Page 13 of Christmas in Quincy (The Edens 0.50)

So how had they been watching me? Had they hacked my surveillance system? How had they known I’d come to Montana? The assholes were probably monitoring my credit cards. Bastards. I wouldn’t put it past my father. Or Austin. With his resources, I doubted there was much I could hide.

Garrison, Austin’s firm, wasn’t the biggest private security company in Los Angeles, not by a long shot. But his was one of the fastest-growing firms with the best reputation.

Austin was known for his risk-assessment skills. Word on the street was—because heaven forbid the man actually talk to me—Austin preferred to take jobs with the entrepreneurial wealthy. He didn’t like the drama and spotlight that came with celebrities. His clientele consisted of people like my father, those who stayed under the radar but who made enough money that some whacko might try to kidnap their kids and ask for ransom.

Or kill their loved ones.

Dad’s motives, though ridiculous at times, were coming from a good place. He was terrified to lose me, like he had Mom.

But there had to be a limit, right? My father’s fears wouldn’t hold me prisoner any longer. I was perfectly safe in Montana for three days. When Austin showed up in the morning to escort me home, I was telling him no.

“No.” I practiced the word. Easy.

“No.” Super easy. I could definitely tell Austin no, with or without liquid courage flooding my veins. I’d done it tonight. I’d do it again tomorrow.

My stomach churned and not from the champagne. Today’s show of stubbornness had been an anomaly. And who was I kidding? Telling Austin no was nearly impossible. It was a miracle I’d managed to delay him tonight.

It was his eyes. Those coffee-brown eyes swallowed me whole. I was powerless against them. Maybe tomorrow I’d just avoid eye contact. It would probably be best if I avoided all of his face, period. There wasn’t a feature I didn’t adore, from the strong line of his nose to his supple lips to his square jaw and high cheekbones.

At least he’d shaved the beard he’d grown last year. Had he shown up in Montana with the beard, I’d be on an airplane instead of waiting for room service.

I’d only seen it once but the image of his sculpted jaw covered in perfectly groomed, dark hair was committed to memory. Austin had walked into the bakery after I’d gotten into an, erm . . . altercation with the guy on duty. The weather had been unseasonably warm and the air conditioner had quit, so I’d propped the back door open to get some air circulating and combat the heat from the ovens.

Well, the guy on duty hadn’t liked having the door open. I’d told him tough luck. He’d called in his boss.

In true Austin fashion, he’d gotten his way. I’d closed the door, blaming my moment of weakness on the beard.

Thankfully, it was gone now. Austin was back to his usual clean-cut self. Dark jeans, polished boots and a starched, long-sleeved button-up. Though today, he’d rolled the sleeves up his forearms, revealing the dusting of dark hair.

Just once, I wanted to see him smile. I couldn’t think of a time I’d seen his teeth. But why would he smile at me? He hated me as much as I pretended to hate him.

My minuscule, insignificant, harmless crush was surprisingly resilient. No matter how many times he flustered or frustrated me, the damn thing wouldn’t die.

Because Austin Myles was a dream.

He was a good man. He loved his mother—I’d overheard him talking to her on the phone twice and the adoration and love in his voice had brought tears to my eyes. His employees looked up to him, respected and appreciated his steady leadership. He carried an air of authority and confidence, but he didn’t use his charisma to intimidate or make others feel insecure. He was levelheaded. Smart. He held the door open for others and let the elderly cut in line.

My life would be easier if I hated him like he hated me.

Why did he dislike me so? Did he really think I was spoiled and selfish? Austin wasn’t rude to anyone except me. What was it about my personality that put him on edge?

Well, screw him. I was nice. I was likable. I was a good baker. And he was ruining my Christmas.

A surge of anger raced through my body and I closed my eyes, holding it tight. I’d need it tomorrow because I wasn’t going home. Call me selfish. Call me spoiled. Call me a brat. I was staying in Montana for three days, whether Austin liked it or not.

“So there.” I stomped my slippered foot.

I’d have to call and explain to my father that it wasn’t Austin’s fault. Dad would probably fire him otherwise. But no matter how much they pushed, I wasn’t backing down. If I did, I’d lose a lot more than this getaway.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Yessss. Food.” I didn’t bother checking the peephole. Again. I was really going to have to work on that. Because there he was, the s

tar of my fantasies, here to ruin Christmas once more. “You said I got one night. Go away.”

Austin pushed his way past me, sending a waft of his sexy, spicy cologne straight to my nostrils.

I inhaled and held it in. God, I was pathetic.