Page 28 of Tangled Like Us
But I’m at a loss now. Why would I be mentioned in a reputable newspaper thatrarelyprints salacious gossip about my family?
“You don’t know what it is?” I ask my bodyguard.
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
5
THATCHER MORETTI
Fucking comms.
Bad signal—it’s frustrating, but after I get word that this situation revolves around Jane, most of my irritation goes up in flames. Leaving my purpose clear.
Focused.
Protecting her is all that fucking matters.
At the back of Michelina’s store, I lead Jane to a small, enclosed area where fabric swatches are staple-gunned in chaotic array to the wall. Supplies like scissors and rulers are packed in cardboard boxes on utility shelves—shelvesthat Banks and I helped put together for Michelina years ago.
It’s not every week or even every year that my childhood collides with work. On the ride here, I’d been hoping that Michelina would be absent. Home picking parsley from her pots or stuck watching morning game shows.
Not because I wouldn’t want Jane to meet my grandma’s friend (I shouldn’t want that)—but because when I’m on-duty, I need to beon-duty.
Family and family friends—they’d rather I switch that off and act like I’m on a fucking weekend stroll sipping boxed Chardonnay.
But being vigilant is usually my default setting, no matter what, and Jane’s life is too important to me to be anything less than what I know and who I am.
Muffled voices crack in my eardrum. Comms chatter is close to fully down, but I received enough intel to figure out the rest on our own.
After she skims our new surroundings, Jane perches her hands on her hips. Blue eyes fixed on me with a poised determination. Like she’s ready to help a fighter pilot navigate air space in combat.
I love that—don’t fucking go there, Thatcher.I have a job to do. My cock needs to stand the fuck down.
Neither of us shifts our gazes.
Jane asks, “Is there anything I can do?”
Protocol:do not engage your client in a crisis.It could inflict unnecessary stress on them. For Xander Hale, the protocol is applicable. But pushing Jane out of these conflicts has always made her more anxious.
I edge closer. “You know how to read these?”
“I do. There should be a table of contents in the front.” She glances quickly at me. “Have you read a newspaper before?”
I stand right beside Jane. “I never read through one.” I pause and decide to add, “My grandma reads them all the time and she’ll line drawers with old newspapers. I just use them to clean grill grates.”
She smiles at that image, for some reason. I think I’m a pretty plain person. Too quiet, too serious, I’ve been told. But she appreciates even the simplest things I say.
I lower the newspaper to her height. Careful not to touch my body to any part of her body, the space between us like a tense void, and I fan out the paper with strict hands.
She skims the inked words. “The entertainment section begins on page thirty.”
“We’re not looking for that section from what I heard.” A sharp electronic frequency from the comms suddenly nails my ear. I breathe in. Angry bands of my muscles tighten, but I can’t recoil. I stay fixed in place.
Fixed on this mission.
I hold her gaze. “We’re looking for an ad.”
Her brows jump. “An ad?”
