Page 32 of The Devil's Detail
“Fuck, sugar. I didn’t know. Wow, he’s been with me the longest, too.”
I can tell he’s upset. He’d been generous letting them stay, and they’ve kicked him in his perfectly straight teeth.
“Didn’t he think it was odd that I never reacted?” he asks, his brain starting to function logically. The man is astute and intuitive, both skills evident in his professional life, making him an amazing actor. And what he wants most people to see is most definitely an act. But all pretense is dropped now that the writing is truly on the wall.
“But you have reacted, just to other stuff. He thinks you don’t go out because you’re scared. I might have cultivated that a bit. Also the quick trips to London. My belief is they wanted you out of LA, which you obliged with, so that Gary could get to you easily. I let it go on to see what else they would all do. And then when he took you to the school, and the other one rang the paps and other people as they knew you did not have full security… Well, it was dangerous. You never should have gone along with them.” My voice hardens, he needs to know how out of order he is.
“It was my idea,” Carter states, trying to figure it out.
“Was it, though? I listened to the recordings in the car afterwards. It was his idea. He planted it in your head. An off-the-cuff comment, then you’re off and running.” I look at him, challenging him. He knows he does it. He knows he’s impetuous.
“You’ve been recording me in my car? Is it Ash? Is he recording me?” He’s up on his feet like a swarm of ants have stung his arse.
I shake my head. “No, I planted devices. I’m only telling you now because I need you to understand how they’re working you.”
His massive sigh is full-on defeat. “I can’t trust anyone. Everyone takes advantage of me. Including you.”
His body language changes from defeat to ‘alpha fuck you’ in a heartbeat. He really is the master of using his body to telegraph his thoughts and feelings. “You’ve gone behind my back, recorded me, without my knowledge or permission. I trusted you, Jackson. And you’ve gone way further than I thought you would.”
I can see he really believes that. He’s firing off in the wrong direction yet again. I try to hold in my sigh of exasperation.
“Well, we have a problem then, Carter. I told you I would keep you safe. I told you I had set cameras up, and only I could see them. You assumed that they were in your home only. I never said where they were. And you never asked.” I stare into his eyes, holding his attention. “Did you think I would just let you run amok? Did you think I would just let you be taken advantage of? Hung out to dry on my watch? Not a fucking chance in hell that’s happening. But if you don’t like my tactics, I can go.”
We’re facing off yet again. It always gets to this with him. Well, I’m not backing down. I’m in charge here, not him.
“Get back your team from before, because that worked out for you. Or get yet another outfit in. Because hey, they’re all so interested in your welfare. Not like they’re interested in your money, or capitalising on your fame.”
His eyes are wide now with shock, trying to maintain his alpha stance. I don’t think anyone has ever spoken to him this way, at least not for a lot of years. And certainly not his security team. It’s been yes sir no sir. Totally the wrong way around. And I’m not done yet.
“They want money, they want more staff on payroll. They want headlines, they want to be the stars. The security stars, they have more Instagram followers than enough. And they shouldn’t have had any. They shouldn’t be on social media at all.”
The man now looks like he might cry. What the fuck am I going to do with him? He blows hot and cold, one minute he's fighting, the next submissive and meek. It’s exhausting.
I decide to swap tactics from telling him off to kindness, hoping he’ll actually listen this time. I’m running out of options, and he is running headlong into the next catastrophe.
I drop to the settee and pat the seat next to me. He looks surprised, but comes and sits.
“I want you safe. You are paying me to keep you safe.” I lower my voice, making it soft, coaxing. My body language is protector, but I drop my arms to my sides, no barriers, no intimidation stance, just me being honest. “Being mobbed in the middle of London doesn’t do that. Being mobbed in downtown LA doesn’t do that. Gary turning up intending to push your buttons and you go apeshit doesn’t do that. If there is chaos around you, it makes it harder for me, and easier for whoever wants to hurt you.” I’m trying to reason with him, logic backed up by kindness.
“Do you know if the threats originated from Gary?” He sounds pissed off. Good. Get annoyed and think straight. Start to direct the anger where it belongs, and that's not at me.
I nod. “They were. As I said, he wanted you afraid. He wanted you either in the city here, or in London, England. You’re easier to track. You go out more if you’re in the cities, and he knows that.”
“I suppose tonight showed that.” Carter sounds miserable now. He knows he’s been played.
I sigh at him. “We can keep people away. But the fact he knew where you were…” I shake my head. It’s all such a mess. “The third one of the men, he’s the one who tipped him off. Ithink he’s the new boyfriend.” I look at his face to see if there’s a reaction to that. Jealousy? Anger? Did he even know the security guy was gay?
But he muses out, “I always thought there was something between them. I caught him crying in the bathroom when I kicked Gary out.” He rolls his eyes, and I grin. He’s so mercurial at times. “I should have known then it was more than a friendship. Gary wanted me to have a threesome with him.”
I stutter a breath at that. “Tell me you didn’t. And not because I think it’s wrong—you’ll get no judgement about any of that from me—but because I know they’ll have recorded it.” I need him to know I’m not bothered about his sexuality, but I am completely concerned about his well-being.
“He wasn’t my type, sugar. He had no sense of style, and his outfits were terrible,” Carter drawls out, looking up at me from under his eyelashes. He’s back, his moods switch quicker than the weather in England.
I grin, though. “Thank fuck for bad taste,” I say, my grin widening.
But I don’t sit in that space for long before switching back to a more commanding effect. Two can play the mercurial game. “They’ve all got to go. And it needs to be done now. Am I doing it or are you?”
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