ll be in the area in a couple of hours and I’d like to meet Miss Thorne. Can you tell me her new address?”

“No, I cannot,” he said resolutely. “You can call her and ask for yourself.”

“We both know the answer will be no.” I wondered what inspired me to have this conversation on the phone and not face-to-face. Keller had a weakness for aesthetically pleasing people. “And I want to talk to her.”

“And I want to romance Neil Patrick Harris. But guess what? He’s already taken. And I’m not a homewrecker. Oh, and I’m pretty sure he lives in Sherman Oaks, where the traffic is insane.”

This man was entirely too much. How Hallie suffered through a conversation with him was a mystery.

“Keller.” I used my most menacing tone. “She’d want to hear what I have to say.”

“Sure about that, honey?” he asked sweetly. “Great. Then call her and ask for her address. Buh-bye!”

He hung up the phone. I looked at the device with a scowl, then dialed Max. He answered immediately. I didn’t even care that he was filling a post in Russia and was in a different time zone.

“Max.”

“What’s up, boss?”

“I need Hallie Thorne’s new address.” This was also going to give me a good indication as to whether the two kept in touch or not.

There was a beat of silence before he said, “Boss…I have no idea. I tried to call her a few times after what happened. She never picked up and I didn’t want to get in trouble.”

Fuck.

“Is there anything—” he started, but I hung up on his face, dialing the next number.

NeNe, her friend—she hadn’t heard from her in months.

Dennis, her former driver—he told me to go fuck myself, not in so many words, for hurting his Hallie.

It became clear to me that I had to do what I very much dreaded. I dialed the number, shifting uneasily in my seat.

Love, my ass. Love is supposed to be fun and cozy. I’ve seen movies. This is fatal attraction bullshit.

The line went alive with a soft click.

“Lockwood? Is everything okay?”

I had the former president of the United States on the line. All because I wanted to talk to a girl. Fuck my life sideways. If this plane crashed in a few minutes, I would not be missed.

“President Thorne. Yes. Nothing to worry about,” I said coolly, hoping I sounded less deranged than my actions right now. “I called to check in.”

“So early in the morning?” He chuckled. “I don’t think so, and I’m a busy man, so you better spit it out, son.”

This. Was. Painful.

“I’m on my way to Los Angeles and I wanted to have a word with your daughter. I’m finding it hard to reach her.” Mainly because I don’t have the balls to call her and get her voicemail. “I was wondering if you’d be able to give me her address, sir.”

“Her address?” he repeated, recovering from his shock quickly. “I don’t think so, Ransom. I just won her trust back. Barely. I’m not going to break it.”

Something interesting happened to me in that moment. I felt genuine relief. Not because he wouldn’t cooperate—fuck that, it was another setback I didn’t need—but because I liked to hear that Hallie was reconnecting with her family.

I had to get off the phone and start making my connections in Los Angeles work.

“All right,” I said, powering up my laptop as we spoke. “Have a—”

“That’s it?” Thorne asked, sounding almost offended.

“Huh?”

“You’re just going to take no for an answer?”

I arched my eyebrows, wondering if the fucker was having a stroke.

“I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman, but even my ass was taught no means no.”

“‘No’ always means open to negotiations,” Thorne replied. “‘Get the fuck out’ means no. That’s the rule.”

I sat back, stroking my bottom lip. “All right. Let’s negotiate.”

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

“A private plane. Geographically speaking, we’re above Colorado. Just passed Boulder.”

“She is not going to like the private plane angle.”

“In this case, what she doesn’t know can’t hurt us?”

“Fair enough. What are your intentions with my daughter?”

Fuck her into the next decade?

Beg for her forgiveness?

Ask her out on a date?

I had no game plan. No strategy. I was playing it by ear, and I loathed every minute of it.

“Just talk,” I said through a tight jaw.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Fair enough. “I would like to explain myself and my actions. We parted ways not on the best terms, and I feel that there’s room for an apology on my end.”

“Getting warmer.” Thorne chuckled, and I heard him lighting up a cigar. “Try again.”

“What do you want me to say?” I roared, losing it. “That I can’t stop thinking about her? That I’m obsessed with her? That I want to be next to her all the time? That I know she’s too good for me, too young for me, too everything for me, and still don’t give a damn?”

Tell me you’re a goddamn psycho without telling me you’re a goddamn psycho, Hallie giggles in my head.

But Thorne just chuckled some more, sounding thoroughly amused.

“Yes. I would love to hear all those things. I happen to think my daughter is a fantastic catch and share the sentiment that she is too good for you.” He paused. “And too young for you, too.”

I groaned, “Let’s cut to the chase.”

“That’s no way to talk to your president,” he mused.

“You’re no longer my president.”

“I’ll throw you a bone.”

“Make sure there’s some meat on it.” I bared my teeth.

“I won’t give you her address, but I can tell you where she works.”

She worked? I would’ve fallen flat on my ass if I wasn’t seated.

“Hit me with it.”

“Misfits and Shadows.”

“Please tell me it’s not a sex dungeon,” I grumbled, already typing out the name on my laptop.

Thorne roared out a laugh. “Who knew you could crack a joke, Lockwood? No. It’s a tattoo shop.”

“Will she be working today?”

“I’m her father, not her secretary.”

“Thanks for the clarification. The pencil skirt threw me off.”

He laughed again. “Go get her, son.”

“I intend to, sir.”