Page 98 of Duty Unbound

Cowardice and relief washed over me in equal measure as I headed for the garage. Maybe the conversation would have to wait for another day when Nova wasn’t so…Nova. I grabbed my car keys from the hook in the kitchen, ignoring the voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Ethan telling me I was just postponing the inevitable.

One of Ethan’s security guards—a broad-shouldered guy whose name I thought was Dennis or David—was stationed at the gate. He stepped forward as I approached in my car.

“Ms. Rivers,” he said, leaning down to my window. “Where are you headed?”

“Just to get coffee.” I held up my phone with the coupon. “It’ll be quick.”

He frowned slightly. “I can send someone to get it for you.”

I sighed. “I’m already in the car, and honestly, I could use some time alone.”

His frown deepened. “Mr. Cross won’t like it.”

Something about his tone sparked a flash of irritation in me.

“Well, maybe Ethan’s not going to be around long enough for me to really worry about what he likes or doesn’t like.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. One, they were way too sharp for this conversation with David/Dennis, but also…I hadn’t even realized I was feeling that way.

The guard’s expression remained neutral. “It’s not safe for you to?—”

“Nova is the client,” I cut him off. “She’s the one with the stalker. She’s the one you were hired to protect. Not me.”

He hesitated, then reluctantly stepped back. “Please at least stay in public areas and return directly.”

“Thank you,” I said, not bothering to hide my relief as I pulled through the gate. The afternoon sun was warm on my skin through the open window, and I took a deep breath of fresh air. For a few minutes, at least, I could pretend I was just a normal person running a normal errand. Not Nova Rivers’s sister. Not a tour manager contemplating career suicide. Just Mel.

The coffee shop was packed, of course. I joined the long line, my mind still churning over the almost-conversation with Nova and the abrupt coolness with Ethan.

A toddler in front of me dropped his stuffed dinosaur, and I picked it up with a smile, handing it back to his grateful mother. That could be me someday—a mom with a regular life, regular problems. Not private security and stalkers and world tours.

By the time I reached the counter, my mood had soured further.

“Hi,” I said to the barista. “I’ll have a double shot, extra foam, three pumps vanilla, one pump caramel, light ice, and a small black coffee. Oh, and a lemon poppy seed muffin.”

I showed her the coupon on my phone.

She squinted at it. “I’m sorry, but that’s not a legitimate coupon.”

“What? But it just came through.”

She shook her head. “We’re not running any promotions right now. Someone probably spoofed our logo.”

Great. Just perfect. It wasn’t like a dollar off would make or break me, but it was the principle of the thing. One more annoyance in a day full of them.

“Fine,” I muttered, handing over my credit card. I really needed to figure out how to block these spam texts once and forall. Maybe Jace could help. He’d done wonders with Nova’s texts.

It took forever for them to make Nova’s complicated order. I scrolled through my phone, deleting the fake coupon and a dozen other spam messages I’d ignored. Maybe I should get a new number altogether. But that would mean getting the new number to everyone, updating all my accounts…another headache I didn’t need.

“Double shot, extra foam, three pumps vanilla, one pump caramel, light ice!” the barista finally called.

I gathered the drinks and muffin, balancing them carefully as I headed back to my car. The parking lot was crowded, and I had to weave between vehicles to reach mine. A work van was parked next to my driver’s side now, so close I’d have to squeeze to get to my door. I juggled the coffee cups, trying not to spill as I maneuvered into the narrow space.

When I finally opened the car door, I nearly dropped everything.

A bouquet of deep red roses lay across the passenger seat.

My heart skipped a beat.Ethan. It had to be Ethan. But how had he managed it? Maybe he’d had one of his team do it—some silent apology for the way our conversation had ended? How had he known I needed it?

I set the coffee in the cupholders and picked up the flowers. They were gorgeous—velvety petals just beginning to open, the stems wrapped in expensive-looking paper. No card, but that seemed like Ethan’s style. Direct but private.

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