Nobody is touching Milo without permission, not while I’m on the job.
Never.
We enter the showroom, and I locate an empty wall to stand next to while Milo settles in his seat. There’s already a line of other celebrities’ bodyguards by the wall I found. Which makes sense, since this spot gives us an unobstructed view of the first few rows.
Ray is in the back, schmoozing and accepting business cards from everyone he comes across. They’re all trying to butter him up, and he’s eating it up.
I leave him be and focus on the person I’m hired to protect. Milo is seated right in front of the runway beside a recognizable face.
Kendra Vaughan is last year’s Emmy winner for a TV series I’ve never watched, but my sister loves. Raina is always telling me how she resonated with the actress’ portrayal of a mother’s love, something I know nothing about, since amotheris something I’ll never be.
Milo and Kendra are quietly chatting and laughing. I don’t miss the way Kendra subtly brushes her hand against Milo’s arm. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, so I let itbe.
It doesn’t meanI’mnot uncomfortable. It has to be my instinct as a bodyguard, and that’s the reason there’s this nasty pit in my stomach at watching them.
A man I don’t recognize sits on the other side of Milo, and the atmosphere around them instantly shifts. Milo does a great job maintaining his smile, but I see the sudden tension in his shoulders. The stranger says something and laughs, but that only earns polite smiles from Milo and Kendra.
He’s clearly making them uncomfortable, and I can’t rush over to cause a scene just because someone doesn’t know how social etiquette works.
Thankfully, the show begins, and all conversation ceases. Upbeat techno music sounds while most of the lights dim and the runway is put under the spotlight. Models donning this season’s latest fashion come out in succession—all with perfected catwalks and the stoic expressions people in fashion seem to prefer.
The spotlight from the stage is bright enough to cast a glow over Milo, allowing me to capture each of his expressions. He’s watching the stage and claps when he’s expected to, but the way his eyes are unfocused tells me he’s not really paying attention.
I wonder if he’s worried about his former bandmate, or if he’s annoyed with the guy sitting beside him. He makes subtle glances in his direction every so often and makes a face. Between that and the aloof air around him, his mind is obviously somewhere else.
I wonder if he’s thinking about our interaction from earlier.
I know I broke the first rule of being a bodyguard: never consider the client a friend, but I couldn’t just stand there when it was so obvious that something had been troubling him.
It’s similar to how I currently have the urge to shove my way past the runway to get to him and ask what’s making him look so dazed.
It’s my instincts at play. The same ones that call me to protect my friends and family, or even small animals.
Miloislike a small animal with all his restless energy and love for food, but that’s all when he’s in a comfortable situation. He’s clearly not comfortable now. And there’s nothing I can do about it but watch his soulless clapping and stiff smiles through the rest of the show.
Milo’s gaze shifts away from the runway, back to where I’m standing, and even though it’s impossible while I’m shrouded in darkness with the bright stage standing before us, our eyes meet anyway. I’m not sure if it’s me he’s seeing, or he just happens to look this way, but his shoulders relax just a fraction.
The delusional side of me is telling me it’smyjob to keep him like this: relaxed and worry-free. Which is totally ludicrous. While I do work for the man, his mental well-being is none of my business. My only concern is that he’s physically safe. That’s the only thing I’m contracted for.
I’m too far away to catch the gray in Milo’s eyes, but I search for the fire behind them anyway and find myself thinking that I’d do anything to make sure the fire doesn’t dim.
It may not be my job, but I realize that I care a little too much anyway.
Maybe Riley is right about me being a psycho, because this is psychotic behavior. And for once, I can’t find the urge to disprove my sister.
7
Rowan
The after-party is a mandatory event after the show.
At least according to Ray, it is. He’s in his element, swimming to different sections of the venue to mingle with all the other like-minded people. I’m almost dizzy watching him zoom around so quickly that I swear I see afterimages ofhim.
Meanwhile, Milo looks dead on his feet. His expression doesn’t show it, since he’s still wearing his picture-perfect smile like armor, but it’s the way he’s dragging his feet that tells me he’s done with this scene.
I’m lurking in the shadows along with the other bodyguards, away from the main partygoers but following close enough behind Milo so that I can intervene if anything happens.
One person after another comes up to Milo to exchange greetings and polite conversation, and he doesn’t get a moment’s rest. When the last group of influencers finishes taking selfies with him and leaves, I sneak closer to him to suggest he take a break.
