Protect Me by Selma Wolfe

formal with her name since they’d met, Hope couldn’t stop
herself from noting. “I could afford to quit tomorrow and live like this
forever, but I didn’t just inherit a fortune. I inherited a responsibility.
That means doing my job, and sometimes that job is making nice with people who
have lots of money to invest. You see?”
    “Oh.
Seems…” Hope bit off her words and shook her head, amazed at herself. When had
her tongue gotten so free? She kept wanting to hear what Rick would say next,
that was the problem. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place to say anything. I
apologize.”
    At
that, Rick twisted around in his seat to look at her.
    “That’s
not true,” he said quietly, before turning to face front again. Which was good,
because it meant Hope could breathe properly again. “Don’t - look, even if I
hate what you’re saying, even if I hated you for saying it, you still have a
right to your opinion, okay? Don’t apologize for it.” The side of his mouth
pulled up in half a grin. “Just expect me to argue with you.”
    “Deal,”
Hope said, and he laughed.
    Rick
fell quiet and Hope found herself turning her head to chance a glance at him.
He looked uncharacteristically serious, almost sad, his profile highlighted
with the California sun and his dark eyes narrowed to glare straight into it.
    Hope
didn’t have any words left after their conversation. Her stomach was filled
with a churning mix of nostalgia, surprise, and regret. She stayed quiet and
kept her focus trained on the road ahead, no farther than that. Rick didn’t
seem to mind the silence, though she caught him sneaking glances at her all the
way home.
    When
they pulled up, Rick got out of the car slowly.
    “There’s
a…” he started.
    “I
know,” Hope interrupted. “There’s a thing tonight. I’ll just… get ready.”
    Rick
waved his hand dismissively and leaned up against the car, leaving careless
fingerprints on the spotless paint job. “No need to be fancy. It’s just a few
friends having a couple drinks.”
    The
corners of Hope’s mouth turned up.
    “I
wasn’t planning on changing my clothes,” she said, and bit back a laugh when
she saw Rick’s eyes widen in understanding.
     
     
     
    A few
hours later, Hope wasn’t laughing anymore.
    “I
thought you said this would be a few friends having a few drinks,” she hissed
in Rick’s ear, almost too worked up to be circumspect.
    Rick
laughed and tilted his head back to down the rest of his drink. He wasn’t sober
enough to do either of these things well, so he half-fell into Hope’s side. She
felt her folding knife dig into her ribs under her jacket and was, for the
millionth or so time, grateful that she wasn’t one of the idiots that insisted
on packing heavy heat everywhere.
    “Darling,
you should know better,” he said, and wandered off toward a table surrounded by
giggling women before Hope could ask him to clarify. She should know better
than what? To assume that Rick Stone was capable of throwing a half-hearted
party? To believe that he’d tell her the truth?
    She
trailed him, hopelessly caught in his wake, not because she wanted to
participate in the festivities but because she was getting paid to keep an eye
on him. Every few minutes Hope glanced upward and felt a little smug about the
round mirrors she’d quietly had installed up there. Without Rick’s permission,
sure, but Trinity had okayed it, which was the important thing.
    Trinity
had nothing good to say about the party. When Hope dropped by the kitchen
beforehand to see what she was cooking for the guests, Trinity laughed in her
face.
    “I’m
cooking,” the woman glanced down at a pamphlet on the counter, “Luxury Living
Catering.”
    Now
Hope understood why Trinity hadn’t been interested in attending in the least.
This was another scene for rich, pampered people to mill around and
congratulate each other.
    Rick’s
words drifted into her mind, unbidden. I’m trying to run a company,