I nod, and he carefully reviews the details of our arrangement. It does sound like it’s geared toward the client. Not as pushy as what I’m used to with Tony, which is a relief.
Maybe having a bodyguard tagging along won’t be so bad after all. And if said bodyguard happens to be Mr. Sexy Chest Press, it could be way better than bad.
“That reminds me.” I sit up taller in my chair. “There was a man working out in the gym this morning?—”
The door swings open, and—as if on cue—Mr. Sexy himself steps in.
Oh, yes. There is a God.
He’s freshly showered, with a leather bag slung over one broad shoulder. “Hey, Boss. Juniper said you needed to see me?”
His voice is deep and rich, and butterflies flit in my belly as intense, dark eyes settle on mine. My cheeks flush.
But he blinks. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Then he nods politely, slowly backing out the door with an awkward wave of his palm, and my heart sinks.
“Chase?” Mr. Rhodes barks, gesturing for him to come back inside. “I’d like you to meet your new client, Harper Spade.”
Yesss.
I give Chase a coy smile, hoping my bad wig won’t throw him off now that he knows who I really am, but his head jerks back in surprise. Then his eyes narrow as he studies my face.
Can he tell I’m blushing?
“It’s nice to meet you.” I extend my hand, but he keeps his arms at his sides, his expression grim.
Why the sudden change? Is it because he’s on duty now? These security guys take themselves way too seriously.
“You’ll be in good hands with Chase.” Mr. Rhodes claps a hand on Chase’s back. “He’s been informed of your…unique situation, and in fact Chase has special training in this area.”
What? He’s been trained to work with celebrities on the run?
I’m about to ask for clarification when Mr. Rhodes steps to the door. “If you two will excuse me, I have an urgent situation to attend to.”
He leaves us alone in the office, and I turn my attention to my new bodyguard boyfriend, but he’s frowning at me. His jaw is tense.
So much for that warm smile I saw earlier. Apparently once this guy’s on the job, he’s exactly zero fun.
“What’s all this?” He waves a meaty paw at my wig, then gestures toward my iridescent blue evening gown and glittering gold bag as if he’s unimpressed.
To be fair, the bag is garish with this dress, and the whole color scheme clashes with the platinum-blonde tint of my wig.
“Oh, don’t worry. This isn’t my usual style.” I laugh, then I drop my voice down to a whisper even though there’s no one else in the room. “It’s a disguise.”
I say it in fun, but his expression is stone cold. Does he not understand why it’s necessary?
“I have to avoid attracting attention.”
“Uh-huh.” His tone is rife with sarcasm. “I suppose this is how you intend to”—he draws a circle in the air with one finger, indicating the eye patch—“blend in?”
He’s making fun of me.
He has no idea how difficult it was for me to sneak away last night or how important it is that I not be recognized.
I cross my arms. “Maybe you don’t understand. I’m an international celebrity.”
His nostrils flare. “Is that so.” He lets the words fall flat, as though he couldn’t care less.
“Yes, that is so.” I clip my words, kicking myself for every silly thought I had about spending a sexy little getaway with this blowhard. He’s just like Tony—a total prick who gets off on being in charge and making other people feel small.
