Crystal's POV

Blood was roaring in my ears and the rest of the world faded out. My brain just stopped working, because there was no way this was happening. No way he was sitting on my couch.

"Crystal?"

I turned back to my father. "I'm sorry," I said. My voice coming out far more breathless and distressed than I intended. "My mind was elsewhere. What were you saying?"

"This is my associate Kurt Branson," My father said. "I'm sure you've seen him around before."

I nodded my head and then internally screamed as Branson pushed to his feet and walked over to me. He held out his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine," He said.

It took everything in me just to give him my hand. Took all of my willpower to keep the cheery-but carefully blank-expression on my face.

After all, there was no use in completely freaking out. I mean, would he even recognize me? He never truly got a good look at me.

"Nice to meet you," I said in a voice full of false cheer. "You work with my father then?" I questioned.

Branson did not let go of my hand and instead brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on my hand. His eyes, however, never strayed from mine.

I wanted to rip my hand away from him. Wanted to run and hide. Either that or I wanted to shoot that hungry tiger expression off his face.

"Yes," He said as he lowered my hand from his mouth and finally let go.

I just barely resisted the urge to yank my hand back at lightning speed. Instead, I retracted my hand slowly, normally, acting as if nothing was amiss.

Branson suddenly pointed to my shoulder. "You have something on your blouse," He said as he took a step toward me, hand outreached like he was going to brush aside whatever it was.

It took everything in me not to back away and I just held up my hand. "Oh, I can take care of that."

He didn't listen. His hand brushed against my shoulder and he leaned in closer as if checking to make sure he'd gotten rid of whatever it was he'd seen on my blouse.

"How's your husband?" He whispered so only I heard.

My blood froze in my veins and I could no longer keep the cheerful expression on my face. Not that it particularly mattered, since Branson was currently the only one who could see my face as my parents were standing behind me.

Evidently, he did recognize me. This was so not good.

"How's your wife?" I hissed back quietly between my teeth.

The smile he shot my way was sinister.

He pulled away from me. "There, I believe I got it."

"My hero," I said with false cheeriness.

He looked me up and down. "You were blonde all those times I saw you on the magazines or the television," He said.

I nodded, not bothering to put on a fake smile for him any longer. Not while my parents couldn't see, at least. "I felt like a change."

He nodded back at me. "Suits you better. Makes you less . . ." He trailed off as he watched me. "Underestimated."

"Oh?" I said questioningly. "Was I ever underestimated?

"Oh yes," He replied.

"Crystal dear," My mother said I turned to her with a smiling face, silently praying she was going to give me a reason to get away from everyone. "Your father and Branson need to talk to you about something."

Alarm bells were blaring in my head.

I let out a light laugh. "Oh can't this wait for tomorrow?" I asked. "I'm absolutely exhausted from the flight I had to take, and the car ride . . ." I trailed off and looked at my father. I made my expression soft, begging, The expression that used to get me whatever I wanted.

Right now it wasn't working.

"Princess," My father said to me as he looked down at me. "this is really important. It can't wait." He gestured for me to take a seat on the couch next to where Branson was once again sitting.

No thank you.

So I sat in the armchair as far from Branson as I possibly could. If my father noticed I was trying to avoid Branson, he gave no indication of it.

"What's going on?" I asked, lacing my voice with confusion and keeping my eyes wide and curious. I could see Branson roll his eyes from where I was sitting.

My father offered me a reassuring smile before he began speaking. "Someone is trying to sabotage my company."

Company being code for criminal empire. But, oh wait, I wasn't supposed to know that.

"What do you mean?" I questioned. Like I truly didn't have a clue.

"Someone's out to ruin your father," Branson said as he leaned back in his seat, totally relaxed. His gaze never left me, I noticed.

I shook my head. "No," I said. "They can't do that." I looked at my father. "You worked too hard for your company, Daddy."

My father smiled at me. "Don't worry, Princess," He said. "I'm handling it."

Dear lord don't let him find out it's me.

"However," He continued and brought my mind back to the present, focused on him. "That man that . . . intruded on your life."

The last thing I wanted to be doing was thinking of Jackson Storm right now.

"Thomas Gavin," My father went on. "Was one of the people trying to ruin me."

Pretty sure he ruined me, but hey, who's keeping track?

"And," Branson spoke up. "We have reason to believe that you're in danger."

I turned to Branson and raised an eyebrow. "From whom exactly?"

Branson shrugged. "That's what we're looking to find out." The look on his face when he looked at me, however, said all I needed to know.

He knew it was me. Knew it was me who was working to ruin my father.

But, if he hadn't shared that information . . .

"You don't have any evidence, do you?" I questioned. My question was simple enough, and my father would believe it was just asked innocently, directed at the both of them. But Branson knew better.

He narrowed his eyes at me slightly. "I'm working on that," He said.

I smiled at him, and this time I wasn't faking.

If he'd had any evidence it was me, he would have brought it to my father. Because he knew if he just told my father that it was me without any evidence, my father would never believe him.

Sure, my father might watch me a little closer subconsciously, but it wasn't as if that even mattered anymore. Because I had handed off the information. I was done gathering it. I wouldn't be doing anything suspicious anymore.

"Well," I said as stared back at him. "best of luck in that regard." I turned back to my father. "I still don't understand what this has to do with me."

My father smiled at me once more. "I'm assigning you a bodyguard until I've handled the situation."

I stopped breathing. Even though he hadn't yet said it, I already knew who it was going to be. "Who?" I questioned, my voice coming out more breathlessly than I had intended.

"Me," Branson said.

