Protection: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (3 page)

Today, it’s Margaret Atwood’s
The Handmaid’s Tale
; I sure wish I was curled up in my hotel room, reading about women in that post-apocalyptic world, instead of here lost in the mob.

“Hey. This way, Elly,” Brad says, grabbing me by the elbow. A black SUV pulls up, tires screeching, and Brad hustles me inside.

I let out a huge breath I didn’t know I held.

“Elly,” Brad says. “We’re not going to let that happen again. You know that, right?”

I glance at him and give him a smile.

“Sure.”

He’s already on his phone, lost in some other train of thought.

“The security team that worked the other day, when I got attacked,” I ask, curiosity overwhelming me. “Is that who we normally use?”

“No, they’re new,” Brad says.

“There was a guy that grabbed me, protected me,” I say, glancing out the window. “I’d like to thank him. Do you know who he is?”

Brad gives me a tired look.

“No idea. Frankly, everyone who was working that day should probably be fired for even letting someone get that close to you.”

I want to say, but
you were there. You were working
.

But I don’t.

Instead I just say, “I liked them.” Then I turn and stare out the window, because Brad isn’t listening anyway.

“That’s the last press event of the day. Of the week, actually,” Brad said.

I let out a pent-up breath, relieved beyond words. “Awesome.”

It will be really nice not to have to dodge any more questions about getting attacked in the damn street
.

“Of course we’ll keep doing radio and TV interviews once the tour is in full swing, but you officially have a full twenty four hours of freedom,” he says, reaching out and snagging my hand. “Quit fussing with your hair, please.”

“Fine, fine,” I grumble, shoving my hands into my lap. I lock my fingers together in my lap in an attempt to keep from touching my hair, which has been artfully cut into a long, chic bob. As if a new haircut will keep people from remembering that I was outright assaulted three days ago, that my new style is really to cover the fact that some crazy fan sliced off a hunk of my hair.

“It really looks nice, Elly. You’re way too stressed about something that isn’t that big of a deal.” His brows rise a little, lips quirking. “Pretty soon no one will even be talking about it, okay?”

I lean back in my seat at the hotel bar and laugh.

“Oh yeah?” I say, pointing across the bar at a flat screen tv. TMZ TV is on the screen, replaying the scene of my attack over and over.

“Pssh, don’t worry about that. Listen, I managed to convince Jared that you can take the day off everything,” he says.

“You did?” I ask, surprised. Jared is my personal trainer, and he’s a notorious hardass. He’s the reason I’m sipping water with a slice of lemon right now instead of the tumbler of whiskey and ice that I’m really craving.

“I did. He asked that you stick to your diet tonight when you’re at dinner with your mom.”

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. My mom. I totally forgot that I agreed to have dinner with her tonight. She’s in New York for the weekend, on vacation.

“Why did I agree to that, again?” I ask absentmindedly. Brad reaches out and catches my hand again, already back up in my hair.

“Because you haven’t seen her in six months, and she came up to New York just to see you before you go on tour. She made reservations somewhere nice…” Brad trails off, swiping at his phone and reading off his notes. “Le Forêt, at seven. She wants you to look presentable.”

My lips twist in what I know is probably an unattractive sneer.

“Of course she does. Did she pick out my outfit for me already?” I say, before I can restrain myself.

Brad gives a little laugh.

“Honestly, she did send specifications in her email,” he admits. “I decided to filter that part out.”

I heave a sigh and reach out to squeeze his hand. “You’re very good at your job.”

He sits up a little straighter, pleased.

“Thanks. Speaking of that, you should probably go get dressed. Le Forêt requires cocktail attire. I had the Jennifers lay out a few dresses for you to choose from, and I will have your car ready out front in…” He glances at his watch. “Forty minutes. Do you need me to go with you as far as the restaurant?”

“Um, I think I can manage,” I tease. “I’m going to assume that you’ve arranged paparazzi outside the restaurant, then?”

Brad has the decency to blush.

“Just for your entrance. They won’t intrude on your family time, I promise.”

“You mean that you’re not sure what my mother will do in front of the cameras,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, she’s hard to predict.”

“Nothing can be as bad as when she was angling for her own reality show. Wearing those short dresses, stumbling out of clubs in LA at all hours…” Brad shudders. “It was a PR nightmare.”

