Chapter 30 A Hoarse Little Laugh
The barbecue joint was loud, smoky, and thick with the smell of grilled meat.
Elizabeth kept her head down, tending to the sizzling grill in front of her, steam curling up in lazy waves.
Timothy reached over with a pair of tongs, dropping a plump sausage onto her plate. "Still mad? You like these, so eat."
"I can get my own," she said, glancing up. The chili had stained her lips a deeper red, and under the warm light they looked almost indecent.
His eyes glinted. "I want you to have my sausage."
A burst of muffled laughter came from the college kids at the next table. Elizabeth's fork froze; her cheeks, already flushed from the heat, went crimson.
"Eat properly," she hissed. "Stop saying stuff like that."
"I'm not saying anything wrong," he replied, deadpan, sliding another sausage onto her plate. "Here… have my—"
She shoved a mouthful of beef into his mouth before he could finish. "Shut up."
He chuckled softly, chewing. "So you're not mad?"
"I'm not mad." She was embarrassed, not angry.
Timothy reached over, sweeping a strand of her hair back behind her ear. His fingertips brushed the curve of her ear, and she murmured a reluctant, "Thanks."
They had ordered far too much. By the time they were done, Elizabeth was leaning back, rubbing her stomach.
"You've eaten yourself into trouble," Timothy sighed. "We'll stop by the pharmacy for digestive tablets."
"Fine." She hiccuped, unable to hide it. She really had gone overboard.
Outside, she sat on a bench while Timothy went in to pay. A group of drunken men stumbled past, spotting her alone. One whistled. The others followed suit.
Elizabeth's pulse spiked. She'd seen enough news stories to know where this kind of thing could lead. She stood, intending to step inside, but the men closed in.
"Give me your number. We should hang out sometime."
The stench of alcohol was heavy, their voices crude.
"Why don't you spend the night with me? I'll make sure you enjoy it."
Inside, Timothy was reaching for his wallet when he saw them through the glass. He dropped the tablets on the counter and strode outside.
He slapped away the hand of the man reaching for Elizabeth's hair, smiling faintly. "Sorry, gentlemen. She's taken."
The drunk men didn't take the hint.
"Oh, a boyfriend."
Elizabeth clutched Timothy's shirt. "Let's go." They were outnumbered, and her injured hand meant she couldn't help if things turned ugly.
Timothy's gaze stayed cool. He wasn't worried about the fight—he was worried about her.
He shifted her behind him and made a subtle gesture. Two parked cars across the street opened their doors. Ten men stepped out, dressed like civilians but built like fighters. In seconds, they had the drunks pinned to the pavement.
Elizabeth stared, stunned.
Timothy slipped an arm around her. "I still haven't paid for the tablets."
Back inside, she glanced through the pharmacy window, watching the men being led away. When they stepped out again, she bit into the pill he handed her. "Those guys… your bodyguards?"
"Yes."
"I see." She'd never noticed them before.
"Should I hire bodyguards too?" she asked seriously. "I'm worth a hundred billion now."
Timothy's eyes flicked over her. "You should. Beautiful women aren't safe walking alone."
Three days passed since the barbecue, and Timothy hadn't seen her. Every time he texted, her reply was the same: Busy.
He snorted at her latest message.
Timothy: [Your little apartment takes three days to set up?]
Her reply came fast: [You wouldn't understand.]
Elizabeth was moving into a new place, decorating it herself — a spacious apartment with three bedrooms and two sitting rooms. She'd invited Quinton to move in, but he refused.
"Elizabeth, I'll rent the place next door. Call me if you need anything." His smile was warm, sunlight catching on his white hair.
She didn't push him. Handing him his polished cane, she asked, "What do you want for dinner?"
Quinton stood, his left leg a prosthetic. Neither illness nor injury had dimmed him. "I'll cook tonight."
"Then I'll buy the groceries."
Returning from the supermarket, she passed a black sedan parked outside the complex. The horn sounded. The window rolled down.
Timothy's face appeared, cool as ever.
She wore a cheap T-shirt with a pink cartoon pig on the front, no makeup, but still striking. His gaze dropped to the groceries in her hand. "Your hand's still healing, and you're buying groceries? Get in."
Elizabeth lifted the bag. "It's light. And Quinton's waiting for me to bring these home."
"Perfect. I haven't eaten." He opened the door, ready to step out.
She quickly pushed him back into his seat and slid in herself, setting the groceries down. The door had barely shut when his hand pressed against her back.
"Your shirt's cute," he murmured, voice rough, teasing. "Shame it's not easy to take off."
She pushed at him, failing to move him. "Didn't you say you had something to tell me?"
"This is it. I'm leaving Silverlight City tomorrow. Thought I'd let you know." His gaze flicked down, amused. "Even your underwear has pigs on it?"
Her face went crimson. "We're in public," she hissed, glancing outside. No one was there, but she was keenly aware of the car's interior. Her short skirt had almost made it too easy for him.
"I'm getting out."
She reached for the door, but it wouldn't open. Timothy's hand closed on her waist, pulling her into his lap.
"Relax. No one can see. I just want to hold you. That's not allowed?"
By the time she stepped out, her underwear was gone.
Timothy leaned out the window, his arm strong, his phone in hand. "While I'm away, don't see other men. Got it?"
Elizabeth's smile was sweet and cutting. "Goodbye. Safe travels. Take care."
He watched her walk into the building, glancing at the pig-print underwear in his hand, a quiet laugh escaping.
The front doors opened. Knox and Joe climbed in.
Joe looked back. "Mr. Robinson?"
Timothy's eyes were cold. "Airport. And send someone to watch over Elizabeth."
She wasn't going to be left unprotected.
Joe nodded. "We checked the girl in Novaria several times. No suspicious signs."