Chapter 8

• ASHTON
• Willow rests her chin on my chest and looks up at me. "Just the two of us. Well, except for the two strapping bodyguards, the bakery staff, and your three siblings who will join us at seven."
• I had invited my two sisters and brother to join us later. "I appreciate you calling the bakery in advance," I say sincerely, without a hint of sarcasm. When I asked Willow if my younger brother could come along, her immediate response was, ‘I'll reserve the entire bakery for a couple of hours.’
• Willow and I don't usually shut down establishments for our own convenience. We can handle the attention from the media and the public. But Willow understood that my brother, Blake, wouldn't feel comfortable with strangers around. Instead of suggesting we leave him behind, she was the first to offer a solution that included him.
• "Avec plaisir," [With pleasure]she says in a smooth, silky tone.
• So here we are, fluent in two foreign languages for completely different reasons. I won't delve into the depths of the second language, but as for French, Willow and I taught ourselves more than what we learned in our preparatory school. We picked it up quickly, thanks to her parents' fluency.
• As we peruse the menu, my arm remains draped over her shoulders. Pink chalk sketches of various cake designs adorn the board.
• And in that moment, a burst of happiness envelops us both.
• I snap my head towards the storefront, drawn by the commotion outside. A horde of young, enthusiastic girls is pressed against the glass door, their numbers overflowing onto the sidewalk and spilling into the street parking.
• I stand up, my muscles tensing. "Our location has been leaked," I mutter. Willow and I don't attract crowds like we're a band performing at Coachella unless someone posts about us.
• Willow starts scrolling through a Twitter feed. "...it seems that a fan tweeted about spotting the paparazzi outside the bakery."
• "Did they reveal the address?" I ask.
• "Yes," Willow replies with a hint of frustration in her voice.
• "Great," I say sarcastically, pulling out my phone from my pocket. When I parked my car earlier, I noticed a few cameramen lingering around. I don't bother mentioning them every time I spot one. They're like part of the scenery in my world—always there, always present.
• And sometimes, they manage to ruin my day.
• "Back up!" Lennox's voice resonates through the glass. The girls persistently try to open the locked door, some resorting to pounding on the windows. Despite the urgency in his tone, Lennox appears unaffected by the growing crowd. He holds onto the door handle tightly, preventing it from jerking against the lock.
• Seth joins in, shouting at the fans to leave as well. But my attention remains fixed on Lennox. I take in his relaxed six-foot-three frame and his unwavering composure in the face of this high-stress situation.
• Lennox turns slightly, his hand still gripping the door. And in one swift glance, our eyes meet.
• Before he can interpret my expression, I turn away completely. I run a hand over my chiseled jaw, deep in thought.
• My phone buzzes in my palm, alerting me to new messages. I see the names Blanca and Primrose, my two sisters, and I quickly read the incoming texts.
• Tony!!!!!! Blake won’t leave the house :’((( – Blanca
• I told him nothin’ bad will happen, but he saw his name trending on Twitter – Primrose
• And #PhillyBakery – Blanca
• I text: it’s not that crowded here.
• Don’t lie. – Blake
• I rapidly text: I’ll be by your side when you walk in. I promise. I won’t let anyone touch you.
• Silence greeted me, and I glanced upward, catching Lennox's gaze. He observed me intently, his precise fingers gently brushing against a small microphone attached to his black V-neck collar. The wire from the microphone trailed up to his earpiece and down to a radio clipped onto his waistband.
• All members of the security team wore communication devices, but Lennox's action indicated that he was actively engaged in conversation with the other bodyguards at that moment.
• Beside me, Willow approached, her presence bringing a sense of companionship. "Are they canceling the plan?" she asked quietly.
• "Most likely," I replied, my thoughts already racing. If Blake chose to remain at home, it meant his anxiety had reached overwhelming levels. Blanca and Primrose, our loyal companions, would undoubtedly opt to stay with him and provide comfort.
