Triple-Duty Bodyguards: Chapter 40

“What do you think?” I ask, twisting in the mirror to examine my dress from the back. “Too much?”

Julie looks up from her spot on my bed. She’s been curled up in my bedroom for the last couple of hours, frantically answering emails and texts as I get ready for the premiere. As she glances me over, the straw of her iced coffee falls out of her lips.

“Ho. Ly. Shit.” She says slowly.

I smile. “Yeah. I thought so, too.”

I’d originally planned on wearing a trouser suit tonight. I didn’t like the idea of parading around in revealing outfits, just so X can dream of me sucking him off. But when I tried the suit on, I felt flat. Weak. Like I was hiding. So I called my LA stylists, and they hooked me up with this little beauty. It’s a blood-red bodycon made of a thick, stretchy scuba material. The fabric clings to my hips and waist, wrapping around me as tight as cling film. The really impressive part, though, is what it does to my boobs. The neckline is low and square, and the built-in support means that the amount of cleavage is astonishing.

I feel great in it. Hot. Strong. Powerful. I can’t wait for the guys to see me in it.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, there’s a knock at the door. Glen steps inside, holding a small boutique bag. He stops in the doorway, staring at me. His eyes run up and down my body, freezing on my chest.

“Jesus.” He runs a hand over his face. “Seriously? You expect us to be able to concentrate on our jobs, with you wearing that?”

I can’t hold back my smile. “You’re a big boy. You can keep your hands out of your pants and your eyes on the crowd.”

He swallows thickly and takes a step towards me. I feel goosebumps raise over my skin as his eyes zero in on my boobs. When he reaches me, he trails his fingertip very lightly over the neckline.

I ignore the growing heat under my skin, and nod at the little bag he’s holding. It’s clearly from a fancy shop; the lettering is embossed in gold, and the handles are made from silky cream ribbons. “What’s that?”

He clears his throat. “We all got you something. We picked it out online, and then Kenta collected it from the store this morning. It’s a late birthday present.”

My eyes widen. “Really?” He nods, handing it to me. I carefully pull apart the layers of sparkly tissue paper to reveal a small flat box.

I glance up at Glen. His face flushes.

I open up the box. Nestled on the velvet cushion inside is a necklace. I lift it out carefully. A rose-shaped pendant swings from the fine silver chain, glimmering softly under the bedroom light. The petals are made of pale pink crystals, surrounded by delicately twisting thorns.

“You don’t have to wear it tonight. I don’t know if it goes with your dress. And you probably already have jewellery that you’re supposed to wear. But—”

“Glen, this is gorgeous.” I turn the little rose charm around, watching it scatter spots of light over my skin. “A briar rose, right?”

I don’t remember the last time someone bought me a present just because they thought I’d like it. Not because they wanted me to shout out their product, or they wanted to butter me up to sign a contract, or they wanted to get close to me. I have to blink hard to fight the tears pressing against the backs of my eyes.

I go up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. “Thank you. Put it on me?”

Julie frowns, tapping at her phone. “Excalibur Jewellery sent you their new ruby collection. I think they were hoping you would—”

“Excalibur can wait until the next event,” I interrupt. “I’m not a billboard for companies to stick signs all over.”

“It’s valued at over twenty-five thousand,” she snips.

“You’d better send it back, then. I’d hate for all that money to go to waste.”

“But—”

“Julie, I’m trying to have a romantic moment, here. Could you please work outside?”

She harrumphs and jumps to her feet. “Bet you’re glad I found you new security now,” she mumbles, sashaying out of the room and slamming the door.

“Yes, thank you!” I call after her, pressing the necklace into Glen’s hand. “Please?” I ask him.

“Are you sure?” His lip quirks. “It’s not worth twenty-five thousand.”

“It’s worth a Hell of a lot more, as far as I’m concerned.”

He lets out a soft breath and carefully drapes the necklace around my throat. His big hands are almost unbearably gentle as he fastens the clasp, and I shiver as the cool chain slides over my skin.

Behind us, the door clicks open again. “Oh. Holy shit.” I turn to face Kenta. He trails his eyes over me. “Holy shit.” He repeats.

“Thank you,” I say, flattered. “And thank you for the necklace. It’s beautiful.”

Kenta smiles. “He wanted us all to give it to you together, but I thought you’d enjoy watching him blush.”

“Oh, I definitely did.”

He steps forward, kissing me hard. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” His hands slip down over my hips, then back to my waist. “Christ, it’s going to be hard not to touch you tonight.”

“You can touch me plenty as soon as the premiere is over,” I promise. “Where’s Matt? I want to thank him.”

The guys exchange a look. “He left to speak with the FBI a few hours ago,” Glen says. “He hasn’t gotten back yet.”

That’s weird. “Is there a problem?”

They both shrug. “We wouldn’t know until he gets back,” Kenta says, dragging his hand up my waist, snagging the fabric on my skin. My eyelashes flutter, and my eyes flick over to the bed. Temptation tugs at me.

I sigh. “You should go, now. If I get distracted, I won’t be ready in time.”

Kenta laughs, planting one last kiss on my lips. “Yes, ma’am. We’d better suit up as well.”

“See you soon,” I whisper.

The guys leave, and I head back to my dresser, examining my face in the mirror. I usually have a hair and makeup team, but the guys didn’t want to risk letting a bunch of people into the suite, so I pick up my curling wand and set it to warm up.

I spend the next hour and a half fixing my hair and makeup. I go for a modern pin-up look, with big cat eyes, a red lip, and bouncy pinned-back curls. When I’m finally done, it’s almost time for us to leave. I touch up my lipstick, then drop the tube into my clutch, along with some tissues, a bobble, and some mints. After a moment’s thought, I pull out the bottle of pepper spray Matt gave me, and toss that in, too. Better safe than sorry.

