Page 32 of Bishop's Queen

He was feet away from that bedroom, and his eyes drifted down the hall, wondering how intimately the world knew about her private space.

And was that when the calls had started…? Maybe she did know what she was talking about. But still, he wanted to be in the know. How could he protect her from a corporate giant if she didn’t let him?

Bishop’s gaze fell back to his phone. Sitting on the bed, she wore another tank top and skirt, seemingly her trademark outfit, and barely a smidge of makeup. Her eyes were bright, and her face looked freshly washed and rosy. Ella looked ready for time alone at home—not ready to go live and record a video about a business giant and talk about how their corporate behavior would hurt children. The powerful imaging and headline both haunted him and promised a solution even from a thumbnail, and he wasn’t even the intended demographic. The post was masterful.

She rounded the corner. “Still game for a beer? We could stop somewhere for a drink first, before we drop off the herbs.”

“I can always eat too.” Nothing in her house would be considered edible, and he was hungry. “Works for me.”

Ella pulled a bowl from a cabinet, filling it with water from a bottle. Then she whistled before placing it on the floor. “Furry Baby, water.”

Meanwhile, Brick drank water from the tap or outside at a creek on the far side of his property. “If your kitten and dog are set—”

“Give me one minute, and I’ll be ready.”

“No problem. I’m going to call in, and maybe something will pop from the voice mails.” Rocco’s phone rang once as Bishop watched Ella head over to the window with a container of mint in hand. Filling his boss in and watching her simultaneously wasn’t easy. She held out her phone and announced to the worldexactlywhat she was about to go do.

“Hey, boss,” Bishop cut off Rocco’s response, none of which he had heard, anyway. “I gotta jump.” He ended the call and had a thousand things to worry about as he walked directly in front of Ella.

Her gaze jumped, but she went back to the screen. Bishop cleared his throat, needing her to end what she was doingnowand not wanting to cause a scene. He assumed she was livestreaming. Hehatedpeople’s need to stay connected via phone, no matter the cost. But maybe if he stared hard enough, she would realize that her topic of choice was problematic.

“So if you’re in the area, swing on by! We’ll be there.”

Bishop threw his arms out, mouthing, “Ella!”

There was no way to avoid that. She saw him and wrapped up her stream. “What?”

“Why did you do that?” he snapped.

Her eyes were wide.“What?”She may have been flabbergasted, but more likely, she was shocked. Sweet, charismatic Ella likely didn’t have people yelling at her. Or she did, but not out of sheer aggravation.

“I can’t believe you did that. The things you do…” Bishop snatched the phone from her. The screen showed that a few hundred people had watched the impromptu appearance live, but that number was climbing fast as people saw it in replay. He shook the phone. “With. Your. Phone. You were holding that plant. I thought you were talking about stupid—”

“It’s notstupid,” she growled out. “And I reminded everyone to compost after dinner. I wanted them to see the mint, and I pimped the bee project in DC. If other cities took initiative like that, it’d befreaking amazing.”

Was she getting in his face about bees? Why yes, she was. What the hell? Bees.

She took a step closer. Her head jutted as though explaining those things was beyond driving her to the point of madness. “It’s my job, Bishop. Get over it.”

He had to put the bees to the side because, no, just like she and Manny had pointed out, he didn’t get them. “What else did you say?”

“That I was going out. Pics to come from my new favorite place.” She bugged her eyes. “It’s the job. It’s a lifestyle job. I lived the life on TV, and now it’s transferred to the blog. That’s how the bills get paid, Bishop. Iamthe job. Do you get that? Or are we going to keep rehashing this? How else do sponsorships come in? Where else do ad dollars come from?”

“Telling people what you do and where you do it, in real time, isstupidwhen you have someone stalking you. And fuck yes, we will keep rehashing it.”

“I…” She gave him a side eye, turned, and paced.

“Go huff some herbs, babe. You’ve got to see that I’m right on this one.”

She threw her shoulders back and ignored him, letting her skirt spin as she power walked tiny circles in the living room until the march slowed to a thoughtful crusade. Her dog followed the dizzying circles, and the kitten clung to her skirt, hanging on for the ride. Ella didn’t seem to notice either.

She went to the window, placed her hands on the sill, and took what had to be some deep yoga-infused breaths, because the only other people that had lung power like that were deep-sea divers. Her breath drifted out as slow and long as she pulled it in. Maybe she was about to drop an “ohm” or something. Hell, he didn’t know. But the angry waves that rippled off her had lessened. For that, Bishop would give yoga a thumbs-up.

“Fine.” Her shoulders relaxed until she balled her fists and rubbed her eyes, until she dropped her kneading knuckles. Her arms hung limp as she turned to him. “You made your point.”

“I wasn’t trying to make a point, El.”

“Yes, you were.”

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