• Desperate to reassure my brother, I decided to make one last attempt. I reached for my phone and typed a message: I'll divert the attention of the crowd when you arrive. I wanted to express the depths of my devotion, how I would go to any lengths to protect him. I contemplated adding that I would sacrifice everything, even my own life, to ensure his safety. In the end, I settled for a simpler statement: I'm willing to take a bullet for you. I'll do anything. Just come here.
• With a heavy sigh, I pressed send and anxiously waited for a response. Time seemed to stretch on, filled with apprehension, until finally, my phone buzzed.
• A surge of disappointment and worry coursed through me as I read Blake's reply. It won't work. Those three words cut deep, a stark reminder of the challenges we faced. I showed the message to Willow, sharing my frustration. "He hasn't left the house for two weeks now," I revealed, a mix of concern and helplessness in my voice. Our parents refrained from pressuring him about his isolation until it reached a month, believing it would only worsen his anxiety. But the prolonged confinement couldn't be healthy either.
• Willow's brows furrowed in contemplation. "Next time, we should go pick him up first," she suggested, her words laced with determination.
• I nodded, feeling a surge of agreement. If Blake couldn't find the strength to venture out on his own, we would be there to bring him into the world, reminding him that he was not alone.
• LENNOX
• "Alpha to Lennox," a stern male voice blares in my ear, jolting me from my thoughts. I scrape the remains of my late-night scrambled eggs into a ceramic bowl, lost in the familiarity of my kitchen. I toss the frying pan into the sink, intentionally delaying my response to Uriah. The Alpha lead, a no-nonsense man in his forties, continues to treat me as if I'm still part of SFA, even though I've moved on to SFO.
• I don't take orders from anyone anymore. The only person whose orders I'll consider is Perth, and even then, I have the freedom to decide whether or not to follow them.
• "Alpha to Lennox," Uriah snaps again, his impatience evident.
• Leaning against the counter, I eat my eggs at a relaxed yet efficient pace. The digital clock on the oven blinks 11:23 PM, indicating that I've been home for less than twenty minutes. In that short time, I managed to relieve myself, take a quick shower, and whip up a meal. Three weeks into my new role, I've grown accustomed to Ashton's fast-paced lifestyle.
• He fills his days to the brim, constantly adapting his plans to accommodate paparazzi, family matters, and the hundred employees he oversees at J.H.W. Philanthropies. Most security personnel would be overwhelmed by the whirlwind, but it reminds me of my time working in the ER, where every moment was a frenzy.
• I savor every second, embracing the chaos.
• What surprises me is that Ashton hasn't visited a single nightclub or bar yet. He was the one who mentioned it would happen ‘soon’ but he keeps stalling. I don't press him on it because I don't want to push him into any unwanted encounters. When he's ready, he'll let me know, and my duty is to keep him safe.
• That's where my focus lies.
• "Alpha to Lennox, Alpha to Lennox," Uriah repeats with increasing severity.
• I should only be receiving messages as Omega, not Alpha. I touch my microphone. "Lennox," I respond, curious to hear what Uriah has to say. I take another bite of eggs, enjoying the solitude of the kitchen since my only roommate, Willow's bodyguard Seth, is fast asleep. He hasn't yet adjusted to the irregular hours. As soon as Willow retired for the night, Seth practically collapsed upstairs, despite my attempt to suggest grabbing a quick meal together.
• Lesson one for a bodyguard: seize any opportunity to eat because you never know when the next chance will come.
• Through the earpiece, Uriah instructs, "You need to ask Tony about the annual Charity Camp-Away. There are rumors that he intends to open the event to the public this year, and the security team requires confirmation. Don't waste time." The radio falls silent.
• Opening up a controlled, private event to the general public was a decision fraught with perilous security risks, risks that I could not turn a blind eye to. However, Ashton, the CEO of the organization, held the power to make any call he pleased regarding the Charity Camp-Away. Not only did he hold the position of authority, but he was also the mastermind behind the immensely popular December event, which had garnered high praise and widespread promotion over the years.