I didn't look at him. I couldn't look at him. I would no longer be able to keep my internal thoughts from showing if I did. Instead, I stayed focused on my father.

"I really don't need a bodyguard," I said to him. "In fact, I have every intention of just staying here in the mansion until you sort this out. It's not as if the media has anything good to report about me anyway."

My father held up a hand. "Nevertheless, Kurt will be staying here in the mansion to watch over you."

"No," I said before I could stop myself.

My father looked at me in surprise and I offered a shaky smile.

"I mean," I started. "it really isn't necessary."

My father stared at me. "I really think it is. You're not going to talk me out of this, Crystal," He said to me.

I looked at Branson out of the corner of my eyes.

Branson watched me like a shark who knew there was blood in the water. "That's a nasty cut you got there," He said, gesturing to the slice across my upper arm, just barely visible under the short sleeve of my blouse. "How did that happen?"

I pulled the sleeve down a little farther, trying to hide the cut from sight. I smiled brightly at him, keeping my gaze locked on his even though it made my skin crawl. "Oh, you know," I said. "I ran into something stupid."

His eyes narrowed at me.

I turned back to my father. "May I please go to lay down?" I asked him. "My head is pounding and I do need to unwind."

My father nodded. "Of course."

"Do you mind grabbing me a glass of water before you go, Miss Carver?" Branson's voice practically echoed around the room.

I wanted to say no-but then my mother would have an aneurysm. Wanted to tell him just where to shove it.

Instead, I walked over to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and came walking back over with a sweet smile on my face as I handed it to him.

Branson smiled back at me, but it was not pleasant. "Such a gracious host," He said. Though it appeared I was the only one who caught the tone of mockery in his voice.

I continued to smile sweetly at him but let my eyes go hard and cold. "Oh it was nothing, Mr. Branson," I said. "Though I'd be careful. Even though it's filtered water, you never know what could be in it."

Branson's expression darkened.

I gave him a cheery wave over my shoulder as I walked back over to the door and grabbed my suitcase. Then I all but ran up the stairs to my room.

I closed the door behind me, threw the suitcase on the bed, and pulled my phone out of my pocket.

My mind told me to call Damien. In fact, I was looking at his contact information. Yet, for some reason, my hand continued to scroll until I hit Jackson's number.

It went straight to voicemail.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered as I once again began scrolling through my contacts.

Now maybe I should have been calling Damien, but really, what could he do? He wouldn't be able to get into the house without revealing who he was and why he was there. If I called Damien, I'd just get him killed.

If I called Jackson and got him killed, well . . . I might feel a little bad.

Might.

But Jackson was the only one who could actually talk himself into the house without first getting shot on sight. After all, he'd done it once before.

I called Noah's cell, waited as it rang until finally, he answered.

"Hello?" He questioned apprehensively.

"People can't bite you through the phone, Noah," I said. "Are you with Jackson?"

He let out a sigh. "Yes, but he's not going to talk to you."

"Give him the phone."

"Crystal-"

"Give him the phone, Noah!"

"What's going on?" Noah questioned but I could hear a shuffling noise in the background as if he were getting up and heading to wherever Jackson was.

"Branson is here," I hissed as I looked over my shoulder at my closed bedroom door.

I could have sworn I just heard something.

Noah sucked in a sharp breath and then I could hear him talking to someone else. Jackson, I assumed. Though I could not hear what he was saying.

"What?" Jackson's voice finally sounded in my ear as he took the phone from Noah.

"Jackson-" I started to say, only to get cut off.

I heard the footsteps behind me, but I'd never heard the door open. By the time I whirled around, it didn't matter, because he was already too close.

An arm was at my throat and I was shoved back into the wall behind me. The phone was pried from my grasp and I tried to claw Branson's arm from my throat. He just pressed down harder, and I found myself struggling to breathe. He pressed his entire body into mine, pinning me to the wall and keeping me from being able to strike out at him.

He leaned in close so his breath fanned over my face. "Play nice," He whispered to me before looking down at my phone in his free hand.

"Jackson, is it?" He questioned as he pressed the button to put the phone on speaker. "Tell me, why is it a conman has been going through all this trouble to track me down?"

"Oh you know," Jackson's mocking voice sounded. "Saw you across a room and I just had to get your number. Why don't we set up a date and you and I can chat face to face."

"Hmm," Branson said as he let his gaze roam all over my body. "Tempting as that sounds, I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass. I already have evening plans with a model."

There was a long silence from Jackson. Finally, he spoke. "What do you want Branson?"

Branson locked eyes with me and smiled and when I had the brief opportunity, I took it. I slammed my head forward into his nose.

He swore and his grip let up enough that I was able to slam my fist into the side of his face. I shoved off the wall and went to make a run for it.

Even though my father was just as evil, if not more evil than Branson, right now I was safer with him than Branson. Branson wouldn't dare do anything to me in front of my father, not while he still didn't have proof of my conspiring against him.

I was tackled to the floor before I could make it to the door though. Branson straddled me and just when I would have made a move to buck him off, he pulled a gun from his waistband and pressed it painfully into my chest.

"What did I tell you about playing nice?" He asked me.

"Crystal?" I could hear Jackson's voice through the phone. "What is going on?"

Branson leaned back for a second and picked up the phone he'd dropped. "I can see why you like this one," He said into the phone. "She's feisty."

"Leave her out of this," Jackson said.

"Why?" Branson asked him. "From my understanding, you're the one that dragged her into this. Anything that happens next, you have only yourself to blame for," Branson said tauntingly.

He looked down at me and smiled sinisterly. "Come and get her," He said to Jackson. "Hopefully you get here while there's still enough of her left."

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