Apparently, he likes to maintain anormallifestyle. Who the hell knows what normal even is these days? To him, it’s flying commercial and trying to blend in as if his celebrity status is negligible.
It must be another one of his eccentricities, since most high-profile clients prefer to steer away from prying eyes and paparazzi. And it’s probably a reason why he needs a full-time bodyguard.
My phone pings with a message from Ray saying they’ve landed. I’m outside the baggage claim area, holding up a sign with my name on it, because using Milo’s would be too conspicuous.
I’m not worried about the first meeting. I’ve done this song and dance countless times before, but something comes over me the minute I spot them.
Nerves? Anxiety? Excitement?
It’s unfamiliar to me, and completely out of left field. I don’t get starstruck. These celebrities are just clients in my eyes—the people behind my paycheck—but Milo’s entrance has a wave of familiarity wash over me. He comes through the door in a casual hoodie that looks much too thin for thisweather, black Ray-Ban sunglasses, and a beanie that doesn’t completely hide his bleached-blond hair.
Even if I hadn’t seen his photos before, I could probably pick him out from the crowd.
A man in much more winter-fitting garb walks on one side of him, speaking while frantically typing on his phone. I’m guessing that’s Ray. A large, older man dressed in all black, with hair sprinkled with gray and biceps that screams “fuck around and find out” is on his other side, silent as he stealthily scans the distance. They’re relaxed in a way that they could pass for a casual group of travelers, despite their lack of luggage.
It all looks normal enough, if not for the sheer presence of the man at the center of their group. Maybe it’s his confidence or aura that’s been honed through years of being in the industry, but Milo has heads turning as he passes.
Most stare in wonder, probably not realizing who he is, but a group of teenagers spots him and their eyes almost pop out of their heads. Hands cover their mouths in shock, and I swear they’re point zero two seconds from screaming their lungs out and blowing Milo’s cover.
He notices them too and nudges his sunglasses down his nose just enough so that his eyes are visible, presses a finger to his lips in the universal quiet gesture, and shoots off a wink before pushing the sunglasses back in place and continuing forward.
I don’t know what I expected him to do in the situation of being caught out surrounded by a huge crowd of people, but it wasn’t that.
Most celebrities are charismatic. You kinda have to be to make it in the industry. But Milo exudes it from his pores, like he was born to be adored under the spotlight, and the fans deliver by going heart-eyed and throwing themselves into a fit of giggles.
Even though the little interaction wasn’t directed at me, my heart skips a beat anyway. I clear my throat to distract from my body’s strange reaction. It doesn’t help much. My eyes are focused on him—purely because it’s my job, of course—and the erraticthump-thump-thumpof my heart is an annoyance I can’t figure out.
Ray spots me first and nudges Milo in my direction. I can’t see his eyes under those dark sunglasses, but I know he’s looking at me.
Evaluating me.
The only reason he doesn’t catch me squirming is the years of training in hiding my emotions on the job. Thankfully, Ray distracts him with something, and I can catch my breath before they make it in front of me.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rowan. We can do the official introductions in the car,” Ray says with a no-bullshit attitude. I nod and lead them to the parking garage to find my car.
Milo’s silent the entire walk there, but I can practically feel his gaze on me again. It’s burning a hole through my back and making me sweat under my jacket despite the chill in the snowy air.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take long to reach the black Mercedes SUV. It’s a company car Price gives all of us to meet the standards of our high-profile clients.
I open the back door for them out of habit. I’ve had some clients who refuse to open doors in general. They’d stand right in front of the entrance and wait for someone to open it for them. It’s as if touching a doorknob is a major offense.
Ray nods his thanks and slides into the back seat. Milo doesn’t follow right away. He turns around and lunges at the older man.
The sudden action surprises me, and I’m not sure how to react—should I look away or watch?—but the older man doesn’t seem to be caught off guard.
He calmly stabilizes Milo, his expression not changing as he accepts the sudden hug.
“Have a good week off,” Milo says, and for the briefest of seconds, I see the older man’s expression soften.
He mutters a gruff “thanks,” then straightens as Milo releases him.
From the files, I know the older man is the bodyguard Milo’s been with the longest, Jack. Their interaction is a good sign that Milo might not be as obnoxious as some other celebrities I’ve worked with before.
Milo releases the man, turns to give me a handshake, then slides into the SUV. I close the door, and just as I’m about to make my way around to the driver’s side, Jack stops me with a clap on my shoulder.
“Take care of him.”
He gives the simple order. I always take my job seriously, so I was already planning to do just that. But if I hadn’t, I would think twice about disobeying his command. Because that’s exactly what it was.
