Page 6 of Forced Proximity

Absolutely fucking not. I’m out. For twelve years, I rose in the ranks at the firm, starting as a trainee, then bodyguard, then lead bodyguard and now executive protection specialist. I sacrificed my marriage, my friendships, my family, to serve and protect and am considered the top in my field. I refuse to coddle some man-child tripping on his ego. This pretty boy can take these threats and choke on them.

‘Nope. This is not what I signed up for,’ I say, masking the severe irritation in my tone. ‘I’m a professional, the best in the business, hired by your team. I refuse to be treated as an annoyance.’

‘But it is an annoyance. You must see that, right?’

This is why I don’t protect pampered men. Who the hell does he think he is? He’s acting like he’s doing me the favor. Sure, this is my job. And he may not believe it but I’m the top requested agent at our firm, and normally, when I’m assigned to someone, they’re ecstatic. Not irritated. My ego may be getting the best of me, but I don’t care. The case is settled – Justin Greenwood is an asshole.

‘I need to circle back with the director,’ I say. ‘We have nearly fifty agents in our company and over three hundred subcontractors who can fill this position.’ I grab the Jeep keys from my pocket and beeline for the door. ‘Justin will be in good hands with someone else.’

‘Guys. Stop. Listen to me.’ Anthony’s voice cuts through the tension with the most force I’ve heard from him since this disastrous meeting started. ‘The studio security and management team all agree it must be you, Doc, and no one else. We spent hours sifting through potential security details, and you’re the perfect match. I must insist. Please.’

Justin exhales through his nose. ‘I don’t get it. Why her?’ he says. ‘She clearly doesn’t want to be here, and I’m not really feeling it either.’

Well, at least he’s honest.

Anthony glances at the tips of his fingers, strands of his blond hair dipping into his eyes. If I knew him better, I’d say he looks sheepish.

‘If needed …’ Anthony clears his throat, then squares his shoulders. ‘If needed, we can pass her off as your girlfriend.’

‘Hell. No.’ Justin’s face tightens as he glances at me then back at Anthony. ‘Absolutely not.’

I swallow silently but stay expressionless. ‘Perfect, then we agree.’ God, he’s a jerk. Like agonizing muscle memory, those words throw me back twenty years, producing the same icky burn as when I was the shy fourteen-year-old girl standing in the school hallway overhearing a group of boys making gagging sounds as they dared each other to kiss me. There’s no chance I would’ve agreed to this fake dating crap, but Justin didn’t need to jump all over it like I was repulsive.

What is it with Marcus and this Anthony guy wanting me to pose as a girlfriend? I’ve protected women before, and it’s never once been raised that we might need to fake a relationship. In my personal life, I love both men and women, date men and women, married a woman, but it’s times like this that I genuinely prefer the company of women over men. Never once has a woman looked at me with the disgust that Justin’s giving me now.

I spin and march to the door. What a colossal waste of time. When I get back to the office, Marcus better have reassigned me to a WNBA player to make up for this shitastic afternoon.

Outside, the brutal summer sun beats down. Before I reach the Jeep, Anthony runs out of the house, waving. ‘Doc, wait! Please. Can I talk to you for a second?’ He jogs to where I’m standing. ‘I know this doesn’t feel very good and I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t give a shit how it feels,’ I say, flinging my bag onto the seat. ‘My main concern is doing my job to the absolute best of my ability, regardless of my feelings toward the client. But this, right here, won’t work.’

‘Please, wait. Before you go, I need to show you something.’ Before I can protest, his phone is in my face.

I’m highly trained to keep my face in a neutral poker-player position. But as the video plays, my heart rate increases. And if Anthony looks close enough, he’ll probably see my pupils dilate.

‘Oh no,’ I whisper, squinting through the bright sun. ‘This is not good.’

Chapter 3

Justin

My girlfriend? Really?

The bodyguard, Doc, is beautiful, no doubt. Twenty minutes ago, when I stepped into my kitchen and saw an extremely fit, fair-skinned, black-haired woman with a sharp jawline, deep brandy-brown eyes and perfect apple cheekbones, my breath had momentarily hitched. But that doesn’t mean I’m cool with a contrived, weird, fake relationship in the public eye.

I grab a football off the counter and slap it against my palm. Why is there this mad rush to hire a bodyguard? A sketchy incident happened a few months ago to a former co-star. Is that why everyone’s on edge? Or does this have to do with Willow?

Shit.

It better not to have anything to do with Willow.

You know what’s worse than having your girlfriend cheat on you? Having TMZ splash photographic evidence of the cheating on their site for weeks. Which was like spreading sugar in a cockroach-infested room and paparazzi pests skittered out from everywhere. Not only did I have to see the pictures of Willow and her co-star kissing and sneaking out of luxury hotels with headlines like ‘Shocking Split’ and ‘Heartbreak for Greenwood’, but everyone and their grandmother – literally, as that happened more than once – asked if I was okay.

Thankfully, a few weeks later, an A-lister’s arrest for drunken indecent exposure outside a club on the Las Vegas Strip grabbed the public’s attention.

As shitty as that situation was six months ago, a part of me didn’t blame Willow. Besides her obvious lack of judgment, she’s sweet and fun, and I’m a terrible boyfriend. It’s true. Of course, I’d never mistreat or disrespect a woman. But I have an impenetrable wall in me that I wish wasn’t there. And no matter how much therapy I attend to chisel it away, I can’t. In my relationships, with Willow, with anyone, really, I pretend. I’ve always pretended. I follow the same motions other people follow while dating – buy nice presents, bring flowers, have fancy dinners. But sometimes days will go by since I’ve chatted with them, and I don’t even realize it. It’s not that I don’t care, but … yep, I’m a terrible person. I kind of don’t care.

With Willow, what killed me was the lies. The cheating sucked but the lies gutted me. She laughed with me, slept in my bed, we vacationed together, and for months, she lied. And I didn’t see it.