Protect & Serve (Love at First Sight Book 3) Page 2

  “Wait!” I exclaimed, turning to face him and trying not to become irritated at his smug expression. The idea of going home got more unappealing the more I thought about my mother. “I-I don’t want to go home yet.”

  He raised an expectant eyebrow while I racked my brain for somewhere else I’d be welcome.

  “Any day now.”

  “Ice cream! Let’s get ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?” he asked incredulously, giving me a look like I’d lost my mind.

  “Yes. There’s a parlor on the main drag in town. I-I want to browse the stores and get ice cream.”

  “Shopping. Wonderful,” he dryly commented.

  “If that’s a problem, you shouldn’t have rushed me to leave. Or I could always go myself.”

  “No can do, kiddo,” he said, ignoring me when I growled in irritation. “Shopping and ice cream it is.”

  “Asshole,” I muttered.

  “That hurts, sweet pea.”

  “Stop calling me that!” I shouted loud enough to earn me a warning look.

  I sighed and leaned back against the passenger seat, staring out the window and thinking about how Trent pressed all my buttons so effortlessly. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t realize we had arrived until Trent grumbled something under his breath about the lack of security in the parking lot. He found a spot on the third row and pulled the car in, locking the doors and giving me the same warning I always got when we went anywhere in public.

  “Do not leave my sight.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said sweetly, though I was sure he could pick up the heavy sarcasm in my voice. I sighed when I reached to pull up the door lock only to have him switch it back again. “What?”

  “Look, I don’t like following you around any more than you like having me do it. But would it kill you to try to be less of a bitch about it?”

  It took a great deal of effort to shove away the hurt I felt at the blunt declaration that he disliked the job. Instead, I chose to focus on the equal amount of shock coursing through me.

  “Did you just call me a bitch?”

  “No. You act like a bitch. Trust me—there’s a big fucking difference,” he said before reaching up to take off his sunglasses so he could narrow his eyes at me. “I’ve been around you enough to know that you’re not a bitch. What is it about me that warrants the special treatment?”

  “I-I don’t treat you any differently than—”

  “Bullshit,” he interrupted, his mouth turning down in a frown that tugged at the little scars on his cheeks. “I get under your skin and you know it. So tell me what you want me to do to fix this. You want me to act how your mother wants me to?”

  “God, no. That would be… disappointing.”

  “Then what? Tell me what to do.”

  I thought hard about it. The conversation was the closest thing we had ever had to a heart-to-heart. Hell, it was probably the most we’d spoken to each other in one sitting since his first few days on the job. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

  “Stop calling me sweet pea,” I said softly, turning to look at him and immediately recognizing the surprise in his eyes. “And kiddo. And little bit. And all the other childish things you’ve been calling me the past four months.”

  He was silent for a long moment, leaning back against the door and looking me over like he finally understood me. Which wasn’t exactly a good thing.

  “I didn’t realize how much it upset you.”

  I swallowed hard at the sound of his voice, lower than it had been before. I somehow managed to choke out, “I’m twenty years old. I’m not a kid.”

  Trent let out a breathless laugh and shook his head. “No, I guess you’re not. And no offense intended to your folks—but I imagine growing up in that house would make you feel older a lot faster.”

  He didn’t know the half of it. It was only because of my father’s insistence that I spend my teenage years in an actual school instead of at home with tutors that I managed to make any friends at all. But it was still a struggle to keep them.

  Charlie was the only friend that they both approved of even though my mom held a general distaste for the fact that she was from a lower class family. Dad was leery of Layla and Mom outright despised her—but Layla put up with it for my sake. That’s how I knew Layla was a true friend. Like Trent, I admired her ability to smile through my mom’s scathing remarks.

  For a brief second, the image of the two of them becoming a couple entered my mind and my entire body froze. I couldn’t deny that they’d make a good match—but I wanted Trent for myself. Besides, he had seen enough of Layla by now that I was sure I’d know if he was interested—which he most definitely was not.

  Unfortunately, that also applied to me.

  “Let’s call a truce, yeah? I’ll stop with the kid names and you stop acting like I’m intruding on your personal space for shits and giggles. Because it really hasn’t been.”

  I felt my cheeks burn as I looked down at the floor mat. I hadn’t had the nerve to ask him how the job had been going since the first time we met, but now I guess I didn’t need to. I had obviously been making his life just as difficult as he made mine.

  “If I agree… will you buy the ice cream?”

  Trent grumbled and I couldn’t suppress my smile when I saw him rolling his eyes in my peripheral vision before he started searching through the center console for another toothpick.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll buy the damn ice cream.”

  “Then it’s a deal. Let’s go.”

  “Ava—”

  “Don’t leave your sight. I know.”

  He unlocked the car doors and I hopped out, ignoring the feeling of his eyes on my back and slamming the door shut behind me.

  Maybe he’d never see me the way I wanted him to, but I sincerely hoped the truce between us would at least be the beginning of a tentative friendship.

