ANITA
Mason is driving us in his huge four-wheel-drive truck, and I feel ridiculous.
All four of them insisted on coming as though I need an entire security detail just to meet with one asshole at a hotel.
I’m in the front passenger seat, dressed as Ash—new wig and facial hair, the binder strapping down my chest uncomfortably, baggy clothes, the whole works. And behind me, Slater, Dylan, and Jasper are somehow crammed into the back seat like sardines in a very expensive can.
“You know this is complete overkill, right?” I say, adjusting my fake beard in the visor mirror.
“Nothing is too much for you,” Mason says firmly, his hands steady on the wheel.
“Besides, you smell especially divine today,” Dylan adds from the back. “Like, unusually so. It’s distracting.”
I glance back at them, and all three are staring at me with varying expressions of discomfort and amusement.
“So weird looking at you as Ash,” Slater adds, shaking his head. “It’s really throwing me off. My brain knows it’s you, but my eyes are seeing a scruffy guy.”
“It’s disturbing that I’m so drawn to you looking like that,” Jasper agrees.
“Well, that’s kind of the point,” I say with a grin. “I need to be convincing.”
“Just don’t forget to scratch your groin,” Dylan says, completely serious. “Guys do that all the time. It’s expected.”
I burst out laughing. “What? Why do guys do that constantly? It’s so gross.”
“It’s adjustment,” Mason explains, like he’s discussing the weather. “Things shift around. Need repositioning for comfort.”
“I do it simply because I’m too big,” Dylan adds with a straight face. “Requires frequent management.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Jasper says, shoving Dylan’s shoulder.
“You want to compare right now? I’ll do it,” Dylan shoots back with a grin.
“Are we really having this conversation?” I ask, laughing.
We drive through town, and I’m trying not to be nervous, but my hands keep fidgeting with the edge of my shirt.
“So Dylan’s going in to watch from a distance?” I confirm again from our earlier conversation over breakfast.
“Yep,” Dylan responds. “I’ll hang back, keep an eye on things. Reed probably researched you guys since I don’t have much social media presence. No photos online, really. So he won’t recognize me from across a lobby.”
“And we’ll be in the car right outside,” Mason adds. “You need us, you text. We’ll be there in seconds.”
“My bodyguards,” I say with affection.
“Damn right,” Jasper growls.
We pull around the corner from the hotel, and I take a deep breath, getting into character.Walk like Mason and Dylan showed me. Shoulders back. Confident stride.
“Remember,” Slater says as I’m about to get out. “You’ve got this. He’s just a man. An asshole man, but still just a man.”
“Channel your inner caveman,” Dylan encourages.
I step out of the truck. The hotel looms in front of me—The Lofty Grand. Stone facade with huge windows, a grand entrance with double doors, and a doorman in a blue uniform who nods at me as I approach.
I push through the doors into the lobby and am immediately embraced by the sheer opulence of the place.
The ceiling soars at least three stories high, with an enormous crystal chandelier as the centerpiece. The floor is polished marble in cream and gold patterns. Plush velvet furniture in deep jewel tones is arranged in conversation areas. A massive fireplace crackles on one side, and there’s even a grand piano in the corner, where someone is playing something classical and soothing.
