Alicia
“Why are you studying in the car?”
Stella’s head is bent over her notebook, hair spilling across the page. For someone who claimed she didn’t have homework last night, she’s unusually focused on the drive to school this morning.
“Meredith said that she thinks we’re gonna have a pop quiz today.”
“And I bet Meredith studied last night, didn’t she?”
“Mom. It’s fine. I know the material.”
“I hope so.” I flick my signal and check the rearview.
The curb is empty. No black SUV. No shadow in my mirror. He actually listened.
A knot between my shoulders loosens—but only a little. I don’t like being managed, especially by men. Aside from my personal hangup, a protection detail doesn’t eliminate risk. And if it’s too visible, it could impact Stella. I don’t want her to be scared.
I really need to speak to Dorian again. I understand he has reasons to take concerns seriously, and I appreciate his friendship, but he’s projecting his fears onto me.
Stella’s school comes into view, and she says, “Stop here, Mom.” I’m a block away from the carpool line. “That’s Meredith.”
She points at a uniformed girl I recognize. She’s been a friend of Stella’s for years—bright, studious, and gifted. I’ve been in more than one parent-teacher conference where a teacher mentioned her casually in conversation. I’m grateful she’s one of Stella’s close friends as she’ll help motivate her to push herself.
Given I’m pressed for time and skipping the carpool line will be a blessing, I pull to the curb and Stella hops out.
“Hey,” I shout, forcing her to pause before slamming the car door. “I love you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Love you, too.”
“Have a good?—”
Bam. The car door slams, but she waves and blows me a kiss.
I’ll take it.
Thirty minutes later I’m pulling up to the valet at the Four Seasons for the Policy and Media Symposium. I check the time as the valet hands me a tag and pause when my gaze catches on Gabriel Martin.
I told Noah I wouldn’t need security here. Gabriel was supposed to meet me at my office. So much for listening.
The last thing I want is for people in my industry to pick up that I have a security detail—and this is DC. The attendees are savvy to security.
My heels click on the polished marble as I make my way to the side of the lobby where Gabriel Martin stands near concierge.
“Gabriel,” I say, choosing his first name, because I met him last week.
“Ms. Morgan,” he says, voice clipped, gaze slipping past me, on alert.
“I do not want you here.”
“No one knows I’m here for you.”
I tilt my head, recognizing he has a good point, but that’s not the point. I said no, and here he is. I told my daughter to do her homework, and she said she had none. None of this is acceptable.
I pull out my phone and dial Hudson Stone.
He answers with a crisp, “Ms. Morgan.”
“I’m safe at the Four Seasons. Tell your employee to wait for me at my office, as planned. If you don’t follow my requests, I’ll call Dorian and tell him to pull the detail.”