Protection: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Read Free Page B

here lost in the mob.
    “Hey. This way, Elly,” Brad says, grabbing me by the elbow. A black SUV pulls up, tires screeching, and Brad hustles me inside.
    I let out a huge breath I didn’t know I held.
    “Elly,” Brad says. “We’re not going to let that happen again. You know that, right?”
    I glance at him and give him a smile.
    “Sure.”
    He’s already on his phone, lost in some other train of thought.
    “The security team that worked the other day, when I got attacked,” I ask, curiosity overwhelming me. “Is that who we normally use?”
    “No, they’re new,” Brad says.
    “There was a guy that grabbed me, protected me,” I say, glancing out the window. “I’d like to thank him. Do you know who he is?”
    Brad gives me a tired look.
    “No idea. Frankly, everyone who was working that day should probably be fired for even letting someone get that close to you.”
    I want to say, but you were there. You were working .
    But I don’t.
    Instead I just say, “I liked them.” Then I turn and stare out the window, because Brad isn’t listening anyway.
    “That’s the last press event of the day. Of the week, actually,” Brad said.
    I let out a pent-up breath, relieved beyond words. “Awesome.”
    It will be really nice not to have to dodge any more questions about getting attacked in the damn street .
    “Of course we’ll keep doing radio and TV interviews once the tour is in full swing, but you officially have a full twenty four hours of freedom,” he says, reaching out and snagging my hand. “Quit fussing with your hair, please.”
    “Fine, fine,” I grumble, shoving my hands into my lap. I lock my fingers together in my lap in an attempt to keep from touching my hair, which has been artfully cut into a long, chic bob. As if a new haircut will keep people from remembering that I was outright assaulted three days ago, that my new style is really to cover the fact that some crazy fan sliced off a hunk of my hair.
    “It really looks nice, Elly. You’re way too stressed about something that isn’t that big of a deal.” His brows rise a little, lips quirking. “Pretty soon no one will even be talking about it, okay?”
    I lean back in my seat at the hotel bar and laugh.
    “Oh yeah?” I say, pointing across the bar at a flat screen tv. TMZ TV is on the screen, replaying the scene of my attack over and over.
    “Pssh, don’t worry about that. Listen, I managed to convince Jared that you can take the day off everything,” he says.
    “You did?” I ask, surprised. Jared is my personal trainer, and he’s a notorious hardass. He’s the reason I’m sipping water with a slice of lemon right now instead of the tumbler of whiskey and ice that I’m really craving.
    “I did. He asked that you stick to your diet tonight when you’re at dinner with your mom.”
    My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. My mom. I totally forgot that I agreed to have dinner with her tonight. She’s in New York for the weekend, on vacation.
    “Why did I agree to that, again?” I ask absentmindedly. Brad reaches out and catches my hand again, already back up in my hair.
    “Because you haven’t seen her in six months, and she came up to New York just to see you before you go on tour. She made reservations somewhere nice…” Brad trails off, swiping at his phone and reading off his notes. “Le Forêt, at seven. She wants you to look presentable.”
    My lips twist in what I know is probably an unattractive sneer.
    “Of course she does. Did she pick out my outfit for me already?” I say, before I can restrain myself.
    Brad gives a little laugh.
    “Honestly, she did send specifications in her email,” he admits. “I decided to filter that part out.”
    I heave a sigh and reach out to squeeze his hand. “You’re very good at your job.”
    He sits up a little straighter, pleased.
    “Thanks. Speaking of that, you should probably go get dressed. Le Forêt requires cocktail attire. I had the Jennifers lay