“It’s acting, Rhys. You’ve been undercover plenty. She’s an actress. Go with the flow.”
“Tell Sloane to shop for a hot model dude. We can call him the bodyguard—”
“Everyone knows you’re her guy. There are Reddit posts going back a decade, detailing either how good you two look together or how well you’re hiding a secret relationship. Enough fans think there’s a spark simmering between you two.”
“There’s not.”
“Sure,” she said, not sounding the least bit convinced.
He ground his molars.
“The world wants you two together. We can’t just march in a random hot dude. Especially not if we have to outmaneuver Mason’s maneuvering.”
Rhys groaned.
“If you won’t do it for Jules and Sloane and the people of Reddit, do it for me.”
“You? Why?”
“Why?Why? I spend my days dealing with the ugliest of the ugly on the internet. This would be fun. Like a mental vacation. Something to breathe a little life and color into my horrifying days trolling through the dark web. That’s it. That’s the deal. Just simple, plain old fun.”
His grumbling increased. Though his hard no waffled. Their request might not be security focused, but the job had a solid end goal. That and he and Jules—no. Nope. Not even a thought he would entertain. Jules was emphatically, categorically, somehow astronomically off-limits. He wasn’t even the slightest bit interested.
Liar, liar, fucking liar.
“When’s the last time you had fun for the sake of fun?” Scar asked.
He dropped like a boulder onto the white couch and glared at the pristine living room. Dozens of shades of white surrounded him. He liked it—the lack of details, the absence of information. At a certain point, he’d realized that his mind could rest when surrounded by a world devoid of stimuli. “I have fun.”
“Not the kind where you snuggle up to Jules Lowry and let paparazzi sneak a few pictures.”
That kind of input would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life. Forget fun. That was dangerous.
“Come on, Rhys. You’ve worked gigs before as the arm candy.”
He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous description.
“It’s the same thing,” she continued. “Except this time, you’re in the tropics with significantly less clothes.”
Chapter Eight
Twelve Years Ago
Rhys checked his watch, anxiously waiting for the Escalade to arrive outside the federal courthouse, then glanced out the stuffy conference room window. They should be celebrating, but the years of emotional legal wrangling, continuances, and testimony had ended with an exhausted sigh of relief.
Their caravan of shiny black SUVs arrived and followed the police officers’ directions to pull over near the legion of reporters, news crews, fans, and protestors.
Who the hell protested the sentencing hearing of a clearly guilty man?
Rhys didn’t understand people.
He didn’t understand the vitriol thrown at Jules. He didn’t understand the proposals lobbed at Jordan Everett. But he was painfully aware of how done with this shit show he was. Rhys needed to get out of this town with its limelight and influencersand backstabbing maneuvers, as it seemed everyone wanted to climb up the ladder that Jules Lowry had topped.
Wes exited the black Escalade closest to the waiting press gathering. “Here and checking in.”
The security threats had been high leading up to the sentencing, and Rhys was glad to have someone from Titan alongside him if something went wrong. “Roger that.”
Wes paced toward the law enforcement stationed alongside the metal-gated barriers to keep the crowd at bay. “They’re ready.”
