Sweet Temptation: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 3)

eight-hour shifts. On this one, for now, it was gonna be me, me, and me, as much as humanly possible, with other guys filling in only when necessary.
I told myself that was because of the recent, and very possibly ongoing, threat to her safety, and the fact that she was a VIP client.
But my company had a lot of VIP clients. And if I was being honest with myself… if it were anyone else, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be here at all.
Wasn’t sure I wanted to examine that too closely, though.
“You don’t need to worry about anyone stepping on your toes,” I told her. “My guys are the best in the business. They’ll be discrete and unobtrusive.”
She made a grudging noise in her throat and crossed her arms, which was at least better than the hands on the hips.
“I’m here for your protection, Summer,” I reminded her. “And if Brody or Jude or any of their guys were here, they’d be telling you the same thing I’m telling you right now. You need to call the police about that restraining order.”
She listened, but she didn’t say anything.
I was coming to learn that that was possibly a good sign. At least she wasn’t serving up sass.
“What you want is called a peace bond,” I went on. “It’s a type of restraining order you can get against anyone, and you can definitely get one against a man who’s been stalking you.”
She looked away. She didn’t seem to like that word.
Stalking.
Couldn’t say I blamed her. But I was just gonna go ahead and call the situation what it was, based on the minimal evidence we had so far.
“If you don’t call it in,” I told her, “I will on your behalf.”
She threw me an annoyed look.
Then she dug her phone out of her purse. She held it in her hand, hesitating. “Who do I call?”
“You call 911.”
“It’s hardly an emergency,” she protested. “I’m safe, right? You’re standing right there.”
“Doesn’t matter. You call 911 on this whether or not it’s an emergency. You tell them you need a peace bond. I don’t know how much the operator will ask you upfront, but you need to be prepared to answer some questions. The police already arrested Sanchuk on your property. But they’ll probably ask you to describe anything else that’s happened, anything that’s made you feel afraid of him. If you’ve written anything down, if you have any messages from him, voicemails, anything aggressive or threatening, you’ll need to tell them that. They may want to talk to some of your friends, too, any witnesses. But you don’t need to have a witness. You don’t even need to have evidence to get the restraining order. Whatever you tell the police is evidence enough.”
She took all that in, listening closely. I could tell it was all sinking in, that this was finally getting real for her.
That the shock was wearing off.
“I’m right here,” I told her, firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Then I watched as she dialed 911.
Her voice was small when she said, “Hi, my name is Summer. I need to request a peace bond, please.”
Then her eyes got a little shiny and she turned away.

Chapter Seven
Summer
After I made the most depressing phone call I’d ever had to make, I disappeared into my music room for like an hour. But even music didn’t cheer me up.
I ended up on the phone with Elle yet again, pretty much feeling sorry for myself, yet again—not my usual scene—as she soothed me with her newly acquired baby mama voice.
It was effective.
After that, I got my shit together and went out to my kitchen to make lunch. Usually I had salad for lunch, and loaded whatever I wanted on top of it. Today I smothered it in leftover grilled salmon and chicken breast, with nuts and a pile of cheese, because as long as there was salad at the bottom, it was healthy, right?
I hadn’t seen Ronan since I vanished into the music room to lick my wounds. Asking for help really wasn’t my bag. It made me feel… vulnerable.
Ronan had called it. Apparently, I was vulnerable, in ways I really wasn’t ready to admit.
And I did not like it.
But he was here, in my house… and it felt wrong to just sit down and eat by myself. I always fed people when they stayed in my home. I loved good food, though I didn’t cook all that much. Maybe a couple times a week, when I was home. Usually, it was a combo of takeout and delivery, my cooking, and my friends’ cooking that kept the meals flowing in my house.
When Ronan had told me he had some phone calls to make, I’d said he could use one of the guest rooms to work. When I peeked up the hallway now, I could hear his muffled, alpha voice coming from the guest room at the front of the house—the one with the big window overlooking the garden I’d put in with my mom’s help; you could even see a bit of the view over the city through the trees, and the mountains in the distance.
It was a great room, but maybe sending him in there was an oversight. Was he just gonna stay in there all day now?
The only thing weirder than a virtual stranger who was paid to protect me living in my house was one who didn’t talk to me.
But here I was, alone in my kitchen with my giant salad.
It didn’t seem right to march over to the door and interrupt him, either. So I picked up my phone and found the text he’d sent me.
I’m on the couch tonight if you need anything. Ronan.
I saved his number to my phone. Then I sent him a text.
Me: Would you like lunch? I’m making salad.
I realized, belatedly, that might not sound so appealing to a man. Especially one of his size. And if he was one of those guys who only ate meat