"Smart money on the ex," Cass muses. I hear keys clacking— he's pulling files. "Name's Derek Voss. Photographer, mid-level fame chaser. Restraining order filed six months ago after the leak. He's in town—spotted at a pre-show party last night. Coincidence?"
"Not in my world." I jot notes. "What about rivals? She's rebooting her brand—anyone losing gigs because of it?"
"Checking... Yeah, a model named Lila Shane, but she's been vocal on socials about 'has-beens stealing spots.' Posted a shady tweet yesterday: 'Some flowers wilt faster than others.' Subtle."
I snort. "Real original. Send me addresses. I'll look into these."
"Negative, Mack. You're glued to the principal. I'll dispatch a team for legwork. Your job's keeping her breathing—and out of headlines. How's she holding?"
"Stubborn. Mouthy. Breaking rules like it's a sport." I glance at her still asleep in the bed. I move toward the large floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the city.
Cass chuckles. "Sounds like your type. Watch your six—and your heart. Cupid City lives up to the name."
"Not happening," I growl. "Seven days, then I'm out. Nash's lead on Dad?—"
"I know. Go get 'em after. For now, protect the asset."
We hang up, and I dive into the files he forwards. Voss's mugshot stares back—smarmy grin, the kind that begs for a fist. Lila's profile: pretty, petty posts. Leads, but nothing concrete. I need more.
A rustle from the bed. Indigo wakes, hair tousled, silk pajamas clinging in ways that make my jaw tighten. She's rubbing sleep from her eyes, but spots me and straightens, mask slipping into place. "Up already? Don't bodyguards sleep?"
"Only when the client's not a magnet for mayhem." I close the laptop. "Coffee?"
She pads over, barefoot and unapologetic, snagging my mug from the table. Takes a sip. "Yours now. Perks of being guarded."
Annoyance flares, but damn, the way her lips curve around the rim... Focus, Hawthorne. "That's mine."
"Sharing is caring." She perches on the arm of the couch, too close. Her leg brushes mine. "Who were you talking to? Secret bodyguard club?"
"My boss. Cassian Rhodes. Updating on your situation."
Her eyes narrow, but she plays it cool. "And? Am I safe, or should I start writing my will?"
"Safe as long as you listen." I stand, needing space. Her scent—vanilla and citrus—lingers. "Ex-boyfriend's in town. Derek Voss. Did he ever mention it?"
She stiffens, mask cracking for a split second. Fear? Then it's gone. "That slime? No. Haven’t spoken in months. Since heleaked those photos that nearly ruined my career. But he's all bark. He leaked those photos to hurt me, not... this."
"People escalate." I move to the window, scanning the street below. Dawn traffic starting. "And Lila Shane—model rival. Know her?"
"Everyone knows Lila. Jealous bitch. But stalking? Please." She sets the mug down, and saunters to the kitchenette. "Want eggs and toast? Or are carbs against protocol?"
"I'm good." But I watch her—graceful, defiant. She's annoying me on purpose, poking to reclaim control. Fine. Two can play at this game.
She cracks some eggs, humming off-key. Deliberate? "So, Mr. Protocol, what's the plan? Lock me in here all day? Miss my spa appointment?"
"Spa's out. Too exposed."
She spins, whisk in hand. "Excuse me? I need that facial. My brand demands glowy skin."
"Brand can wait. Safety first."
"Oh, come on." She steps closer, eyes sparking. "You're paranoid. One fake bomb, and suddenly I'm Rapunzel?"
"It's not fake if it draws blood." I close the gap, towering over her. Damn, she smells good. "You want to glow? Do it here. Hotel sends up a masseuse that’s vetted."
She pokes my chest with her pink-tipped finger. "Vetted? You're sucking the fun out of everything. I came to Cupid City for hearts and lingerie, not a prison warden."
Heat builds—not just anger. Her proximity, the fire in her eyes... It's electric. "Fun? This is your life, princess. Not a photoshoot."