“Well,” I say, rising and smoothing my hands over my floral-patterned Tory Birch day dress. “As always, I’m very curious to see what her new
thing
will be. I’ll text you if it’s devastating.”

“God help us.”

I can only agree.

B
rad’s look
of concerned horror about my mom’s behavior has me laughing all the way to my hotel suite. I leave my makeup from the press junket as is, though I tuck my hair up into a messy updo. If it’s down, I’m going to fidget, and fidgeting makes my mom crazy.

I raised you to be a lady
, she always tells me. Those words were the anthem of my childhood and early stardom. If I don’t hear that at least once tonight, I will be shocked half to death.

I rifle through the dresses laid out for me, selecting a cute Aiden Mattox two piece. It’s a high-waisted black sheath skirt paired with a textured white crop top, sexy and fun. I’ve never seen this dress before but my team has clearly had it tailored to fit me perfectly. I pair it with diamond ear bobs, black velvet Louboutin ankle boots, and a sparkling diamond right hand ring.

At the last moment, I dig through the cases and cases of jewelry stacked in the living room of my suite, searching for…

There
. I find a delicate silver cross, a piece of jewelry I’ve owned since I was a preteen. The last thing my dad ever gave me, before he died. A twelfth birthday present.

I shiver. I can almost feel the warmth of his hands when he helped me lift my long, dark hair to put the necklace on.
Here, princess. It looks beautiful
.

For a second, the memory sucks me in and won’t let go, and I feel tears stinging my eyes.

Get a grip!
I scold myself, repeating the words my mom said to me a thousand times in the year following my dad’s car accident.
Quit being a baby. Bad stuff happens to everyone. Now stand up straight and smile.

I blow out a breath and walk over to the mirror, smiling at myself and checking my teeth for lipstick. I fasten the necklace, my lips curving up when I see how nicely it lays against the white fabric of my top.

After a quick touchup of my dark lip stain, I’m refocused and ready to conquer whatever my mom is going to throw at me.
You can do this, Elly
.

I pep talk myself the whole way to the restaurant, out loud.

“You are awesome. You’re doing really well. No one is going to pick on you,” I tell myself.

My driver Alejandro doesn’t comment or even roll up the divider; he’s used to weird conversations and last minute beauty treatments in the back seat. He travels with me city to city, one steady point in my crazy life. He never talks and never asks me for autographs, and I like that about him.

“We’re here, Miss Parsons.”

I look up and sure enough, the car has stopped and the valet at Le Forêt is opening the car door for me. I take a deep, calming breath and close my eyes for a second.
Black sand beach, coconut drink, no one around for miles
.

I open my eyes and take the hand the valet offers, careful not to flash any of the paparazzi that are already pushing in around the limo. Lights flash, and I drop my gaze to my shoes so I don’t get dazed by them. If you get blinded by the cameras and, heaven forbid, trip…

I can see the headlines now.
Elly Parsons, DRUNK BEFORE DINNER???
or maybe,
IS ELLY HEADED FOR REHAB?? See her latest TRASHED photos!

But I don’t let that happen. The cameramen swarm like sharks, firing off shot after shot.

Elly, Elly! Are you here to meet someone? Elly, is it a new boyfriend? Elly, give us a smile!
they shout.

I’m a pro at this part, smiling just past the cameras so they get a good shot as I waltz into the restaurant. After the photo blitz outside, the restaurant’s lobby is soothingly hushed.

“Miss Parsons?” the young hostess asks, her eyes shining with excitement. Clearly she’s been trained not to make a big deal over celebrities, but she’s as thrilled to meet me as most nineteen year old girls are.

“Yes, hi!” I say, brushing back a stray lock of hair that’s drifted down to my forehead.

“Right this way. Your party has already arrived,” she says, her smile big and bright, so full of potential.

“Sounds good,” I say with a wink. Her grin widens and she nods.

See? People love you
, I tell myself.

She turns and leads me into a tastefully decorated dining room full of low, dark furniture surrounding gleaming ivory tables. The place is pretty full, but the tables are spaced few and far between for privacy. I follow her to a table placed under a grand chandelier.

The chef’s table, no doubt. My mother has never been shy about dropping my name to get any advantage that catches her eye.

