“Then I take it you’re in shock,” he said. “And the laughter will come any minute now.”
“I’m not feeling any laughter building.”
He shuddered. “Trust me when I tell you, you can’t be any more appalled than I was when they finally let me see myself.”
She rolled her blue eyes. “Stop carrying on like an ungrateful slug. I’d give anything to be done over by the Glam Team. I mean, look at what they’ve accomplished with you. You’re a total dreamboat in a cardigan and wig.”
He yanked at the piece on his head. The damn thing still didn’t budge. “Good God, you actually approve of this idiocy?” Why was he surprised? She wore a damn T-shirt with the wordsMy Book Boyfriend Is Better Than Yoursemblazoned across the front. Her grip on reality was blurred by her endless quest for fictional perfection. He’d need a unicorn and his magic wand just to compete.
“Full approval,” she said, before quickly glancing away.
“May I come in?” he asked gruffly, irritation fueling his already sour mood.
“Oh. Of course. Sorry.” She took a step back and absently gestured for him to come inside, all while continuing to tilt her head from side to side, studying him like a hero who’d just jumped off the pages of a not-yet-released, highly coveted new romance novel.
He moved into the cramped space and took stock. A person’s home was a testament to how they thought. Hers was cozy to the point of being cluttered, with books and notes scattered about. Sophie E. Clark had a very busy mind, as opposed to his brain, which processed with a cool, analytical approach. His thoughts rarely wandered. He’d be willing to bet Sophie’s seldom stayed in one place.
“Thank you for agreeing to morph into my idea of the perfect guy.”
He had to unclench his jaw before he could answer. “I look ridiculous. Like someone who’d be more at home at a knitting circle than doing bodyguard detail. And don’t even get me started on the damn hairpiece.”
She eyeballed it. “I have to admit, I’m sort of surprised you didn’t ditch it the minute you left the Glam Team.”
“I would have, but it’s glued in place and won’t fucking budge.”
Sophie bit her lip, her gaze flitting away for a moment as if considering her next words carefully. “It’s… perfection,” she said dreamily. “Exactly like… a guy I would date.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You can’t possibly find this hot.”
“It’s not nice to mock a girl’s taste in men,” she chided softly.
“My apologies.” It was time to attack the plan from a place of common sense. “But Sophie, I’ve been hired to intimidate men into leaving you alone. That will not happen with my looking like this.”
She scrunched her nose. “Agree to disagree.”
“On what grounds? Look at me. I’m wearing pastel socks with hearts.”
“Stone, the men I interview will leave me alone out of respect for the fact I’m in a relationship,” she said. “And the less you look like a bodyguard, the less likely anyone will suspect you’re a fake.”
It was time to counter with a compromise. “Can we at least change your type to the grumpy billionaire? That one is way more doable than this.”
She fluttered her long, thick lashes, casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. “But that’s not my type.”
“I thought every woman liked their men flush. Didn’t you rattle off, like, a bazillion billionaire tropes on your list?”
“I’m not into yachts and private jets. I’m into books and whimsy. A filthy rich grump is not going to appreciate my quirks, nor I his wallet.”
As Sophie’s words hung in the air, Stone felt an unexpected twinge in his chest, a reaction that startled him. Her candid confession about her tastes—not the flashy, shallow kind, but something deeper, something real—struck a chord. He had been trained to be observant, to read people like open books, yet here he was, confronted with a complexity he hadn’t anticipated.
For a moment, temptation urged him to let his guard down, to tell her that he, too, had little care for superficial things. But that wasn’t his role here—he was the bodyguard, not a man to share his personal reflections.
He turned his gaze away and focused on a spot on her bookshelf that was crowded with well-worn novels and trinkets. Clarabelle had asked him not to screw this up. To follow through and complete the mission because she’d assured Ms. Birdie that he could complete any assignment…not just the ones where bullets were flying.
Tightening his jaw, he turned back toward Sophie. “Noted.” The only thing that made this all bearable was that Ryder had been coerced by Clarabelle into being Sophie’s first subject for herFind Your Book Boyfriendcolumn. Ryder had fought a good battle but faced with Clarabelle’s strong will, he’d finally caved—not without words for Stone, who’d made it known it had been his idea.
Sophie’s smile came quickly, catching him off guard. What had he said to earn that dimple-inducing grin?
“Then you’ll do it?” she asked. “You won’t tank my dream?”
