She'd spent the preceding hours thinking about how to best take care of herself and the only answer she came up with involved him. When she'd left the Met, but couldn't bring herself to go home because she was scared to be alone, she'd dialed his cell phone number.
He was the one she wanted, the only one. He was a tough ass, hardheaded son of a bitch capable of making a killer turn and flee. He would keep her safe. With him protecting her, maybe she could get through a day without having an anxiety attack. Maybe she'd be able to concentrate on her job again. Maybe she could have part of her life back.
Her eyes flickered over to him. He'd chosen a chair just beyond the pool of light cast by the desk lamp. He looked dangerous in the shadows, so still and watchful. She couldn't see his eyes but knew they were on her. Even in the midst of her fear, she felt a surge of warmth and had to remind herself they had business to discuss.
Grace cleared her throat. "I'd like to hire you."
She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
He shifted in the chair, his leather jacket creaking softly.
"How far are you willing to go?"
"What do you mean?"
"What accommodations are you willing to make? "
Her eyebrows rose. "As in?"
Impatience flared in his tone. "Changing your schedule. Restricting your activities. Leaving the city."
Her eyes widened. "I can't leave the Foundation. We're getting ready for the Gala and—"
Smith shook his head resolutely and began to get up from the chair.
"Wait a minute." Grace put some command in the words. " Where are you going ?"
He froze, suspended by his arms over the seat of the chair. The look he gave her told her he wasn't used to being ordered around.
"I mean, please don't leave. You're the best. And I want the best." More softly, she added, "I need you."
He got to his feet and looked down at her from his full height. When he put his hands on his hips, his jacket stretched tightly across his shoulders.
No doubt he was all solid muscle, she thought. Actually, she already knew that, having been against him. Held by him.
The swirling desire that broke through her anxiety wasn't an improvement and she wanted to curse. Why couldn't she be blindsided by calm? Tackled by a wave of peacefulness? Swept off her feet by tranquility and relaxation?
But no. Her relief pitcher was lust.
"Please," she said. "Don't go."
"Lady, I'm the best because my clients tend to live longer lives. The reason is because they do what I tell them to." His tone was bored, even though his expression was intense. "I have zero interest in arguing with a client over what I have to do to keep them alive,"
"You don't understand." Grace got up so she could at least come close to looking him in the eye. "I need to be here right now."
"You'd rather plan a party than take care of yourself?" His voice was dark with disapproval as he began to turn away. "Look, I can recommend someone who'll do what you want. There are plenty of big pieces of meat who can trail after you."
She rushed around the side of the desk, placing herself between him and the door.
"Hear me out." Before he could argue, she pointed to the bust on the desk. "That's my father. I'm in this office because he's dead but only because he said so. I'm at war with the board and his second in command. I leave now and I get put out to pasture as a figurehead.
"I've got a bunch of throwbacks in my boardroom. My father's right-hand man is turning them against me because he wants to be in charge. If I disappear now, I'm going to lose control of this foundation because they're going to push me out. It will be the first time a Hall hasn't been in charge and I can't let that happen." Her eyes implored him. "There's a lot more at stake than just a party. But I just can't live in fear any longer. It's killing me."
He studied her for a moment. "Are you prepared to be completely honest with me?"
"I told you about my husband, didn't I?"
She'd felt uncomfortable talking to him about her marriage. Smith was, outside of her lawyer, the only person she'd told and she hadn't liked revealing the truth. The tabloids would pay a mint to get their hands on that kind of copy, but what choice did she have? She had to trust someone and John Smith hardly seemed the type who'd sell out for money. He seemed to have too much dignity for that.
"Are you aware of anyone who would want to hurt you? Any enemies?”
Grace frowned. "As I said, Lou Lamont wants my job. He's aggressive but I can't believe he'd—"
"You'd be surprised what people are capable of. Anyone else?"
She shook her head. "Not that I can think of."
"Do you have any lovers?" The words were curt.