And there’s the woman of the hour, rising from the table and brushing off her crisp white dress suit. Her hair is freshly dyed, the same dark color as mine, and her makeup is light and tasteful.

She looks… really put together. It’s almost a little shocking, after the other phases she’s gone through in the last few years. Crunchy granola yoga hippie, pageant mom, and reality star slash future rehab participant stand out, among them.

“Mom,” I say, keeping my expression neutral as she comes around the table to embrace me.

I forget sometimes that she’s so much shorter than me; her strong personality often makes her seem larger than life.

“Elliana!” she cries, giving me a brief hug before pulling back and looking me up and down. “I love this dress you’re wearing, you look fabulous.”

A compliment, right off the bat? Shit, she definitely wants something from me.

“You too, mom,” I say, trying to blink away my confusion. But the focus shifts off me immediately as a man stands up, doing up the button on his dark Armani suit. He’s dark haired, silvering at the temples. His expression is watchful, and for a moment I wonder if my mother has brought a lawyer to dinner, if she’s about to drop some huge crazy bombshell on me.

“Elliana, I’d like you to meet my new beau, Craig,” my mother says, ushering me over to the table.

“Elliana,” he says, giving me a little bow, like he’s accustomed to the Japanese style of greeting.

“Elly, please call me Elly,” I say, trying to size him up. “Um, new beau, did you say?”

“Here, let’s sit down,” my mom says, bringing me around to the seat she’s picked out for me.

The table is set for four, mom and Craig on one side, me on the other. Mom raises her big glass of white wine and uses it to gesture to the waiter. Craig waits for my mom and me to both be seated before taking his place and picking up his own wine glass.

“We’re drinking a really nice Chardonnay, Elly. Would you like a glass?” he offers.

Before I can answer, my mom jumps in.

“Elly’s diet doesn’t allow her to drink alcohol. Trying to stay trim for your upcoming tour, isn’t that right dear?”

I shoot her a quelling glance. If ever there’s been a moment when I deserved a glass of wine, this is it.

“Actually I will have a glass of wine,” I say to the waiter who’s appeared, lifting the bottle of white from the silver ice bucket to refill mom and Craig’s glasses. “Can I get a glass of pinot noir, please? Something nice.”

The waiter vanishes, leaving me to face my mom’s disapproving expression. I’ve more or less been on a diet since age 10, so this conversation is nothing new.

“So… how did you two meet?” I ask them, trying to change the subject.

“At a cooking class!” my mom says, brightening. “I was visiting your Aunt Emily in L.A. We both took the class, and we just… clicked.”

“I’m sorry… where?” I ask, looking between them with some confusion.

“An Italian cooking class,” Craig clarifies. “We were both learning to make risotto for the first time, if you can imagine.”

“That sounds… challenging,” I say, gladly accepting my glass of wine from the waiter. “Mom, I didn’t know you’d taken up cooking classes.”

I could have left off the
classes
bit. What I mean for her to hear is,
Mom, I didn’t know you’d learned to cook
. She certainly never made anything more than a dressing-free salad when I was growing up.

“Well, it’s important to expand one’s horizons. You know, give things a chance,” my mom says, giving me a pointed look.

“Mmm.” I sip my wine and look back and forth between the two of them. The pinot is fruity and refreshing, and oh so welcome.

“So, Elly, your mom has told me a lot about your career. It sounds like you’re doing really well,” Craig says. “You and I are in the same field, in a way.”

“Is that right?” I ask, wary.

“Well, I’m in entertainment law,” he says with a nod. “I’m the Gray in Howard Klein Gray out in LA.”

A name partner?
My eyebrows can’t rise any higher. This conversation isn’t turning out at all like I expected, that’s for sure.

“Well, it’s nice to see mom’s dating someone who meets her, um, standards,” I say, trying to find a delicate way to say,
I’m glad you’re not a complete loser
. Usually mom picks the biggest assholes she can find, and she’s always
so
excited to introduce them to me a couple weeks into the so-called
relationship
…

“Well, thanks, I think,” Craig says with a chuckle. I start to relax a little, the few sips of wine working their unique brand of magic.

“How long have you been seeing each other?” I ask.

