Page 51 of Bishop's Queen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

One week had gone by without any incidents, but today was her big day. The Bloggieswere a big deal in Ella’s world, and as Bishop took a bite of his hoagie, he watched Ella pace. Her publicist had reminded her too many times to count that the awards show washuge, and he wanted to shove the foot-long sub down Tara’s throat if she mentioned one more thing that could go wrong and that Ella should be prepared for.

“I’m not nervous.”

He took another bite. “I didn’t say you were.”

“Tara thinks I might be.”

“That’s because Tara told you that you were nervous seventy-five times.” He pointed the sandwich at her. “There’s being prepared, overpreparing, and then there’s Tara.”

Ding. Ding.

“What’s that?” Ella spun toward the front door, and FB didn’t move. Not the greatest guard dog. Brick would’ve torn down the wall to search and destroy that noise.

“The intercom on your souped-up security system. Take a deep breath, babe.”

“Right.” She walked to the wall and pressed the touchscreen that connected to the doorman. “Hi, there. Can I help you?”

“Miss Leighton.” The scratch of the man’s voice immediately made Bishop’s senses prickle. He dropped the sandwich onto the wrapper and met Ella by the speaker in a few short strides as she listened. “You have a delivery. But I think it’s one of these things that’s better left down here.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Flowers…?” the man offered.

Shit.That didn’t sound good. “I’ll be down in a minute.” Bishop raised his brows. “You stay here. Let no one in until I’m back. I don’t care if it’s Manny,pet walker to the stars—”

“Manny has a key.”

He groaned. “Deadbolt the door, Ella.No onecomes in. Not Tara. Not Jay. Not a person with dying animals and a corporate truce from Vamanato. Don’t live blog. Just sit still. I don’t care if FB gets the runs and has to go outside. Can you stay put?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “Of course I can.”

Thank God.He shouldn’t have asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Ella, I’m not joking about your team. Please understand the seriousness here. They show up, they wait in the hall.”

“I heard you.” Her chin jutted out. “Just because you disagree witheveryoneI work with doesn’t mean I’m not going to listen.”

On top of that, he wasn’t pleased with the FBI’s lack of arrests this week. He let his hands slide down her biceps. “I’m going downstairs to check out your flowers.”

“And then what?”

“If you have a nice delivery, I’ll come bearing roses.”

She smirked. “And if not?”

“Then we call back your FBI friend.”

Ella took her wheatgrass smoothie from the counter and got comfy on her couch. Bishop locked her in, inspected her hall, and took off for the stairs. The look on the doorman’s face said enough, but as he stepped to the side, Bishop smelled the problem as soon as he saw her delivery. A dozen dead roses, covered in a stench he could only attribute to a sewer, waited on the counter, wrapped in twisted plastic.

All right, they had cameras everywhere now. Surely, one of the angles had picked up the courier. “Make sure not to touch them—”

“I can’t leave them here.”

“It’s an active crime scene investigation.” Bishop cracked his knuckles and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you want me to sit here until someone shows up? Or can you follow the simple instructions not to touch them again?”

The doorman’s wrinkled nose matched his green pallor. “They stink.”

“Sometimes, life stinks.” Bishop pointed to two cameras. “Do something stupid with those flowers, I’ll have your ass for obstruction.”

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