  4

  My wish had been in vain.

  Not because of Trent’s inability to make good on his promise—no, the childish names had stopped—but because of my own issues dealing with his increasingly invasive presence.

  Following me was one thing, but Trent’s “protection” went way beyond that. He interjected himself into my personal life by eavesdropping on phone calls, attempting to monitor my internet access, and vetting anyone who attempted to speak to me—be it over the phone or in public.

  Other than being embarrassing as hell, it was made worse when I discovered that he was reporting details to the security team who turned around and gave the information to my father.

  My life was not my life. Nothing was private. So the bitch treatment continued because I didn’t know how else to act.

  He didn’t confront me about it right away. No, he merely clenched his jaw and took the abuse of whatever mood I was in while silently holding up his end of the deal.

  It only came to a head the day we traveled into the city to meet up with Charlie’s older sister at my dad’s office. She had called me desperate for help getting a job at my father’s firm and asking if I’d put in a good word for her—which I happily did. I would have done it regardless because I always liked Finley, but I definitely owed her one after making my eighteenth birthday party something to remember.

  After Finley had gone off for her interview, we lingered around the office for a little while until Uncle Chuck finally gave me a chance to say a quick goodbye. She looked a little perturbed about the fact that she wasn’t going to be working directly for my dad, but it had totally slipped my mind to mention that to her. She didn’t seem mad, though, so I hoped it would all work out for the best.

  Later on, Trent waited until we got out of the city traffic before he dryly asked, “Is it really that hard to stop acting like such a bitch?”

  “I don’t know. Is it really that hard to take the damn toothpick out of your mouth before you speak?” I snapped, regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth.

  “You’re a real piece of wo
rk,” Trent muttered with a humorless laugh before he plucked the stick from between his teeth and stuffed it back in his pocket. “Satisfied?”

  I scoffed. “Hardly.”

  He let out a heavy sigh of frustration. “Seriously, Ava. Why are you treating me like something you stepped in?”

  He couldn’t have chosen a better phrasing to amplify my guilt. I shrugged pitifully, not sure how I could possibly explain why it was so difficult. At least not in a way he’d ever understand.

  So I went with the only alternative I could think of. Denial.

  “I thought I was doing better.”

  “That’s rich. Cause it’s been worse than ever from my end.”

  “Have you ever stopped to consider that I really am just a bitch?”

  Trent let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. “No, I haven’t. Because you’re not. What happened to our cease-fire?”

  Nothing had happened to it—I just hadn’t predicted how difficult it would be to hold up my end of the deal back when we made it. I looked away and stared out the window, closing my eyes when I heard him sigh again.

  This time, it wasn’t a sound of frustration. It was one that told me he had fully expected to receive the cold shoulder.

  After all, he knew me well.

  Neither of us spoke again until he was pulling through the front gates of the house. We were slowly making our way up the driveway when he suddenly asked, “Remember the first time we met? When you asked me how the job was going?”

  “Yeah,” I hesitantly admitted, already fearing where he was going with his line of questioning.

  The car rolled to a stop and he shifted into park, removing his sunglasses before turning to fix me with a glare that was nothing short of pissed.

  “Ask me again.”

  “I’d rather not,” I softly replied.

  “Then say it again. Tell me you’ve been doing better. That you’ve been treating me like a human fucking being and not like a piece of trash like your mother does.”

  I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat, horrified when I felt the telltale prickle behind my eyes that meant I was about to start crying. They must have visibly glassed over because Trent recoiled, staring at me in shock for a long moment before he cleared his throat and turned away.

  The click of the car doors unlocking was the only sound in the car and I hurriedly took my chance to exit. I rushed up the steps to the house, gratefully noting that he hadn’t followed me yet.

  I managed to hold back the tears until after I got to the sanctuary of my bedroom. When the dam broke, I buried my face in my pillow to muffle my sobs.

  5

  When I came out of my bedroom for dinner hours later, Trent was sitting in his usual chair, flipping through a book. When he noticed my presence, he earmarked the page he was on and stood up, dropping the book on the chair before turning to stalk down the hall.

  Between our fight and the fact that I knew this was his least favorite part of the day, it was no surprise that he was entirely silent. But it still stung more than I cared to admit.

  We arrived in the dining room at the same time as my father. He smiled and gave me a quick hug before shaking Trent’s hand and taking his seat at the end of the table. Trent and I took our usual seats as well and I frowned at the empty spot that belonged to my mother.

  She was typically the first to arrive. It was never a good sign when she stumbled in last.

  Our dinner was brought out of the kitchen and placed on the table, the wine being the last thing before the cook wished us a pleasant meal. My dad cast a nervous glance at mom’s empty chair and started to rise from his own when the doors jerked open and she came barreling in, totally hammered.

  “Darling!” she called to me with a lop-sided smile before her gaze turned to land on Dad. The smile fell and she greeted him coldly. “Arthur.”

