Page 45 of Caleb
She shakes her head and turns around to walk inside the Residence. “Later, Cohen.”
It’s 8 p.m., and I just walked Red back to the Residence. We spent three hours driving around the city looking for perfect spots for her to photograph. She seemed excited and overall just happy. She showed me most of the photos she took, and they honestly all looked incredible.
The way she photographs everyday scenes of people coming and going about the city with the magnificence of Paris as a backdrop is astounding. She’s got an eye for capturing beauty in the mundane—a natural talent. I hope her father will listen to what she wants for once in his life and allow her to study photography.
Red said goodnight with a big smile and promised me she would fight to the death until her father agreed to let her study photography. And my sixth sense tells me she will get her way. At least I know she always does with me. I know I succumb to every little thing she ever asks of me, even when I know it’s not allowed. This dynamic has happened since the early days of working as her bodyguard when she started calling me Caleb when she knew she shouldn’t. So I don’t know how that man does it. Red’s too sweet to say no to.
She’s stubborn—in her own way, but she is. Again, I’m still waiting for her to become unafraid of being herself. I know her father allows little room for that to happen with how suffocating his parenting style is for some things, while on others, he seems too detached to the point of seeming neglectful.
Is it wise or healthy for me to get so emotionally involved in such matters? No. But I can’t help it when it comes to Red. I need to relax and take a step back, but it’s become impossible to not want to protect her, so inevitably, I will continue to get involved. But at least I’ll try to be mindful about it.
Aaron and I head to the common room and grab a plate of food. There are other people there, so we sit down and unwind with some of the staff and a couple of agents who were assigned to Ambassador Murphy’s security detail today. This means he’s at the Residence, and I’m hoping this is Red’s chance to convince him about her career choice.
Walking back to my room after supper, I decide to text Noelle. It’s a school night, so I’m not looking to see her or anything. I’m sure she’s busy. Besides, I don’t have a free day tomorrow. I’m working. But it’s been a few days since we talked. We text a lot, mostly at night when I’m back in my room. And we see each other sporadically for casual sex, which I’ve enjoyed, but I guess we both know it’s not going anywhere beyond that, and that’s the beauty ofus. At least that works for me because I’m in no way willing, ready, or looking for a serious relationship. And she seems more than okay with our arrangement.
But she’s been eerily quiet.
Even after taking a long hot shower, there’s still no word from Noelle. I pour myself a shot of vodka and grab a book I started reading a couple of days ago. Aaron insisted I pick up a book from the library, and I’m enjoying it, but I’m such a slow reader. My mind easily wanders if I read a word or sentence that reminds me of something else, but it helps me relax after a long day.
A few pages later, there’s a knock on my door. But I know it’s Annette because of the three quick knocks, a pause, and a single knock. That means I should hurry and get the door. We decided on a code knock to avoid lingering in the hallway too long. We’re just friends, and it’s best not to give people any wrong ideas. The last thing we need is gossip.
“Hey,” I say, opening the door just enough for her to step inside. Annette’s hair is down, and her eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. She’s been crying. “What’s wrong?”
A beat later, she’s throwing her arms around my waist and sobbing against my chest. I hold her tight against me, and I’m sure something’s happened withthe bastard, but I’ll let her cry it out until she’s ready to talk if that’s what she wants.
“I hate him,” she says in between choked sobs. “Connard.”
“Why is he an asshole? What did he do this time?” I break the embrace and hold her at arm’s length. It helps if I can see her face while she speaks. Reading people’s gestures makes for half the conversation.
“I’d do anything for him,” she says, a hand moving to her grimacing face to hide the apparent shame behind it. “I’ve sacrificedsomuch. My rules, my boundaries, my moral code. And now that we’re finally somewhat free to be together, he keeps hurting me, lying to me. And I keep forgiving him because Ilovehim, Caleb. I’m so stupidly in love with this man.”
“Is the bastard married?” I dare to ask. Annette sighs heavily and sits on the edge of my bed, letting her head hang for a few seconds. “I’m not going to judge you. I just want to understand what’s happening.”
“I know. I know I can trust you.” She runs a hand through her long blonde hair to brush it off her face. Her brows furrow as she lifts her sad eyes to meet mine. “He was when we first started seeing each other. But now his wife is—fuck.” Annette drops her face to her hands and shakes it slowly.
“Is he a widow?”
I think I know where this is going. And I can already feel my neck getting warm because if this is what I think it is, I might lose it. I care about Annette too much to be okay with that man being responsible for her misery.
Annette presses her lips together, nods a few times, and starts crying again. A silent confirmation of my suspicions.
“Agent Lewis texted me earlier,” she says between ragged pants. “They arrived a few hours ago from Lyon, and Lewis and I—we go back. We’ve been friends for a while, so he knows aboutusand reported thathewas with another woman there. That it was all very much discreetly handled as per his usual style. But he confirmed the fact.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Ambassador Murphy?”
“Shhh!” She stands up and places a finger on my lips. “Don’t.” She looks around my room, looking disturbingly paranoid. “He likes to keep close tabs on me, and you never know who’s listening.”
I grab the bottle of vodka, fill up my shot, and chug it down. Then, I pour a second one and pass it to Annette because she clearly needs one. She immediately tilts her head back and drains the shot in a second. I take the empty glass from her grasp and put it back on my nightstand.
Ambassador James Murphyisthe bastard. I should’ve known. Annette kept hinting toward it, but I never wanted to see it. She’s significantly younger than him, and I’m afraid there might be an abuse of power at play in their complex relationship.
It’s getting harder to respect this man.
“I’m exhausted,” Annette says, slumping back on the bed. “I don’t know how to do this anymore. I can’t tell him I know because I would blow his agents’ cover. He’ll know someone ratted him out. And every agent that traveled with him to Lyon would get into trouble for this. I promised Lewis I wouldn’t tell him anything.”
“Then don’t!” I shout, unable to contain my anger. “Just fucking end things. He doesn’t deserve an explanation.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