• Wealthy benefactors would eagerly purchase exorbitantly priced tickets for the exclusive three-day camp retreat, all in the hopes of spending time around a crackling campfire with their favorite celebrities. Needless to say, only those with considerable affluence could afford such an indulgence.
• Through eavesdropping on Ashton's phone conversations during our car rides, I had not once caught wind of any potential changes to the format of the Camp-Away. The rumors swirling around perplexed me. What could be the source of these speculations? Seeking clarity, I reached for my microphone and clicked it on, initiating communication with Alpha, our team lead.
• "Lennox to Alpha, can you shed light on the origin of these rumors?" I queried, making my way through the archway and entering my living room, which shared a connecting door with Ashton's abode. Bowl in hand, I awaited Alpha's response.
• "According to SFA, the term 'public' was traced back to an email sent by Ashton's assistant. We need Tony to gather more information. Please respond with an affirmative," Uriah, another member of our security team, relayed. It struck me as ironic that our duty was to protect these influential families, yet in doing so, we often intruded upon their privacy by hacking into their emails.
• Although I couldn't alter this reality, our team, comprising Alpha, Omega, and Epsilon, had one motto: stay ahead of the media. While it was impossible to completely ward off the prying eyes of tabloids, we had to remain vigilant and anticipate anything that could potentially damage our clients' reputation if exposed in the press.
• Before I turned the doorknob, I clicked my microphone once more, assuring Alpha that I would provide an update soon. As I swung open the door to Ashton's living room, a playful calico kitten darted past my feet.
• Reacting swiftly, I pivoted and managed to catch Willow's mischievous pet. The kitten's tiny paws met my face as I held it up to eye level. "Naughty, naughty," I admonished with a smile, warning the feline against any further escape attempts. In response, the kitten playfully batted at my nose. "You're not allowed to roam freely, you little rascal."
• The kitten, named Warren, let out a soft meow.
• Willow had emphasized the importance of keeping the kittens away from the security team's townhouse, as it wasn't kitten-proof and they could easily slip into hidden crevices. Losing one of the kittens was not an option for me.
• Once I stepped into the adjoining living room, I released Warren from my grasp, and he swiftly scurried beneath the rocking chair. With no one present on the ground floor, I closed the door with a firm kick, causing the voices from the narrow staircase to fade away.
• Leaning against the brick wall, I savored my breakfast of eggs, allowing my gaze to roam around the cozy space. It was an embellished version of my own modest abode—a pale pink Victorian loveseat adorned with frilly pillows, a rocking chair, pastel blankets, a glass teacart, a small café table for two near the kitchen archway, and an array of at least twenty family photographs displayed proudly on the mantel.
• The eclectic, somewhat outdated decor screamed Willow Walsh's taste—a testament to her unique style and personality.
• The scent of brewed coffee, tea, floral candles, and cat permeated their house, giving it a distinct aroma. As the stairs creaked, Willow was the first to appear, dressed in pale-blue silk pajama shorts and a tank top. She held a bottle of oil, and it was only when she stepped off the last stair that she noticed my presence.
• "Lennox," she greeted with a smile, her eyes scanning me curiously, as if she had caught me with the bottle of oil.
• "Willow," I replied, taking another spoonful of eggs. If she had a male friend in the house, I would have already known about it. Before she could respond, Ashton bounded down the stairs, skipping two at a time.
• He pulled his white shirt off his head, his hair disheveled, his body well-toned, and his gray drawstring pants hanging low on his waist.
• A smile played on my lips, knowing that he hadn't seen me yet and anticipating his reaction when he did. I continued eating my eggs like I was watching a movie.
• Willow observed me intently, but I had nothing to hide. I was unapologetically myself, every day, all day.
• "Ready, Willow?" Ashton asked, swiftly combing his hair back. Then he looked up and spotted me. He froze, his jaw tensing and his eyes widening.
• "I missed you too," I teased, finishing the last of my eggs. My smile grew as his irritation etched onto his face and his eyes shot daggers at me.