  It felt like a blessing that she ignored Trent’s presence altogether, dropping into her seat and stretching to reach for the wine. My father opened his mouth, but a stern look from her cut off the protest he was going to make. His jaw clenched and I knew the only thing keeping him silent was the fourth presence at the table.

  Dad didn’t like arguing with her in front of me, but he would do it. But to start something in front of someone who wasn’t family was completely inappropriate.

  “Oh, doesn’t this look delicious,” she slurred as she looked down at her meal and reached for her utensils. “Who wants to say grace?”

  That was new. Trent froze with the fork in his mouth, slowly turning to look at her with a raised eyebrow. She finally acknowledged him, rolling her eyes and laughing mockingly.

  “Oh don’t worry, dear. Since you couldn’t even contain yourself before the table was full, no one would expect someone like you to join in.”

  Trent slowly chewed his food and swallowed as his eyebrow raised higher, a feat I didn’t realize was possible. It felt like I was watching a slow-motion train wreck. I couldn’t look away.

  “Funny. You haven’t said grace once during the entire time I’ve been here. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for ways to embarrass me.”

  Mom laughed, the sound hollow and cruel. “As if you need any help with that.”

  “That’s enough,” Dad growled, barely containing his anger.

  But it was no use. Trent tossed his fork to the plate with a loud clank, rising out of his chair so he could face my mom head-on as he asked, “What the hell is your problem?”

  “You disgust me,” she hissed, holding up her hand when Dad tried to cut in again. “You lack any sort of manners or education. You’re loud, crass, and you have no respect for others! I don’t want you within spitting distance of my daughter! God forbid if she picked up any of your nasty habits.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  I don’t know what on earth possessed me to speak the words out loud, but three sets of shocked eyes turned to me at once. I glanced up just enough to see Trent tilt his head like he was trying to figure me out, which is when I realized that finishing what I started was exactly what I needed to do to repair the damage I’d caused.

  So I cleared my throat before I said, “You’re the one who has no respect for other people and you prove it every chance you get.”

  Her jaw dropped. I was instantly taken back to the memory of the last time I back talked my mother—when I was thirteen and just starting the hormonal process of puberty—and she slapped the shit out of me.

  I swallowed hard but straightened my shoulders with confidence. I wasn’t going to let it be yet another moment where she intimidated me into silence. Those days were over.

  I was an adult now and the best way for me to prove that was to start acting like one.

  “Excuse me?” she whispered, her eyes narrowing into slits as she glared at me.

  “You heard me. All Trent has ever done is his job and you think it’s okay to treat him like shit,” I ground out, pulling a move straight out of her playbook and raising my hand to her face when she opened her mouth to chide me for my language. “You treat everyone around you like crap, mother! The staff. Dad. Me. No one lives up to your fantasy of how people should act so you lash out like it’s your right to correct them. Well it’s not! It’s not your place to decide how other people live their lives!”

  I don’t think anyone was more shocked by my outburst than I was, but my mom was a close second. My dad slowly sank back into his chair and silently began to eat—a small, proud smile on his lips while my mom continued to gape at me. I looked down at my plate and shook my head, my nerves too frazzled to even contemplate eating. My appetite was gone.

  I quietly excused myself to my father and left the room, giving no one a chance to say anything else. It wasn’t until I was racing up the steps that the sound of Trent’s footsteps trailing behind me registered in my ears. I sighed to myself when I realized that my outburst meant he’d be skipping dinner as well.

  He never let me far from his sight. Not
even at home.

  I stopped dead in the hallway instead of going straight to my room, waiting until his heavy footfalls slowly trailed up behind me.

  There was a stilted silence hanging between us, only broken when he finally said, “Got to say… I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “Neither did I,” I admitted, turning around to face him and holding up my hands in mock surrender. “I know it doesn’t make up for anything, but I need you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for... for not being able to separate myself from her. For making your job that much more difficult.”

  His head tipped to the side, his eyes scanning over my face with curiosity for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, he shrugged and said, “I know that wasn’t easy for you. Consider us square.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded slowly, giving me another one of those looks that made me feel like he understood me better than I did.

  “I get it. Don’t like it—but I get it. You’re forgiven.”

  I was well-trained by my mother for situations like these, so the awkward fidgeting I might have done I managed to avoid by clasping my hands behind my back and giving him a curt nod.

  “I’d like to amend our truce, though.”

  He raised a brow. “How so?”

  “I’d like to add in a condition that you tell me if I start acting like her again. Sometimes I don’t... It’s just a hard habit to break.”

  Trent grinned and nodded, reaching out his hand as he said, “Deal.”

  I placed my palm against his, laughing a little when he clasped his fingers around my hand and gave it a firm shake.

  But the humor died when he loosened his hold, his expression softening as he stared down at me while his hand still gently grasped mine. I felt my breath catch in my throat, hanging there until he finally broke the contact between us and cleared his throat.

  “If you need anything—”

  “I know where to find you,” I said, cursing the way my voice lightly shook from my nerves. I forced a smile and stiffly said, “Have a good evening.”