I look between my mom and Craig, and a skeptical part of me wonders just what she’s told him about her life, about me.
What does a woman with no real job and no life prospects outside Mississippi have to offer a big shot lawyer from L.A.?

It’s not a very charitable thought, but there it is. It wouldn’t be the first time my mom dated someone who was more interested in linking themselves with my career than they were tying themselves permanently to my mom.

“Almost a year. Our anniversary is in a couple of days, actually,” Craig says, reaching over to cover mom’s hand with his own.

“You’ve dated for
a year
?” I cry, a little too loud. Heads turn at nearby tables, and I sink a little lower in my chair.

“Well, we were long distance for most of that, of course,” Craig says.

My mouth forms an O as I turn and pin my mother with a furious gaze.

“
Were
?
Were
long distance?” I say, setting my wine glass down with a clank.

“I only just settled in at Craig’s place in L.A.,” my mother says, giving a dismissive little wave of her hand.

“Well, three months, give or take,” Craig says, giving her a look.

My mom shrugs and sips her wine.

“You didn’t think that maybe I’d like to know that you moved across the country?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Or that you were seeing someone, that you were pretty serious?”

“I tried to get her to tell you before today,” Craig says, shifting in his seat. “She’s very stubborn, your mom.”

“No shit,” I say. The waiter comes over with a stack of menus and I take one, gladly burying my face behind the stiff board and scanning the salad selection.

“Elliana,” my mom says.

“Just leave it,” I snap, not looking up. “I promise, I’m only looking at the salads. Or do you have something else you’d like to dump on me all the sudden?”

“Elly, put down the menu,” my mom says, grabbing it from my hands.

I’m about to go completely nuclear, to stand up and scream at my mom in front of her new boyfriend and a whole restaurant full of people. I’m about to make Brad and the other Ravens wish to god they’d insisted on coming to dinner with me, because some really, really heavy shit is about to go down.

Except…

I stare right up at the most gorgeous fucking guy I’ve ever seen in my whole life, standing over me and looking at me with a perplexed frown. He’s tall and built, at least a foot taller than my 5’2” stature. Gorgeous green eyes, dark blond hair, built like a wrestler ran into a Mack truck.

Damn
.

“Connor,” Craig says, standing and clearing his throat.

My mom stands up too, reaching over and shaking the guy’s hand, her greeting easy and familiar. I lurch to my feet when the guy sticks his hand out for me to shake.

“You,” I whisper, so low that only he can hear me.

No doubt about it. It’s the guy from the crowd, the guard who grabbed me and protected me right after my attack.

He recognizes me, I can see it in his eyes. Still, he doesn’t say anything or acknowledge that we know each other.

Well,
know
might be a strong word for it.

Still.

My hand clasps his, and this electric shiver skims down my spine. My eyes eat up his tight-fitted dark suit and I can’t help but notice the dark whorls of ink peeking out against the cuffs and neck of his starched white dress shirt. I bite my lip, instantly wishing more than anything that I could see more of those tats.

There’s something magnetic about this guy, and I wonder how my mom found him, the man who basically saved me just a couple days ago.

Why aren’t we talking about how he saved my life?

Craig and my mom are yammering but I’m not listening. Instead, I’m locking gazes with this huge badass dude, trying not to go to pieces over the perfect line of his jaw and the monster size of his hands and feet.

Seriously though,
damn
.

“—my son.”

“Hmm?” I say, finally managing to pull my hand back from Mr. Muscle.

“This is Connor Gray, my son?” Craig says. His tone indicates that this isn’t the first time he’s explained that, either.

“And my daughter Elly,” my mom jumps in, coming around the table to pat Connor on the arm.

“So you’re Elly Parsons?” he asks. His voice is low and gravelly as he gives me an unimpressed once-over.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, my mouth pulling down into a frown. “You were expecting someone else?”

“Let’s sit down, shall we,” my mom says, an anxious smile plastered on her face.

My mom and Craig retake their seats, and to my surprise Connor helps me into mine before sitting down.

“I thought you’d be taller,” he says with shrug.

I scowl, the spell he cast now broken.
What is he playing at?

“I didn’t know you or your father existed, so…” I pick up my wine glass and take a big, healthy gulp. “I guess we’re all getting surprised today, huh?”