Page 3 of Less

I swallow hard.

Because the last time I saw Alessio Figueroa he was kissing me goodbye in the doorway of my Jersey City apartment.

Promising he’d be back after a short job overseas.

Then he vanished.

No calls.

No messages.

No explanation.

Three years of silence.

Three years of wondering what I did wrong.

Three years of forcing myself to hate him just enough to move on.

And now he’s standing here like no time passed at all.

“What,” I manage finally, my voice sharp as broken glass, “are you doing here?”

The woman beside me brightens.

“Oh! Yes, it seems your theatre company insisted on enhanced security for the event. Mr. Carter agreed to it.”

Security.

Less is here as my bodyguard.

The words land in my stomach like a stone.

“This,” Debra continues cheerfully, “is Alessio Figueroa from Sigma International Security. He’ll be handling your protection while you're here.”

My gaze snaps back to him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Less doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even blink.

Just watches me.

Like he’s waiting for the explosion.

“So, you’re my bodyguard?” I say slowly.

“Yeah.”

The single word is infuriatingly calm.

I laugh.

A short, bitter sound.

“Absolutely not.”