The excitement in my belly flares as there’s a hard knock at the door.

“Come in,” I call, and it flies open. Matt strides inside. “Hang on a sec,” I say, sliding my feet into my heels. “I’m almost ready—”

“You’re not going,” he interrupts me, crossing his arms.

I look up at him, aghast. “What?”

He shrugs, like it’s a minor demand. “The premiere tonight. You’re not going.” He nods to the dress. “Get out of that. I’ll have Kenta pick up some takeaway.”

My mouth falls open. “Are you out of your mind? I can’t not go to the premiere of my own movie.”

“It’s too public. Anyone could find out the location and the time.”

“So? That’s why I have you, isn’t it? Matt, the whole reason we came to America was for this one event!”

“I’m in charge of your security, and I’ve changed my mind. We’re not taking you.”

I throw up my hands. “Fine. I’ll find someone else to do it. I’m not sure why you let me hire you if you don’t actually want to do your job, but there are plenty of bodyguards in LA.” I reach across the dressing table to unplug my phone.

His hand flies out, grasping my wrist. “No. You. Won’t. You’re not going. Please, just trust me on this.”

I shake him off. “This isn’t my choice! I’ve signed contracts, the studio needs me to be there—”

“So break the contracts!” He shouts, heat rising in his cheeks. “You don’t need the money! You’re richer than God, for fuck’s sake!”

“That’s not what this is about! If I piss off the studio, they’re not going to want to work with me anymore. I have a bad enough reputation without all of Hollywood’s directors deciding I’m too difficult to work with.” I grab a bottle of perfume and dab some on my wrists. “I really don’t see the issue. There’s going to be security at the premiere. It’s no more dangerous than any other event I’ve been to. And really, all X has done so far is leave messages and send me photos of his junk.” I strap on my other heel and stand, heading for the doorway. “I’m going, whether you want to come with me or not.” My hand closes on the doorknob.

“You’re being unbelievably selfish.” Matt says quietly behind me.

I sputter, spinning on him. “Excuse me?”

“This isn’t just about you. Kenta and Glen will be at that carpet. You want to put them in danger? Those are my men, I’m not putting them at risk because you want to go to a bloody party!”

My mouth falls open. “Why are you trying to guilt trip me? You all signed up for this! And we said from the beginning: your job is not to stop me from doing my work, it’s to protect me while I do it.”

“Your work doesn’t matter!” He snaps, his face white with anger. “None of this fucking matters!”

I take a step back. I feel like he’s smacked me in the chest. “Right,” I say slowly. “Of course it doesn’t. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You don’t think my work has any value.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters. “Of course it has value. But not as much value as your life. A few hours of you prancing around in front of a camera is not worth more than your safety. No contract is worth more than that, princess.”

Rage rises up in me. “Look, I might not be an SAS soldier. I might not be saving lives. But I am good at my job. I take pride in my work, and I do it properly. If nothing else, my movies give people a couple hours’ reprieve from this shitty planet. That means something.”

He shakes his head slowly. “In the grand scheme of things, Briar, it means absolutely nothing at all.”

I swallow. There are tears shimmering in my eyes. “None of the shit that I told you last night matters, does it?” I ask, my voice breaking. “I thought you understood me. But you don’t. You don’t want to. You’ll always think that I’m a spoiled little child star, who’s had everything in her life handed to her. You don’t care how much it hurt me, growing up like this. You don’t care.”

For a few seconds, he doesn’t say anything. His face is stony. His chest rises and falls with fast, shallow breaths.

“Please. Just take off the outfit,” he mutters, then turns on his heel and leaves.

I press a hand to my chest. Suddenly, my tight dress feels constricting, not sexy. The hours I’ve spent on the makeup, and the hair, and the nails, all seem frivolous and vain. Because that’s how he sees me.

Stupid. I’ve been so, so stupid.

I storm into the bathroom, locking the door behind me and sinking onto the closed toilet seat. The necklace burns against my throat. I reach back and unclasp it, letting it fall to the ground. It doesn’t mean anything.

I’ve spent my whole life feeling completely alone. And for a second, I thought things had finally changed. I thought I’d found three men who saw past the fame, and the money, and my shitty reputation, and saw the real me. I thought they liked the real me. But of course not. That will never happen.

You make a deal with the devil when you become famous. You sign away your right to a normal life. To normal friendships and relationships. To walking down the street without being harassed. And that’s fair enough, if you want money and notoriety that badly; but it wasn’t even me who signed my life away. I think of my mother, studiously ignoring me as she sunbathes on the yacht I bought her, and sadness overwhelms me. I’m still completely alone.

There’s a tap at the bathroom door.

“Go away,” I say.

“I’ve called a security company,” Julie calls, her voice muffled by the door. “Their driver is downstairs now.”

I yank the door open. She stands there in the doorway, all five-foot-two of her, her arms crossed over her chest and her pretty red lips twisted in a look of fierce determination.

“What?”

“You’re going to that premiere, babe. I don’t care how many asshole soldiers we need to piss off to get you there.” She passes me my red beaded clutch. “This is your night. They have no right to mess around with your career like this. That self-inflated knobhead might not think your job is worth his time, but it is. You know it is.”

I take the clutch off her and follow her slowly back into the bedroom. I can hear the men walking around in the hallway outside, talking in low voices.

“How am I supposed to get downstairs? They’ll never let me leave.” In a matter of minutes, I’ve gone from client to prisoner.

“Actually,” she smiles, turning her gaze to the fire escape, “they were kind enough to leave you an emergency exit.”

I consider the door for a few seconds. Pain and anger and frustration all whirl inside me.

“Get my heels,” I mutter, and she squeaks in excitement, clapping her hands.