“Hide me?” I pleaded as Rome took some ginormous steps, and crossed the distance between us in a flash.
“What the hell, Bec?” Rome asked once he was in front of me, his tone taking on a dangerous edge.
“Rome, meet Alexandra.” I motioned to my best friend, who was now gawking at Rome. “Alexandra, meet Rome.”
Alexandra stuck out her hand, eagerly waiting to get her claws on him, “Alexandra Astor, and how do you know my beautiful Bec?”
Rome ignored Alexandra altogether, which was simultaneously rude and unexpected. No one could ignore Alexandra when she was in the room. “You told me you weren’t going out tonight?”
I shrugged, “I changed my mind. Sue me.”
“You lied, and put your safety at risk,” he exclaimed, obviously frustrated by my flippant response.
“God, Rome, you’re a bodyguard…not a babysitter,” I whined. I guess the drinks were getting to me because I was usually much more composed than this.
Though my lack of composure could have simply been him. In my life, I took pride in being able to handle any situation with controlled composure. It’s why I was deemed the Ice Queen. But there was something about Rome that got under my skin.
He grasped my upper arm and led me to the side of the room. His touch was gentle yet firm. He positioned himself in front of me as he looked me up and down, his dark gaze assessing. I squirmed under the attention.
“You’re drunk,” he stated after a moment.
“Probably.”
Rome rolled his eyes as he looked around the room. He must have found what he was looking for because his attention was back on me.
“Stay here,” he commanded, and I was far too tired to argue.
He was back in a flash—wrapping my coat that he must have retrieved around my shoulders, and escorting me towards the exit.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we made our way out into the cold night, but before Rome even had a chance to respond, we were essentially attacked by paparazzi as they swarmed us.
What felt like dozens of bodies were crowding me, and various people were shouting questions at me. The voices compounded and muddled one another, overwhelming my senses.
There had been only a few moments in my life where I felt truly terrified. The first was when someone had tried to kidnap me for ransom when I was a young child. The moment had lasted less than five minutes, but had imprinted on my young brain. The second was when my brother first moved across the country, and I was left alone to deal with my parents' toxic marriage. Then the third was recent, when I received the first… note.
I could feel the familiar panic closing in around me like a vise.
Before it could take over, Rome wrapped his body around my own as he pushed us through the crowd towards the awaiting car. He used his body to shield me from the cameras and the advancing crowd. I could feel the heat of his chest on my back, and for a moment, I began to feel safe.
I was rushed into the passenger seat, and the door closed tightly afterwards. I watched as Rome fought past more paparazzi and rounded the hood as he finally made it to thedriver's seat. In a flash, we were speeding away, leaving the flashing lights of cameras behind us.
There was no denying that Rome excelled at his job.
Chapter Three
ROME
Drunk Bec was a new version of Bec I hadn’t been expecting. I was furious she had gone out without proper security, but her current state was rather hilarious to witness.
I've been working for Bly Enterprises for three months now. In those three months, Bec had smiled at me twice, rolled her eyes at me two hundred and seventeen times, and blatantly ignored a comment of mine sixty-two times.
Tonight was the first time she was singing at the top of her lungs.
I navigated the busy streets to her building as she sang along to the radio, flipping through various stations. I was lucky I could grab one of the company cars, so we were at least maintaining appearances. I didn’t think Bec would have appreciated being driven around in Livia’s neon yellow, ancient Beetle. Though it would have been justifiable revenge for her behavior tonight.
I was beginning to understand why Bec went into business and not the performing arts. Her singing abilities were questionable, to say the least. If there was a pitch, she couldn’t find it.
I pulled the car into the underground garage of her building. It was a less direct route to her penthouse, but it avoided any more press and unwanted photos circulating tomorrow. The photos of me dragging her out of the club were more than enough for the evening… and her reputation.
