Page 5 of Protecting What's Mine
I finish the Windsor knot with practiced precision and drop my hands. “I’d like to talk about it now,” I insist, unable to keep the hint of impatience from creeping into my voice.
“Tory Ann Malser, end of discussion,” he declares, his tone final as he turns away, effectively shutting me down. It’s a tactic he’s mastered—a wall of silence that leaves no room for negotiation.
I cross my arms, my frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Technically, we haven’t even started discussing anything,” I mutter, my retort half-directed at his retreating back. But as usual, my words bounce off the impenetrable barrier he’s built around this topic.
Letting out a quiet sigh, I gather my bags and sling them over my shoulder, the weight of them almost comforting in its familiarity. Striding purposefully toward the door, I toss a glance over my shoulder. “Ready to go meet... this caregiver?” My tone is sharp, masking the vulnerability beneath.
My father, briefcase in hand, sighs audibly but nods. He follows me out of the suite without another word. As we step into the hotel lobby, the shift from air-conditioned coolness to the oppressive heat of Saint Pierce’s balmy breeze hits me like a wall. The sticky humidity clings to my skin, making the air feel heavier than it should. Even in September, the sun here feels merciless, as if it’s determined to melt everything in its path.
We cross the parking lot, the asphalt shimmering with heat waves. My father’s pristine Buick stands out in the lot, its sleek black exterior polished to a mirror-like finish, gleaming under the unforgiving sun. It’s a car that matches his image—flawless, composed, and unyielding. Sliding into the passenger seat, I immediately regret it as the leather sears against my legs. The heat seems to cling to everything, including my hastily thrown-together ponytail, which does little to keep the sweat from dampening my neck.
The air inside the car is stifling, and I quickly fumble to roll down the window, craving even the faintest breeze. My father settles in beside me, his movements brisk and methodical as he adjusts the rearview mirror. As the engine hums to life, I stare out at the tropical scenery, my thoughts swirlingbetween the familiar tug of duty and an unshakable longing for independence.
The initially warm air conditioning blasts into my face, a rush of heat before the cool relief kicks in. I lean closer to the vent, letting the promise of cold air wash over me as I press my damp palms to my thighs. Outside, the relentless sun continues to blaze, turning everything into a hazy mirage of sweltering humidity.
“I wish you wouldn’t think of this man as just a babysitter,” my father remarks suddenly, his voice slicing through the tense silence. His words pull me out of my thoughts, and I swivel my head to look at him, frowning. It takes a moment for the weight of what he’s said to sink in.This man?
“A man?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intend. Surprise ripples through me. My father rarely introduces anyone new into our tightly controlled, carefully curated circle.
“Yes,” he confirms with a curt nod, his expression unreadable, though his fingers drum lightly against the steering wheel. “He’s a professional security specialist. Someone I trust implicitly to ensure your safety while I’m occupied.”
The idea settles uneasily in my chest. I’ve never been alone with a man before. My past “caretakers” have always been women—usually the type with ambitions of becoming the next Mrs. Malser. Not that I could blame them. It wasn’t just my father’s good looks, though he’s undeniably handsome for his age, with his sharp features and perpetually crisp appearance. It was his notoriety, his power, his money. They all wanted to be part of the world he commands with effortless authority.
“What man?” I ask again, this time barely above a whisper. A million questions whirl in my mind, each more frantic than the last. Who is he? What does he look like? Is he armed?
“I hired a security company,” my father explains, his tone measured as if anticipating my reaction. “One of the best in the world. There’ll be a man assigned to keep you safe.”
I sit up straighter in my seat, my pulse quickening. “How serious are these threats?” My voice trembles slightly, and I curse myself for letting the fear show. My eyes fix on him, watching the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders seem locked in place, the telltale signs of a man under immense pressure.
“It’s nothing to be alarmed about,” he replies, his voice carefully even. He tugs at his tie—an uncharacteristic gesture for someone so composed. “Everything will be fine.”
I narrow my eyes, studying him like I’m trying to decipher a code. “I don’t believe you,” I say finally, my words soft but heavy with suspicion. My father isn’t a man prone to unnecessary precautions. If he’s gone to the lengths of hiring one of the best security companies in the world, the danger must be real.
He slows to a stop at a red light and turns his weary green eyes toward me. They seem older somehow, filled with an exhaustion that goes beyond sleepless nights. “I promise, everything will be okay,” he says softly. “This company comes highly recommended by a colleague.”
I lean back into the seat, attempting to mimic the ease I want to feel. But anxiety blooms in my chest and spreads outward, a dull ache creeping into my limbs. A heaviness lodges itself in the pit of my stomach, refusing to dissipate. “What about you?” I ask, my voice barely audible. “Will you have security too?”
“Yes,” he replies as the light turns green and the car rolls forward. “There’s top-level security at these meetings.”
His reassurance does little to fully calm me, but I exhale a shallow breath of relief, releasing some of the tension coiled tightly between my shoulder blades. “You’ll call me every night,” I say, trying to cling to some sense of normalcy in all of this.
His lips curl into a smile, a rare and gentle one that momentarily softens the lines of his face. “And every morning too,” he promises.
His words help, if only a little. I let my gaze wander out the window, fixing on the endless stretch of turquoise ocean in the distance. The frothy white waves crash against the shore with rhythmic certainty, a soothing lullaby against the chaos in my mind. The sun, impossibly bright, reflects off the water, casting sparkling shards of light that dance across the horizon.
Traffic thickens as we approach the heart of Saint Pierce, a bustling city that manages to blend its tropical charm with urban chaos. Brightly colored storefronts blur past, interspersed with palm trees swaying lazily in the warm breeze. I should feel calmer now, surrounded by this paradise, but my thoughts remain restless, circling back to the unknown man who will soon become a part of my life.
For the first time, I wonder what it will feel like to share my space with someone so unfamiliar. To have my world—small and isolated as it is—disrupted.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension as I glance at my father.
“We’re meeting him at a building downtown,” he replies matter-of-factly, his focus fixed on the road ahead.
“Does he have a name?” I press, hoping for some detail that will make this feel less surreal.
“Ranger Cole,” my father says, his tone clipped and professional. It’s the same tone he uses when discussing lab protocols or presenting at conferences. He has a way of boiling people down to their function, forgetting they’re human first.
I let the name roll around in my mind, imagining what kind of person would be attached to it.Ranger Cole. It sounds rugged, like a character ripped from an action movie. But reality rarely matches imagination. I’m sure he’ll be some middle-aged, overweight man with a clipboard and a power trip. It’s fine—I have enough jewelry supplies in my bag to keep me occupied for hours. And my textbooks.